By the mid-afternoon light, I pick over the living room. Self-help books with stupid titles. A few trinkets on the table by the sofa. Shells. A carved cat. A pair of slippers by the stairs. Where are the weapons? The relics of her crimes? The cupboard under the stairs is stacked with tins and jars, a couple of backpacks. The most incriminating object is a small axe resting against the wall, but it’s not stained with old blood. If anything, it looks brand new. She might actually chop wood with it.
The kitchen’s like any other. Cleaner, maybe, but then Celene was always good at cleaning up after herself.
It can’t be that easy. Celene… what? Finds Gaia and becomes a whole new person? If shadowing taught me anything, it’s that people aren’t like that. They don’t change, they just become more extreme versions of who they always were. Thieves become criminal masterminds, worriers end up never leaving the house, daytime drinkers become booze-a-holics. The thought of a more extreme version of Celene makes the hairs on my arms stand up and I throw a look at the door to make sure she’s not back yet.
One woman I followed was a shoplifter. She was crafty, though. She’d shoplift expensive clothes, get dolled up, then target the shops in New Bond Street, playing on the shopkeepers’ prejudices. I sort of respected her. She’d found a way to survive, just like everybody else.
Looks like Celene found a way, too.
At best, her crimes could have landed her behind bars for life. At worst, she’d have been tortured by her enemies. Perhaps turned up at a police station in boxes. Or even washed up on the Thames, like the woman everybody assumed was her back in the nineties. Divine justice.
Seems Celene’s as clever as she sounded in the reports I hoard in the Dead Room. She tricked these gullibles, played on their sympathies, perhaps even constructed a story of domestic abuse (so tragic) and they’d be cold hearted to turn her down now, wouldn’t they?
Celene said everybody else in the camp has a history as messed up as hers. Are they all killers? Or were some of them victims? Dominic didn’t seem the killing type, but then he killed himself. Possibly.
My gaze drifts to the stairs.
Her bedroom.
If the cabin contains any incriminating evidence, it’ll be in there.
Still clutching the knife, I go upstairs. Four doors line the landing. The bathroom. The spare room I slept in last night. The room she made for me. That just leaves–
I open the final door.
I don’t know what to expect. After discovering Celene was alive, I’ve pretty much learnt not to have expectations. I stare blankly at the neat room with its single bed and bookcase. It could be a prison cell.
Going inside would be an intrusion, but that didn’t stop Celene kidnapping me. If it wasn’t for her, I’d still be with Mara, potentially even rescuing Bolt by now. Instead, I’m here, looking at the place where my murderous mother sleeps.
‘Rumer?’
My shoulders tense, but Celene’s not caught me in the act. Her voice comes up the stairs. I shut her bedroom door and slide the kitchen knife into the chest of drawers in the other room – my room. It might come in handy.
‘False alarm,’ Celene says as I come down the stairs.
‘Poachers,’ Frank adds. He’s in the kitchen, filling the kettle, then setting out three mugs, taking a spoon from a drawer. He seems awfully at home in Celene’s house.
‘You look tired,’ Celene says.
‘I’ll live.’
My mind’s still in her bedroom. The secrets she’s hiding in there. I want her gone so I can keep snooping. What if I don’t get another chance? Celene didn’t leave me in the house alone for more than ten minutes. She must be afraid I’ll find whatever it is she’s hoarding.
‘Tea?’ Frank’s already stirring the contents of the mugs. I’d prefer coffee, but for once I need to play nice. Be a good girl. Ask the right questions. Throw spaghetti at the wall and see what sticks. It’s about time the shadow started speaking.
‘You get a lot of false alarms like that?’ I ask.
‘The guards are jittery,’ Celene says. ‘We’re closer than ever to stopping Mara and that means we’re even more of a target.’
‘So far, we’ve gone undetected, though.’ Frank hands me a mug. ‘Quite an accomplishment, given the world we’re dealing with.’
Celene cradles her mug by the window, leaning against a wooden beam. She doesn’t seem to like to sit, as if relaxing for a moment will put her at a disadvantage. Frank sits on the sofa, presumably so he can watch the door. Old tricks. I can’t shake the feeling I’m among people who share my haunted mentality.
‘What’s happened to Dominic?’ I ask, perching on the arm of the sofa.
‘Dominic?’ Frank’s brow creases.
‘Domhnall,’ Celene murmurs. ‘He’ll be laid to rest later this week, when everything’s settled down.’
Frank winces as he sips his tea. ‘A shame. Some of us fight our demons, but some of us tire of fighting.’
So Frank doesn’t suspect foul play. My mother’s face is blank as a whitewashed sky, but her eyes are dark and stormy.
‘Look at us.’ Frank tuts. ‘Rumer, tell me about yourself.’
I give him a few breadcrumbs. Stale scraps of my life to satisfy his curiosity. In return, he talks about his time in the military, how he fought in some war somewhere, how Celene befriended him when he was at a low ebb, brought him here, what a wonderful woman she is.
So Celene’s into recruitment. And, going by the way she and Frank are staying on opposite sides of the room, carefully avoiding eye contact, there’s more than business between them.
‘Did you recruit everybody who lives here?’ I ask her.
‘Some of them. Most people just need a hand, a nudge in the right direction. Lots of them were homeless, or addicts, or both.’
‘And they repay you for giving them a roof over their heads by fighting the scourge of London.’
‘Basically.’
The idea of Celene as some kind of Christ figure would make me cackle if it wasn’t so sinister. Everybody here is in her debt. I wonder if she’d kick them out if they refused to fight.
‘They want to fight.’ Celene’s looking right at me, as if she’s read my mind. How does she do that? ‘The thing you have to understand is that nobody wants to be a victim. Not if they’ve been through the worst kind of degradation imaginable. People want to feel empowered, and that’s what they get here. They can stop others from suffering the way they did.’
‘And Mara’s the Golden Goose,’ I say.
‘He’s a ruthless, conniving egomaniac and he must be stopped,’ Frank says.
Because he’s on a mission to kill your girlfriend.
It’s almost sweet.
‘But killing him won’t wipe the criminal underworld clean,’ I say.
‘It’ll knock it back a few steps,’ Celene says.
‘Meanwhile, you get your revenge.’
‘I’m not doing this for revenge.’ She sounds like she means it but I smell bullshit.
‘Mara made you public enemy number one and you don’t have a problem with that?’
Celene doesn’t blink. ‘How I feel doesn’t matter. Mara’s dangerous and the police are under his thumb. It’s up to us to stop him.’
‘Because he believes a gun can make him immortal.’
‘Because he holds no regard for human life.’ She meets my gaze. ‘I know I’m the last person you’d expect to say that.’
You said it, sister.
‘I did terrible things and I live with that every day. Believe me, I do, but Mara’s a sociopath. He’s tried everything. The black market, drugs, importing weapons. At one point he traded in slaves, shipping girls over from China. Now he thinks he can harness some kind of feminine power, this transvestite act, the thing with the Crook Spear, but he’s a fraud. Nothing he does comes from a place of honesty.’
‘Do you think the Crook Spear has some kind of power?’
Her gaze is steady. ‘Rumer, none of that matters. It’s smoke and mirrors. It’s a distraction from what does matter, which is life. Freedom from fear and persecution.’
And suddenly I realise Celene knew all along that Dominic visited me last night. She knows what Dominic told me. That I could break the curse by killing her. She’s been playing me ever since she brought me here. It’s the only reason she’d start spouting all this stuff about valuing human life – because she wants me to value hers.
‘I guess so,’ I say, because what else can I say? You’re a liar. You’re only out for yourself. You’re scared I’ll take you down.
Does she think I’ll succeed? Or is she scared she’ll have to put me down, the way she thought she’d put me down all those years ago when I came out of her looking dead and purple?
Frank gets up from the sofa and goes into the kitchen. ‘I should get back to cabin one.’ He washes up his mug and leaves it on the drier. So domesticated. Does he bring order to Celene’s life? Is that why they’re together?
I try to focus on what’s important. Cabin one, that’s the base of operations around here.
‘Can I come?’ I ask.
Frank shoots Celene a look.
‘I need to go over the directives for the Mara hit,’ he says uncertainly. ‘I’m not sure–’
‘I won’t get in the way. I want to see how this place works. It’s… interesting.’ A little ego-stroking never hurt anybody. ‘Besides, I’ve been around Mara, there may be some way I can help. Not that I really know anything…’
‘Let’s all go.’ Celene sets her mug on the coffee table next to mine and goes to the door. I’d been hoping for a little alone time with Frank, a chance to pick his brains about my mother, see how much she’s brainwashed the campers, but that can wait.
On the way to cabin one, I catch Frank looking at me strangely, but I ignore it. Inside, he goes ahead of us to the operations room and unrolls a sheet of paper, laying it out on a workstation.
‘Vinter’s mansion,’ Celene says as we gather around it, a spotlight illuminating the blueprint.
I try not to look too interested, but Celene must sense I want to know how they’re going to execute the job. I’ve already shown some interest. Perhaps she thinks we’ll work through our issues and she’ll train me up next. Train me to be a killer.
‘This is the entrance hall, and this is the ballroom,’ she traces a finger over the plan. ‘Most of the guests will be in there, going by my experience of Vinter’s parties. But Mara will probably head for the collection, where Vinter keeps the Crook Spear. That’s on the first floor, here.’
My gaze runs over the whole plan. Vinter’s place is big. Like Buckingham Palace big. The kitchens are at the back, and the front of the house contains the ballroom and a couple of living rooms. The first floor has a number of smaller rooms, including a library, and one of those rooms contains the gun.
The spider in my mind cranes forward, attempting to memorise the plan.
‘How do you know the Crook Spear’s in one of those rooms?’ I ask.
‘Vinter told me about it the last time I saw him,’ Celene says.
‘Which was?’
‘A month ago, when he assured me I’d have an invitation.’ She taps the workstation. ‘The gun’s the bait. Mara will want to get up there as quickly as possible.’
‘Vinter knows you’re planning on taking Mara out at his party?’
Celene doesn’t blink. ‘As far as he’s aware, I’m coming for the kicks.’
Vinter’s in for a treat.
‘And then what? You grab Mara, cuff him and haul him out of there?’
‘I’ll be the first from camp to arrive because I have an invite,’ Celene explains. ‘Once I’m sure Mara is at the party, I’ll open the gates using the control panel in the entrance hall, letting Frank and the others in. We’ll subdue Mara and take him out through the back.’ She points to an atrium at the rear of the house that leads into the gardens.
‘What about Mara’s guards?’ They’d be pretty conspicuous at Vinter’s party in their black masks.
‘Vinter won’t allow them in. He’ll be alone.’
‘And if they force their way in?’
‘We’ll be armed,’ Frank says.
‘Okay,’ I say, filing the information away. I’ve asked too many questions already, but I’m hoping they think I’m interested in their plan, rather than forming a plan of my own. I wander to the wall with the photos and clippings. My eye’s drawn to a photo labelled Magnus Vinter. He’s undeniably Scandinavian, striking sea-green eyes set into a chiselled face, his blond hair slicked back.
Celene and Frank talk over the floorplan and the room’s starting to feel crowded, mostly with my thoughts.
‘I’m going for a walk,’ I say.
Celene looks up from the blueprint, the spotlight bright on her face. For a moment I think she looks suspicious, but then her gaze softens.
‘Be back for dinner.’
I nod and make my way through cabin one, emerging into a drizzly afternoon. I consider going back to Celene’s cabin, rooting through her bedroom, but I have no idea when she’ll be back and it’s too risky. Besides, I really do need to clear my head, so I avoid the camp, slipping into the woods. I walk for a while, my mind crowded with Mara and Bolt and my mother.
I have two nights before Vinter’s party. Plenty of time to figure out an attack plan.