W

esley took over the driving once he had navigated them out of the maze of lanes in the hills. It took him some time to stop shaking, but Ankerita seemed to take it all in her stride.

“You look very calm,” he said.

“I’ve been through a few similar situations,” she said. “Mind you, in those cases, I had a guardian angel to look after me. Perhaps it’s this car.” She patted the dashboard. “It is ‘The Chariot’ you know.”

 

Wesley concentrated on the road for a few minutes, and then fidgeted. “Is there anything to listen to?” he asked. “I hate driving without music.”

“I don’t know.”

“Have a look in the glove compartment; in front of you.”

Ankerita pulled the drawer open. “Some CDs.”

“What bands?”

She read the labels. “Karibow, Mostly Autumn, Delain, Arena, Fields of the Nephilim, Rush...”

“Sounds good,” said Wesley. “I know most of those. Stick any of them into the player.”

The music came on, and they both settled down as the car rolled along the motorway.

“My favourite music,” said Wesley.

“My head’s spinning. They had nothing like this when I was young.”

“I don’t think we have any Benedictine chants to put on instead.”

“Pity, but it was an Augustinian abbey I lived in, so I’m not too disappointed.”

 

Wesley eventually stopped the car in a leafy suburb. “We’re here.” He shook his head. “How fast was that? I don’t remember anything of the journey, do you?”

“I told you it was The Chariot,” said Ankerita. “One minute you start, the next, you’re at your destination. Is this your estate?”

“That house,” said Wesley.

“You must be living in poverty,” said Ankerita. “I was unaware the family had fallen upon hard times.”

“No, this is where we live,” Wesley retorted. “It’s comfortable, and the mortgage is paid.”

“I will see that our estates are returned to us when all this nonsense is over,” said Ankerita. “I will have money from the music. There is a lot of money in music. I will buy you a new mansion for all your help.”

“Are you going?”

“I will leave you here, and take the car.”

“I don’t know whether you will get far,” said Wesley. “We have driven many miles. Oddly though, the fuel gauge still shows full.”

“More evidence, that this is The Chariot.”

“It must be broken. I ought to refill the tank for you.”

“No need,” replied Ankerita. “I’ll take it from here.”

“You’re really going, then?”

The girl nodded, absently.

“Suppose my family don’t want me back?”

“They will. Get your bag.”

Wesley opened the boot to retrieve his things and called Ankerita. “Look, this wasn’t here when we started off, I’m sure.”

“What?”

“This bag.”

The girl got out and went to look. Beside Wesley’s rucksack was a long hold-all. “Open it,” she said. “Let’s see what treasure we have won.”

Inside, there were a collection of candlesticks, candles, chalk and pieces of cloth. “That’s useful,” said Ankerita.

“Looks like the ingredients for a Black Mass,” said Wesley. “You thinking of performing one?”

“It’s an idea,” agreed Ankerita. “Oh, who’s that?”

The front door of the house had opened. A tall rangy blonde was looking out. She gave a cry, and as Wesley went to meet her, threw her arms around his neck. She held him tightly for a long time, showering him with kisses.

“My sister, Ashley,” he said as he tried to untangle himself from her embrace. He turned to introduce Ankerita, but the Escort had already disappeared. He hadn’t heard it leave.