Something Wicked This Way Comes Read online

  “She was.” He passed me a fat roll of black sacks, but a desolate note had crept back into his voice.

  I didn’t dare mention her again. There was no platitude which would serve. Instead I asked more warily, “Is that your other half?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Oh God,” I said, horrified at myself. “He didn’t, er, too, did he?” Rob had said he was thrown from the car. Surely he’d have mentioned if the man was dead.

  “No. Fucked off rather than stay with this morbid bastard.” The glare I got was distinctly unfriendly. “So you don’t need to worry about a pair of queers living by the gate of your new wonder school.”

  Chapter Seven

  “ACTUALLY, WE have a strict nondiscrimination policy,” I snapped back. “And we run an outreach programme with at-risk LGBTQ teens.”

  “Nice for you.”

  I rode on over him, unbearably pissed off—with him, with myself for constantly making things worse, with Felix for sending me here, with the whole fucking world. “And for what it’s worth, the only reason I’m even alive today is because Felix already had a straight white boy, an Asian lesbian, and a Polish bi girl. He only needed to foster a gay black boy to complete the set and earn all the liberal Brownie points in the fucking world.”

  Forster gaped at me like I’d smacked him round the head with a cricket bat.

  Then I caught up with myself and realised I’d yet again made a fool of myself in front of this man. I muttered, “Oh shit,” and made my exit, clutching the roll of bin bags to my chest and barely managing to keep my pace to a dignified stride. If he said anything, I didn’t hear it and didn’t want to. I’d had enough of him, Vainguard, and this whole fucking mess.

  BACK AT Vainguard, I got all the way to the barmkin before I burst out in a storm of swearing. I paced the length of the dim space twice, snarling at myself, and when that didn’t relieve my temper, I hurled the roll of bin bags the length of the courtyard.

  They unravelled in mid-air, leaving a long black trail, then slammed into the door to the tower with a dull thump.

  I felt less furious and more stupid at the sight of them. What was wrong with me? I usually had more self-control than this, not to mention the fact that I didn’t think of my family that way—hadn’t doubted Felix’s motives like that since I was a kid who couldn’t trust anyone. Kasia was the one who still made sarcastic comments about him—I was the good kid Felix asked me to be.

  I went to pick up the sacks, rolling up the loose end. It wasn’t until I got to the tower door that I realised it was slightly ajar.

  That wasn’t right. I was sure Rob and I had locked it yesterday, and I hadn’t been inside yet this morning.

  Maybe we had only pulled it shut, and the hit from the bin bags had jolted it open.

  Then I remembered young Mac from the breakfast table this morning and how his eyes had gleamed when I spoke about Vainguard. Could he have come looking for me, hoping for a tour, and gone exploring? I certainly couldn’t lock the door again without checking.

  Reluctantly, I pushed the door open and called, “Mac? Are you up there?”

  There was no reply, but I remembered how muffled sound was inside the tower. If he was upstairs, he wouldn’t hear me.

  I switched on the light inside the door and stepped into the chapel. It didn’t seem quite as creepy today, just rather pitiful—an old man’s obsession with a sad childhood manifesting in the altar and the faded photograph. I started across towards the steps to the upper floors. “Mac? Anyone? You really shouldn’t be here by yourself.”

  All I heard in response was a faint scratching sound from the ceiling above—mice or a pre-teen boy who knew he was somewhere he shouldn’t be?

  I was almost at the stairs when, with a faint pop, the bulb died and darkness descended.

  With it came the fear and the knowledge—the utter relentless certainty—that whatever was upstairs had suddenly focused on me.

  I tried to shake it off, reminding myself that I was an adult, not a child scared of the dark. Squaring my shoulders, I called out briskly, “Mac, if that’s you, come down now. I’m about to lock the tower, and you’ll get trapped if you stay.”

  There was no sound, and the quality of that silence was familiar. This was the same quiet I had noticed in the woods that morning—not the silence of an empty house but that of a waiting predator.

  My hands were shaking.

  Okay, time to get out of here, for the sake of my own mental stability if nothing else. Not that there was anything else to worry about. This was nothing more than another round of Leon’s childhood trauma coming out to play. I took a fumbling step forward. I still couldn’t see the door—not even a hint of light to suggest where it might be.

  But it was only a small room. If I followed the wall round, I would find either the door or the stairs. It was impossible to get lost in a single room.

  I took another careful step forward, my hands outstretched. Why was there no light? Had the outer door swung shut?

  Oh God, was I trapped in here?

  The hell I was. There were still the stairs. If worse came to worst, I’d stand on the roof and holler until Forster came and rescued me again. The thought of how mortifying that would be motivated me, and I put more force into my next step. Then I promptly tripped over a bench, knocking it over. I landed hard on my knees, but my hands hit the wall before my face could. I swore, then laughed at myself, because the whole situation was just ridiculous.

  And for a moment, I thought someone else laughed with me, a lower, wetter sound than I could ever make.

  I froze.

  No one was there—no laughter, no sound of breathing, not even the scuff of a sole against the cold stone floor.

  But I was convinced I was not alone.

  Humans are strange creatures. We behave as if we’re kings of the world, the ultimate predators, but put us alone in the dark and our instincts remind us what we really are when we lose the power to hurt others—weak, hairless mammals with brains too quick for our weak limbs.

  Prey.

  Every instinct told me not to move, to curl up tight against the wall and wait until something else died in my place.

  But that was illogical, irrational… stupid. There was nothing there, and I needed to get out of the room.

  I pressed my hands to the cold, cold wall and began to feel my way along. The room was round. I simply had to keep going until I reached the door.

  The first few movements were terrifying, and the fact that my fear was completely baseless did nothing to ease it. If anything, it made it worse. With nothing here to be afraid of, still the hairs rose on the back of my neck. I kept every movement slow, tried to breathe shallowly, wrapped my fingers in my belt to tug my jeans up so the hems wouldn’t brush against the floor. I was sweating, but the back of my neck felt as cold as ice.

  But there was nothing there. I knew there was nothing there.

  I didn’t believe that knowledge.

  Nothing happened, and I grew bolder. My instincts still told me there was something standing in the middle of the room, but logic overcame panic, and I moved faster and faster, with more and more confidence, hand over hand against the wall which sucked the heat out of every touch.

  My foot brushed something hard. I froze, then reached back slowly.

  It was the end of the same bench I had fallen over. I had come full circle around the room.

  Impossible. There was a door, a stairway—I couldn’t have missed them.

  Behind me, something brushed faintly against the stone floor, as if someone standing in the middle of the room had turned to face me.

  I flung myself back into motion. I’d somehow missed the door in my panic, but this time I’d find it—this time I’d get out.

  I lost count of how many times I felt my way around that room in the darkness. By the third time, I was almost hyperventilating, fighting to control every breath.

  And every time I reached the fallen bench again,
I heard the faintest, almost imperceptible, scuff of boots on stone a little closer than before.

  At the time, I didn’t think to wonder what it was. People talk about the banality of evil, use the word monster in reference to human beings casually and easily, as if it were an everyday word to use on a sunlit street.

  I know that sort of evil exists too, but the thing that was in the lightless chapel with me was something else—something ancient and vicious and hungry. Something wicked had come my way.

  And it was playing with me.

  Eventually, I stopped and turned my face against the icy stones of the wall. How was I supposed to keep going when I got nowhere by trying? What was the point of courage if I was going to fail anyway?

  Then, like an unexpected benediction, a warm hand closed around my wrist and a familiar voice roared, “Get out of there!”

  Niall Forster dragged me to my feet, and somehow I made my legs move enough to stumble after him through the darkness. I still couldn’t see, but I could hear him urging me on, pulling me out and out until the heat of the sun hit my face.

  My knees crumpled. The world remained in darkness around me.

  Strong hands seized my shoulders, holding me up. “Leon. Breathe.”

  It was only then I realised I was still gasping, drawing in long choking breaths.

  “Breathe in for five—one, two, three….”

  I tried, but my shoulders were shaking too much for the breaths to be steady.

  “Are you asthmatic? Nod or shake your head.”

  I shook my head, but the simple medical matter-of-factness of the question steadied me, brought me closer to the real world again.

  “Just panicking, then, aye? Keep with the slow breathing, then. In, two, three, four….”

  I let him take over until I had enough breath to say, “I can’t see.”

  He lifted one hand from my shoulder while sliding the other to cup the back of my neck and tilted my chin up. His hands were warm, callused, and broad. They felt good, and I relaxed a little more.

  “Can’t see anything wrong,” he said.

  “Nor can I,” I said, “which is the problem.”

  I got one of those grunted laughs of his, and that helped too, chasing out the memory of that quiet, nameless thing in the chapel. It was all beginning to fade now, and I wasn’t quite sure what had happened. Had it been a hallucination or just a very vivid panic attack? What was wrong with me?

  Well, I knew the answer to that. I swallowed hard and said, because he deserved an explanation after two rescues in two days, “I’m sorry. I’m really not like this most of the time. This part of the world holds some very bad memories for me, and it’s affecting me more than I anticipated. I’m usually quite a capable human being.”

  His warm hand on the back of my neck was the most comforting thing I’d felt in years. I had to fight the urge to pitch forward and wrap my arms around him. I would have killed for a hug right then, and the nearest person likely to give me one was hundreds of miles away.

  “You’re very good at calming people down,” I added.

  “I put shoes on horses for a living. Reckon if it works on them, it might work on you.”

  “Compliment accepted,” I said dryly and was rewarded with another laugh. “And thank you. I—I’m not sure what happened, really. The bulb went, and I panicked. Thought there was something in there.”

  “Took me too long to find you. I came after you, but I thought you’d be in the bungalow or one of the big rooms. Took me a while to notice the tower door was ajar.”

  “I thought it had closed on me,” I said, startled. “I couldn’t find it.”

  “It was open.” There was a new grim note in his voice. “And if you have any sense, you’ll chain it shut and get the hell out of here. I keep telling you—this is no place for children.”

  That suddenly reminded me why I had been in the tower in the first place. “I was looking for one of the kids from the guesthouse. I was sure I heard someone in there. He was showing interest this morning, and the door shouldn’t have been open.”

  “American family with the big four-by-four? They drove past the lodge just before you got there. I saw both kids in the back. There’s no one in the tower.”

  “But I thought—”

  “There was no one there. Only you.”

  That was a relief, and I sagged a little more, but it also left me even less certain of myself. Still, the panic had almost faded now. My sight was turning pale around the edges, and I was drained and exhausted, my head pounding. I dreaded going back inside.

  “Was there—could you see anything in the room? An animal? I thought—”

  “Just you.”

  I sighed, fighting the urge to sway forward and lean on him. The man already thought I was crazy and had shown no sign of liking me at all. The fact that he kept rescuing me didn’t mean I had any claim on him. I just wanted someone who—

  Dear God, how had I fallen to pieces so fast? I was perfectly happy with my life, single status and all. I wasn’t so feeble I couldn’t cope without a broad shoulder to cry on. In fact, in all my previous relationships, I had been the one my boyfriends leant on. I was the strong one. I didn’t need—

  “How’s the sight?”

  “Coming back.” It was, and I looked up. My vision was still blurry at the edges, but it was getting clearer by the second. I focused on his face, the little line between his brows as he frowned down at me, the lift of his hair as it curled slightly off his brow, the slight quirk of his lips as he studied me.

  I hadn’t noticed the exact colour of his eyes before. They were a clear light blue that seemed at odds with his surly manners. I’d expected something darker and more glowering.

  His gaze met mine, and he swallowed quickly. I wouldn’t have noticed it if he wasn’t so close, but we were mere inches apart, and I felt the slight clench of his fingers on my neck.

  Oh. Oh, that was what this was.

  Our eyes locked as my pulse quickened.

  Then, before I could even think to sway forward, a car horn blared from the end of the drive.

  “Oh crap,” Forster muttered. “Lazy Bastard.”

  What? I blinked at him.

  He let go of my neck and obviously saw my expression. “It’s the name of a horse.”

  “Right.”

  “Ten-thirty appointment—hoof trim and clean.” He glared at me as if it were my fault we’d been interrupted. “Don’t go into that damn chapel alone again.”

  “Wasn’t planning to.” I took a breath, not sure what I was about to say next—ask him to dinner, tell him to back off, something inane to change the subject?

  The horn sounded again, impatiently. He rolled his eyes, muttered, “Fussy cow,” and took off at a jog.

  I watched him go, and everything I’d noticed but not quite registered about him before suddenly clicked together: blue eyes, broad shoulders, the sheer physical presence of him, and not just that but the fact that both times he had found me in distress, he had put his usual snarls aside to help. In short, he was gorgeous, decent, and almost as fucked-up as I was.

  Was it any wonder I’d been almost swooning into his arms?

  “Pull it together, Leon,” I said out loud. If I could get logic to overrule lust, it was clearly a bad idea to be attracted to the angry neighbour whose personal tragedies intersected with mine in the worst possible way, especially when I was increasingly sure I’d be back in Sussex within a week.

  “Shag someone inappropriate and marry some bloke who adores you,” Kasia had said. One out of two might not be a bad way to spend a summer.

  Okay, that was both a really terrible idea and quite a jump from one heated look.

  All the same, I was pleasantly distracted as I headed back into Vainguard to pick up my discarded roll of black sacks.

  And yet again, that certainty crept over me that I was being watched. I backed away from the entrance to the chapel, one step at a time, until I reached the main doors,
and fled inside to find my phone and tablet and get back to work.

  Chapter Eight

  I SPENT the rest of the morning in the bungalow, filling up sacks of rubbish as I sorted everything else into rough piles. It felt horribly intrusive pawing through a dead stranger’s possessions like this. I couldn’t face the bedroom and the piles of musty, unwashed clothes, but once I’d cleared the kitchen surfaces, I scrubbed them down and emptied every cupboard. Anything that had spoilt, was out of date, or open went in the bin, but the remainder of the tins and packets I put aside. I’d have to check and see if a local food bank wanted them.

  I took my phone outside to give myself a break from the sweltering, stale atmosphere and whiled away a few minutes sitting against the wall within reach of the bungalow’s Wi-Fi signal, checking my email and looking up the days for rubbish collection. Then I checked the time, realised it was after one, and decided to go in search of food.

  After yesterday, I didn’t fancy driving back to the village, even along the main road, and I needed supplies anyway. I locked up Vainguard, creeping out of the back door in a rather shamefaced way, and headed off down the drive, reasoning that my nerves were not on my side today so another walk through the woods might be unwise.

  My decision was, of course, in no way influenced by my curiosity about the man who lived by my gates. I turned around the front of the lodge towards the sound of Forster’s voice, low and murmuring.

  I knew of horses, of course, in the way anyone who drives or walks along country lanes does. I had colleagues who rode at the weekend and was even on nose-patting terms with the pony whose enclosure butted onto the school field. But I had never ridden a horse or thought much about the care they needed. Yet I was strangely fascinated by the scene I stumbled across. Forster crouched by the horse’s rear leg, its foot resting between his thighs. He was tapping a nail into place, quick and confident, and I watched as he then clipped the end off where it protruded out of the side of the hoof. He then repeated the process on the other side.