Credit where credit's due:
The characters and premise of
Poltergeist: the Legacy
were created by Trilogy Entertainment and are copyright
© MGM/UA Distribution Co Inc.
"Lord of the Rings" is by J R R Tolkien
The lines of poetry are by Percy Bysshe Shelley and William
Butler Yeats.
The quote about the Green Man is taken from "Santa Claus: last
of the Wild Men" by Phyllis Siefker.
"The Horniman Rag" is a real song, taken from a 78 (one of
those brittle, black, flat things that you played with a
sharpened needle on a wind-up gramophone) I don't know who
wrote it.
The rest I take the blame for.
It had been an afternoon of apologies and tedious minutes, of
budgets, business strategies and marketing plans, nothing out
of the ordinary for the quarterly meeting between the
management and trustees of the Museum. Derek Rayne had
suffered the ordeal in silence for the most part, only adding
to the arguments when his input had been essential. Now he sat
in the building's coffee-shop, massaging the bridge of his
nose in a futile attempt to shift a niggling headache and
watching the steam rise from a cup of black coffee. Sometimes
he paused here to sample one of their notable cakes, a
cinnamon danish, perhaps, or a cherry torte; today he could
stomach nothing more than strong coffee. Over three hours
wasted on a meeting that had achieved precious little, Derek
reflected, with only one item on the agenda that had captured
his full attention, a request to reproduce some items of the
Museum's jewellery collection for sale in the shop.
"...we ve found someone to make the original castings for us."
the woman in charge of merchandising, Madeleine Morrigan, had
said. "A silversmith from Paris, although I first saw her work
at an exhibition in Boston. She designs intricate Celtic
knotwork pieces and the most amazing talismans set with exotic
stones. We've drawn up a list of pendants and rings that we
feel would work well - one is an amulet from your father's
collection, Dr Rayne."
Derek had glanced at the list, frowning as he reached the
item - pendant, gold and enamel, foliate mask, copy of a
mediaeval cloister carving, European, c 1890. "The Green Man?"
"It's a lovely thing, isn't it? Such subtle shades of green,
and set with garnets and black onyx - we're sure it would be a
top seller..."
"No." That absolute denial had earned him many stares of
disapproval from around the table. "It has an unhappy history,
so much so that some people believe it to be cursed. I
couldn't sanction selling copies of it to the public."
There had been a smattering of argument, of course, but the
outcome was never in question. This committee were well aware
that lesser mortals would never prevail against Dr Rayne when
he wore
that
particular expression, so they did the decent thing and gave
in. The Green Man was scratched from the list.
A petty victory in an insignificant war. Derek sighed,
closing his eyes in another effort to shake the ache behind
them. Music played in the background, a brisk, overly-cheerful
tune that he found annoying. It called up some lines from his
memory - ".... met my love in the Horniman Museum. 'Twas her
little turned-up nose, in amongst the curios, got me doing,
doing the Horniman Rag." Where had he learnt that scrap of
nonsense? Long ago and far away, in a time so distant it might
as well have been another life. Green Man, Horniman - he half-
smiled at the poetic echoes, thinking that he must be tired
for his mind to wander so.
As he left the Museum a woman ran past him up the steps and,
in the breeze of her passing, his intuition whispered into
life. It was too transient and insubstantial to call a
warning, merely a shiver of unease. Derek turned, too slow to
catch more than a fleeting impression of the focus of his
disturbance, a graceful figure in dark clothing, with a cloud
of pale copper hair. As he tried to analyse this fruit of his
psychic gift, a windfall from the tree of hidden knowledge,
the cell-phone chirped in his pocket. He flipped it open to
answer "Derek Rayne."
"There's been an accident..."
"Rachel?" he had to ask it, her voice was so husky with
terror and pain that she sounded like a stranger. "What's
happened?"
"It's Kat... Her school rang me... She fell, she's
unconscious, they were taking her to hospital..."
"Rachel, where are you now?"
"At my office..."
"Stay there." he didn't allow her to argue. "I'll pick you
up. I'm at the Museum, so I can be with you very soon."
"Please hurry... " she broke the connection.
She was waiting when he pulled in to the kerb, drifting from
foyer to street and back again like a restless spirit, too
anxious to stay in one place. She ran to the Range Rover,
hauling the door open almost before he'd brought the vehicle
to rest. She looked worse than she'd sounded on the phone, her
face pale and pinched with fear. How love hurts us, Derek
thought, how we suffer for it - and none more so than a
mother's anguish when something threatens the life of her
child.
Rachel glanced at him, then fixed her eyes on the road.
"Drive." was all she said.
He pulled back into the traffic, letting her hide her fears
behind silence for a time. "What happened?"
"The teacher I spoke to didn't seem very sure of the
details." Rachel sounded calm; few would realise just how much
effort and professional skill went into the act. "Kat was on
the main staircase when she fell. When the nurse couldn't
rouse her, they called 911."
"There was no suggestion it was anything but an accident?"
"Did she fall or was she pushed?" she shook her head. "Derek,
why must you write evil into everything? No, there was no
suggestion of malice. The school say that they'll fully
investigate the incident. I think they're afraid of being sued
for negligence."
When they reached the hospital the emergency room was in a
perfectly-choreographed state of chaos, the aftermath of a
three-vehicle crash. It took Derek some time to extract the
information they wanted; that Kat had arrived about thirty
minutes before them, that she was still unconscious but
stable, and that she was presently having a CT scan before
going up to the ward.
"You'd do best to go get some coffee and wait until they have
her settled before you see her." the receptionist said,
kindly. "They won't let you in to the scanning room."
Waiting was the last thing Rachel needed to do, but Derek
steered her into the canteen, sat her down, put coffee in
front of her. While she stared into the depths of the cup, he
used the cell-phone to call the Legacy house. Alex picked up.
"It's Derek." he cut in. "I'm at the hospital with Rachel.
Kat's hurt - we don't know how badly yet."
"Oh, no... " he heard the fear in her voice and knew that her
thoughts mirrored his own. To lose a husband and a son, to
suffer so much, and now this. "Do you want us to join you
there?"
"Yes." They had nothing more than routine cases to follow up
on this week, no supernatural threat to life and limb to
divide them in this time of crisis. "It could be a long
night."
As he ended the call, he was aware of a woman approaching
their table, hesitant but with an air of purpose. Fair hair
cut into an easy if unflattering style, unfussy, sensible
clothes, age around the mid-thirties, she looked as out of
place here as they were. She radiated anxiety - not a member
of staff then. She hovered for a moment, then took the plunge.
"Dr Corrigan?"
Rachel barely glanced up. "Yes." The woman looked doubtfully
at Derek, not wanting to be rude and ask who he was outright,
not daring to make any awkward assumptions. He took pity on
her. "I'm Derek Rayne, one of Dr Corrigan's colleagues."
"Claire Hamilton." she didn't smile. "I teach at your
daughter's school, Dr Corrigan. I came with Katherine in the
ambulance."
"Sit down." Rachel said, more an order than an offer. "Can
you tell us exactly what happened?"
"Yes. By pure chance I was watching and I saw everything. She
and a group of her friends were coming down the staircase,
when Katherine suddenly stopped, looked up and fell. She
seemed to be unconscious before she hit the floor - was she
subject to fainting fits?"
"Not at all. You're sure that no-one pushed her?"
"No, nothing like that. Nobody was near her at the time. She
was quite isolated."
"You mentioned that she looked up at something before she
fell?"
"There was nothing there - well, nothing that I could see."
Miss Hamilton frowned. "There was an odd expression on her
face though, not quite fear... more like confusion. If I had
to describe it, the word I'd choose would have to be
puzzlement."
"Puzzlement?" Rachel frowned. She'd seen that on Derek's face
from time to time, and Alex's, when their Sight kicked them
sideways, out of the mundane world, but Kat was just a child.
True, she had strange dreams sometimes and screwy feelings,
but Rachel refused to believe that she'd been burdened by the
Gift.
"Yes, I thought it was odd." the woman shifted in her chair,
uncomfortable under their scrutiny. "We'll fully investigate
the incident, of course - examine the stairs for
irregularities and so forth. I'll keep you informed of our
progress."
"We'd be glad of that." Derek replied, when Rachel remained
silent.
"How is your daughter?" the teacher asked. "Is she awake
now?"
Rachel sighed. "They haven't let us see her yet."
Claire Hamilton smiled with well-meant sympathy. "I'm sure
she'll be fine. If you don't mind, I'll take my leave now. It
was good to meet you, Dr Corrigan, Mr Rayne - I just wish that
the circumstances had been more pleasant."
Rachel watched the woman leave. "Do you think she was telling
us all of the truth?"
"I'm sure she didn't lie to us." he reached across the table
to squeeze her hand. "Don't tell me that you're seeing demons
now? Isn't that my job?"
She almost smiled. "Could we go up to the ward now?"
At the nurses station on the third floor they were directed
towards a dark-haired weary-looking woman, Kat's physician.
"Dr Ellen Lopez." she shook hands distractedly with Rachel,
then Derek. "Are you the husband?"
He masked a smile. "I'm afraid not."
"My husband is dead." Rachel said tightly. "This is Dr Derek
Rayne - we work together."
"Sorry." Dr Lopez ducked her shoulders as if avoiding a blow.
"So many degrees and titles - such a gathering of knowledge
should count for something, be a magnet for truth, perhaps,
and yet what I have to tell you is so nebulous, so unfixed.
Your daughter is still unconscious, but stable, as far as we
can tell. We found only minor trauma - bumped elbows and
bruised knees, which fits in with her history of a recent
fall. There's no evidence of head injury and the CAT scan is
negative, which is puzzling, since it gives us no reason for
the depth and duration of her coma."
"Have you done any blood tests for drugs?" Derek asked,
ignoring Rachel's horror at the question.
"She's just a child, Dr Rayne..."
"I don't mean to suggest that Kat would ever take anything
willingly, but we shouldn't rule out pranks or other mischief.
This may even have been a botched kidnap attempt - Dr
Corrigan's association with the Luna Foundation would make Kat
a likely target."
He saw the sudden hardness in Rachel's eyes, instant denial
swept aside as she recognised the truth in his words. Derek
didn't need to be a mind-reader to guess her thoughts -
another threat to Kat's life, not because she was linked to
the Luna Foundation but because she was too close to the
Legacy.
"I'll run the tests." the medic agreed. "At the very least it
would explain why we can't wake her."
"Can we see her?" Rachel demanded.
"Of course. We have some monitors on her and a drip, but
nothing more invasive than that." Dr Lopez conducted them to
the cubicle door. "Go straight in."
Kat looked tiny in the big white bed, her hair loose across
the pillow, her eyes closed, her face still - as fragile and
vulnerable as a sleeping china doll.
"Oh, little girl...!" Rachel stumbled across the room to take
her daughter's hand, the words catching in her throat like a
sob.
"I'll leave you with her." the doctor said, and Derek,
trapped between the bed and the door, feeling as awkward as
hell, wondered if he should follow. Perhaps it would be better
to leave Rachel alone with her grief, at least until the
others arrived...
"Derek." Rachel was back in control once more, beckoning him
to come forward. He did, taking Kat's left hand in his. It was
so small, and it felt limp and rather cold. The precept's ring
glinted on his finger and he realised that Rachel was staring
down at it with disapproval - or was that just a hint of
hatred? - in her eyes.
"Well?" she said. "All those magic powers of yours - do they
tell you anything?"
Derek took a deep breath, clenched his eyes shut and
'reached' into the heart of his talent. The intuition was
dumb, its doors locked and bolted against him. Like any cat,
the Sight would never come when it was called - only on its
own terms, unasked-for, not summoned. He loosened his grip on
Kat's hand and shook his head. "Nothing. I'm sorry..."
The disappointment in her eyes was more hurtful than anything
she could have said. They stood in silence for some time and
Derek could have wished for a rock to crawl under.
Unaware of the ripples of anxiety spreading around her, Kat dreams. She stands on a road in twilight, with night at her back and no hope of morning ahead. Grey moorland surrounds her, a bleak and barren landscape, empty and silent. The sky is as grey as the land, dull and leaden, devoid of sun, moon and stars. In the far distance stands a tree, forlorn and broken, lightning-struck. With a dreadful feeling of doom, Kat begins to walk towards it.
Derek slid back into wakefulness, aware of light, of noise and
bustle around him and of a nagging pain in the back of his
neck. Someone shifted on the bench beside him - Nick. Had he
been there all night, Derek wondered, wary and awake, assuming
his role as bodyguard?
"I brought coffee" Nick lifted a plastic cup. "Well, that's
an exaggeration - it's a hot brown liquid claiming to be
coffee. Stiff neck?"
"Yes. These chairs were not designed for comfort." Derek
stretched and massaged the odd aches from various parts of his
anatomy. "How's Kat?"
"No change. Rachel's still at her side."
"We shouldn't leave Rachel alone - one of us must be with her
at all times." Derek said. "For as long as this takes."
"We owe Rachel that much." Nick agreed. "Alex has been awake
with her for most of the night - maybe I'd better take the
day-shift?"
"Good idea - and send Alex back to the island to get some
rest."
"Uh-uh! You re the boss - you send her back. She won't listen
to me - you know Alex!"
"All right... " the cell-phone warbled in his pocket again,
messenger of ill-omen. "What now?"
It was Security at the Museum with more bad news; on their
morning rounds they had found an item missing from the Winston
Rayne collection. When they told him which one, Derek felt
suddenly cold - the foliate-mask pendant.
"The last thing we need at the moment is a re-run of the
fiasco with that bloody bell." Nick observed, when he heard
the news.
"I hope it won't come to that." Derek stood up, shaking the
creases out of his coat. "I have to investigate it, of course.
Give my apologies to Rachel, and see if you can't reason with
Alex, eh?"
"Just my luck - another tough assignment!" Nick complained,
but he was smiling as Derek left the hospital.
When he reached the gallery that housed Winston's collection,
Franklin, the head of Security was waiting for him, and so was
Madeleine Morrigan.
"I can't believe this is happening." she said. "Only
yesterday we were talking about this piece - and today it's
gone... That's too much of a coincidence for my taste."
Derek went over to the glass case. Nothing was broken,
nothing appeared to have been disturbed, yet where the Green
Man should have been was a rectangle of white card with a
single line of neat black print - 'removed for cleaning'.
"Clever trick." Franklin acknowledged. "Didn't work. My man
was too sharp for that - he checked with the guys down in
Restoration. The thief obviously wanted to buy some time, to
disguise the fact that the jewel was missing. My guess is that
it was taken by a pro - there's no damage to the lock and no
apparent tampering."
"Fingerprints?"
"Not a one." the security man scowled. "We're running through
yesterday's tapes to see if the cameras captured anything."
They went down to the basement where a trio of staff were
sifting through the video records, alternating between real-
time and fast-play. The museum visitors danced acrossthe
screens like actors in an old jerky black-and-white film.
"I'm afraid there wasn't much activity in that particular
gallery." Franklin admitted. "Never is - it's only of interest
to a discerning minority."
Derek found the screen that offered the best view of the
plundered case and watched the random movements of the public
around it. Nothing caught his eye until one figure paused
there for a long period of time, a tall woman with long hair.
"There - run that through slowly."
The magic of technology turned back Time itself and she bent
over the glass again, leaning in close to peer at the pendant,
then she brought a pad out of her bag and began to sketch it.
Her soft, unruly curls drifted across her face and she pushed
them back impatiently. Derek placed her then, the woman who
had brushed past him on the steps. Even in poor definition and
grainy monochrome, she was very lovely.
"Oh, her." Franklin said, grinning like a wolf. "She's
starred in a lot of our footage this past week - the boys are
getting quite fond of her. Always so serious, always
scribbling away on that pad of hers. It's a shame she doesn't
smile more often - she's a stunner."
Madeleine glanced past them. "That's our silversmith, Dr
Rayne. Her name's Elise DuBois."
"Do you have a contact address for her?" Derek asked.
"You can't suspect her of taking that piece of jewellery!"
protested the video-operator. "Look - she doesn't open the
case, she doesn't even touch the lock..."
Franklin patted his man on the shoulder. "Take it easy -
we're not at the finger-pointing stage yet. Is this the only
section of the tape she's on?"
"Yeah - I've already run it through to the end. She stays
ten, twelve minutes, about average for one of her sketches."
That unease was niggling at Derek again, forcing him into a
decision. "I'd still like to talk to her."
"I only have a phone number for her." Madeleine frowned. "I
suppose I could track down her address."
"Do you want us to call in the police over this, doctor?"
Franklin demanded.
"No, not yet. Let's work on in ourselves for a day or so, and
see if we can come up with any leads." Derek said. "After all,
despite its historical worth, the piece doesn't have much
intrinsic value. Its loss is a nuisance rather than a
disaster."
"A nuisance I could have done without." Franklin sighed.
"Let's hope we can get it back in one piece." Madeleine
added. "It's a most attractive thing. I have to confess that
jewellery of that period is one of my passions. I'd miss the
little fellow if he's lost forever."
Under an unchanging sky, Kat walks. The road, which seemed so
straight when she first saw it, twists and turns, rises and
falls, until she loses all sense of direction. Time passes,
yet stands still. Against her will she moves on, drawn ever
towards the struck tree. As she nears it she notes another
feature in this barren landscape, a single standing stone. A
little knot of fear settles on her heart.
When she reaches them, she halts. To the right of the road
stands the tree, blackened and dead, a carbonised skeleton.
The stone is on her left, as tall as a man and as pale as
bone, its surface carved into complex spirals, now worn down
by the wind and crusted with green lichen. Kat sighs and gazes
hopelessly across the endless grey moor. Nothing moves there,
nor in the empty pewter sky. When she glances back to the
road, a figure stands before her.
Kat squeaks in surprise. The man - it must be a man, since
it's too tall and broad-shouldered to be otherwise - wears a
dusty black cloak with a hood pulled so far down over his eyes
that she can't see his face. His boots are caked with mud and
dull metal glints under the ragged hem of his cloak. Kat
guesses that he's wearing armour, probably chain-mail. His
outline seems odd to her until she realises that it's
distorted by something long and heavy hanging at his side - a
sword perhaps?
"What brings you here so late?" says the knight on the road.
His voice makes her jump. It's as soft as marshmallow, as
gentle as a soft spring breeze, yet the sound of it turns her
ice-cold.
"Well, child? Cat got your tongue?" the figure lets out an
impatient sigh, then repeats its question. "What brings you
here so late?"
"Uh, I suppose I'm looking for someone." The thought crosses
her mind that she might run away - but where to? There's only
the moor and the road, the stone and the blasted tree, and the
sinister cloaked figure blocking her path. Kat squares her
shoulders and stands her ground.
Alex surfaced from grey, formless dreams, breathless, her
heart thudding madly in her chest. She fumbled for the lamp,
slow to find the switch. The light didn't ease her fear much
and she lay still, panting, listening to the rain lashing
against her window. Thunder growled in the distance, far out
to sea; closer to her she could hear the small creaks and
dusty sighs of the old house, as if it shivered and hunched
its eaves against the wind, muttering in protest at the storm.
She had grown accustomed to its little noises, this Legacy
house which had seen wonders and terrors alike, which had
witnessed great evil and yet survived, more or less intact if
not unchanged, much as its inhabitants were. Neither the storm
nor the murmurings of the house were the focus of her fear,
and her dreams had been too nebulous to account for it. She
slid out of the sweat-dewed sheets, wrapped her robe about her
and parted the heavy curtains enough to look down into the
gardens. There was little to see through the heavy rain, even
when the sudden blink of lightning floodlit the lawns.
The sound that had woken her came again, a thin, high wail
that prickled the hair at the back of her neck and made her
heart flutter in her throat. An inhuman cry, fierce and
unfettered, it spoke to her of freedom, of the pure, clear joy
of the wilderness. There was menace in it, a raw edge of ugly
threat. Alex leaned closer to the window and, as the moon
broke free of the storm-wrack of clouds, she saw a dark shape
crouching on the terrace, its head thrown back. It howled
again and she could swear that it was looking directly at her
- for a moment she saw the red glint of its eyes and the pale
loll of its tongue, then it turned and loped away, lost in
darkness as the moon's bright face was covered again.
"A dog?" Nick frowned, when she told her story at breakfast.
All three of them were there, since Rachel was being minded by
Emily, Kat's current baby-sitter.
"Or a wolf." The memory still unsettled her.
"There are no dogs on the island." Nick said. "And absolutely
no wolves."
"Describe it again." Derek wore that distant look of his, the
one that always made her think that he was searching through
dusty trunks and forgotten tea-chests in the attic of his
memory.
"It was big and black and I was a-feared of it!" Even trying
to turn it into a joke didn't help. "As big as a Newfoundland
and as black as the pit, gaunt and shaggy, with red eyes, like
burning coals. I only saw it for a moment, but it howled at
least three times."
There was nothing on the security tapes, even when Nick ran
through all of the cameras from all angles. When they checked
the terrace they found a single paw-print as wide as her palm,
so perfectly preserved in a patch of mud at the edge of a
puddle that it might have been left there on purpose.
"I'll check the perimeter fence and see if the man on the
gate saw anything." Nick said, grim-faced. "It could be
dangerous to have a big, vicious brute loose in the grounds."
"Take a cast of this." Derek ordered. "Frankly, I'm surprised
to find physical evidence of Alex's spectral hound. Black dogs
aren't usually as solid. They crop up in folklore right across
Europe; as the Bargvest and Padfoot, which are reputed to be
shape-shifting demons in canine form, as witches' familiars,
as leaders of the Wild Hunt and fairy-companions, even as
treasure guardians and ghostly protectors. Mostly they're
regarded as evil, as emissaries of the devil."
"It sure felt evil." Alex shivered, remembering the feral
glitter of its eyes on her and the way it had lolled its
tongue as if laughing.
"Shape-shifting demon-dogs?" Nick shook his head, turning
back to the house in search of plaster of paris. "And it's
only Wednesday!"
True to her word, Madeleine Morrigan had tracked down her
elusive silversmith and faxed over the address. Mam'selle
DuBois lived on the edge of Chinatown, in a once-derelict
warehouse that had been lovingly converted into a series of
studio apartments and leased to artists. Three full-sized
trees grew in the central courtyard under a dome of glass,
with chairs and tables scattered beneath them, the trappings
of an informal cafe run by the members of this bohemian
community. Derek walked across paving splashed with vivid sun,
moon and star-shaped pools of light, cast down from the
stained glass high over his head and, in spite of everything,
his mood lightened a fraction. A girl sitting cross-legged
under one of the trees, sketching a group of laughing diners,
was happy to tell him that the woman who made really neat
earrings lived in unit seventeen, in back of the building, on
the second floor. He found it easily, but hesitated for a full
minute before jangling on the absurd antique bell-pull. There
was no response for so long that he was ringing it again when
the door opened.
He scarcely recognised the elegant figure from the museum
steps - her auburn hair was twisted up close to her head and
knotted at the nape of her neck, and she wore faded jeans and
a torn khaki T-shirt, both of which bore random scorch-marks.
Up close he saw that she possessed that disturbing, disarming
kind of beauty that makes men turn and stare in the street. A
two- edged sword, Derek mused, inspiring jealousy as much as
admiration, frightening away as many friends and lovers as it
attracted - those blessed with such looks usually led solitary
and lonely lives.
"Yes?" Even in that single word he could hear a trace of her
accent. She looked directly into his eyes and, for one dizzy
instant he had an impression that her intense gaze had laid
bare everything about him, past and future, open and
concealed. She didn't smile.
"I'm Derek Rayne." he held a hand out to her, his left, a
gesture which usually threw most right-handers into awkward
panic, but old habits are hard to break. "And you, I believe,
are Elise DuBois?"
"C'est moi." Did she hesitate for a moment before shaking his
hand? Now she did smile, just with her lips - it never reached
her eyes, which were as green as the little apples God didn't
make. Too bright to be natural, he thought, with little
charity. Must be contacts. "Sorry to take so long to reach the
door. I'm working, in the middle of setting some stones."
''If this is a bad time. ..?"
"Not at all. Come in... " she let him step past her and
closed the door. The room was large and bright, an open-plan
living area divided into segments by its furniture. "Help
yourself to some coffee. I need five minutes, maybe ten to
finish the piece, then I can give you my full attention."
Without waiting for an answer, she was gone, slipping through
a door to his right. Derek shook his head, bemused that she
hadn't asked who he was, what he wanted. In front of him was
the kitchen, behind a breakfast bar. The coffee was easy - he
found a battered percolator on the stove with a pan of warm
milk beside it, and huge continental cups on a rack by the
sink. He'd expected a bitter French roast, perhaps with
chicory, but it was Viennese, rich and sweet, cut with figs.
Sipping it, he stepped into the next room and stopped dead,
overwhelmed by the vast space and brilliant light.
"Impressive, isn't it?" the silversmith glanced up from her
workbench, which was set close the the wall of glass that
flooded the place with sunlight. "You'd need to be a sculptor
to do it justice, I think, or a painter - someone whose art
was monolithic or worked on a broad canvas. I fill it poorly,
just me and my little trinkets."
Derek joined her at the table, pulling up a stool. She was
claw-setting gems in a silver pendant, pale blue and green
stones like drops of coloured water, delicately tapping them
into place with a punch and tiny hammer. A dozen other
talismans nestled on black velvet in the centre of the bench,
each shaped like a five-pointed star, pretty, ornate things,
wound about with tiny, pale-green sculpted leaves, all akin to
each other and yet none identical. "Thirteen pentacles?"
"I took the commission from a local coven." Elise DuBois
said, with a shrug. "They ordered thirteen silver amulets
enhanced with green gold and set with beryl, aquamarine,
moonstone and pearl, to be ready tonight. They want to bless
them under the full moon at their esbat."
Derek raised an eyebrow. "White witches?"
"I doubt that the other kind would have chosen anything so
tasteful." she chuckled, a surprisingly low and earthy sound.
"I did have to agree to some rather odd conditions though; the
silver had to be smelted at a particular phase of the moon,
and I had to light hideous coral-pink candles all around the
room, burn some kind of foul incense that smelt like elvish
socks and indulge in some ridiculous throat-curdling chanting.
As if that wasn't enough, the finished pieces had to be washed
thrice in spring-water and a concoction of weird herbs. They
even specified how much blood I should add to the silver."
"Human blood?"
"No, not human." her grin was sudden and impish, and her eyes
glittered green within, like a cat's. "I used mine."
Franklin had been right - she was stunning when she smiled.
"And it didn't bother you, following all those strange
instructions?"
"Mais, non." Again that gallic shrug. "However foolish I
think them, who am I to step on other people's beliefs?" she
set the last gem to her satisfaction, wiped her fingerprints
from the pendant with a scrap of cloth and settled it with its
sisters. "I'm done now. Shall we go back through to the other
room?"
They sat at a small round table next to an open window, with
the warm breeze and the cheerful noises of the street wafting
in. Elise sipped at her coffee and waited for him to speak, as
if she had a century or two to spare.
"I'm curious." Derek said, at last. "You haven't asked what I
want."
"I presume that it's museum business." she said. "After all,
what interest would the Luna Foundation have in me?"
His intuition fluttered for an instant, a shapeless blur of
unease. "I understand that you've been asked to make some
replicas of the exhibits for sale in the museum shop?"
"I was asked to draw up a list of suitable pieces, yes, but
the final selection was made by the Morrigan... I mean, Madame
Morrigan."
"Including a pendant from my father's collection?"
"The Green Man?" she nodded. "Lovely piece, technically
difficult to reproduce, of course, given the cloisonne work
and tiny bezel-set garnets - and now I won't get the chance to
rise to that challenge, since you refused permission for its
use. Why was that, if you don't mind me asking?"
"It has an unfortunate history... "
"Unfortunate?" she laughed sharply. "Four suicides and a
murder? Some might call that a little more than unfortunate,
Dr Rayne - cursed, perhaps?"
"You've researched its history then?"
"To make an authentic copy I need to know when and where a
thing was made. Your father's pendant was a late Art Nouveau
piece, made in Paris in 1894 and described as a Garland or
Wild Man. It was intended as a love token, a wedding gift -
but the happy bride it was bestowed upon didn't survive her
honeymoon." her peridot eyes clouded. "Whoever had it in their
possession died a tragic death - truly, it is an unlucky
jewel... "
Derek dropped the bombshell. "The Green Man is missing."
"Really?" her surprise seemed genuine. "But I saw it
yesterday afternoon - I sketched it. But you know that - I
must have been caught on the cameras..." her voice trailed
down into silence and her eyes went very wide as she made the
obvious connection. "Merde! That's why you're here - you think
that I took it!"
"That isn't so. I'm just following up one aspect... "
"You think I stole it, that I am a thief?" Elise was on her
feet, the colour rising in her pale cheeks. "Oh, I should
throw you out!"
"Please calm down, Mam'selle DuBois." Derek said, sternly.
"I'm not accusing you of anything... "
"I have nothing to hide! Search this apartment... " her anger
was rising and she waved both hands wildly. "Search all of
it... search me, if you like! Shall I strip for you, Dr Rayne,
so you can be sure that I don't have your precious little
pendant secreted about my person?"
Derek suppressed a wry smile at the very idea - he had to
admit that it was a tempting one. 'That won't be necessary.
Sit down, please, and don't be so angry with me."
Elise sank back into her chair, glaring at him. "Why would I
take the Garland? What motive would I have to steal such a
thing?"
"I can't imagine why anyone would take it."
She shook the anger from her, as a wet dog might shake
raindrops from its coat. "It's a dangerous object, an amulet
of some power. It might be used as a weapon by those ignorant
or arrogant enough to care nothing for the consequences of
their actions. After all, it is very adept at killing people."
Derek went suddenly cold, as a simple theft took a leap into
the kind of case that the Legacy should worry about. Elise was
right - in the wrong hands the pendant could be lethal. The
disturbing feeling that had led him here was misplaced, he
realised, knowing that his answers lay elsewhere. "I've taken
up too much of your time, mam'selle - I ought to go."
"At least finish your coffee." Elise offered, resuming her
role as hostess. "Please."
Silence stretched between them, awkward and uneasy. Derek
glanced about the apartment, trying to find a peg to hang a
little civil conversation on. A pen-and-ink sketch of the Left
Bank caught his eye. "That's nice. A souvenir?"
"No." she said, absently. "It was a present from Lucien."
"Lucien?" he had known someone of that name too, yet it must
be common enough in France.
He sensed a change in her, a wariness. "He was an old friend,
back when I lived in Paris."
"If I've touched a nerve, I apologise... "
"No need. Luc died, leaving a great deal unsaid between us."
she glanced away, focussing on the distant bustle of the
street. "No closure - isn't that what you Americans say?"
Derek sipped coffee, resuming his scan of the shelves. A
frosted glass vase with the look of Lalique sat next to a
basalt statuette of an Egyptian cat, while above them was a
framed piece of papyrus covered in tiny glyphs. "Now, that
seems familiar - is it part of the Dead Sea scrolls?"
"Yes, it is. I should have realised that a scholar like
yourself would recognise it. It's a replica of one, found in
the original cave in 1947." her smile was back, wistful and
winsome. "The War between the Children of Light and the
Children of Darkness - it's an order of battle for the final
apocalyptic clash between the forces of Good and the forces of
Evil."
"Isn't that an odd thing to hang on your wall?"
"Oh, I don't know about that." Amusement glinted in her vivid
eyes. "It's a good quick reference, so I can tell at a glance
what side someone's on! Sheep and goats, Dr Rayne, or angels
and devils - wouldn't you like to know the trick of telling
instantly which is which?"
That remark stayed with him after he left the apartment,
along with a sense of the strangeness of the woman. As he
walked back across the courtyard it occurred to him that
Elise's anger had been too easy, too convenient - perhaps
faked to distract him from questioning her further. At no
point had she actually denied taking the Green Man.
When he reached the Range Rover there was a figure in the
passenger seat, although he'd left it locked, with the alarm
set.
"Lee Tzin-Soong!" Derek greeted the old man with a broad
smile. "What are you doing here?"
"It would pain me if you came to my side of town and didn't
visit, so I thought that I'd spare myself such suffering."
Mischief filled his bright, ancient eyes. "I might also ask
you what you're doing here?"
"Museum business, with a silversmith who lives in this
building."
"Would that be the one with hair like pale flame and jade-
green eyes?"
Derek laughed. "You don't miss much, old man!"
"And you always did have a taste for much younger women."
Tzin-Soong shook his head. "Forgive me - that was cruel. Will
you take some tea with me, Derek? Do you have time to talk?"
"For you, I always have time."
They went along the street and sat in an almost-empty
restaurant, where Lee was promptly served with jasmine tea and
dim-sum. The waitress bowed deeply and left them alone. Derek
related a catalogue of recent events, concentrating on Kat's
accident and Alex's phantom dog.
"I'm sorry to hear about the child." Tzin-Soong said, when
he'd finished. "For the past few days I've been aware of an
atmosphere of malevolence, nothing definite or solid, yet a
sense of brooding threat. As we of the Legacy know so well,
evil has no qualms about choosing the weakest, the most
innocent target."
"You think that's why Kat's coma hasn't broken?"
"If there's no physical reason for her affliction, then we
must assume that it's due to a supernatural attack. Would it
be of any help if I visited her in the hospital?"
"It might, and Rachel would be glad to see you, I'm sure."
The old man swirled the dregs of his tea, studying the
pattern of grey-green leaves and pale flowers. "There's
something else I should have mentioned to you, something
that's been puzzling me for a while. You know that it's my
habit to meditate in the early morning, around dawn? About a
month ago I sensed... I'm not sure what, exactly... a
presence, perhaps."
"Something evil?"
"Neither evil nor good... just itself. Ah, Derek, it was just
a glimpse, just the merest touch... " he struggled to find
words, doubly difficult in a language not native to him.
"Something powerful and very old, something inhuman. I think
it was aware of me that day, for it has been concealing itself
from me ever since. It's still there, still close - but that's
no more than a feeling."
Derek frowned, knowing better than to dismiss the old man's
intuition. "Does it mean us harm?"
Tzin-Soong sighed. "All I can give you is a guess - no, I
don't think it's our enemy. It isn't our friend either,
however much we might wish to have such a focus of power
within the Legacy ranks."
They sat in amiable quiet for a while and the waitress
brought them more tea. Lee thanked her in his own tongue, then
smiled at Derek. "Has my granddaughter written to you lately?"
"No." he raised an eyebrow. "Should she have?"
"Ah, she promised me that she would... " the old man shook
his head. "Mei-ling has found herself a young man, a most
intelligent, most charming scientist - an expert in lasers, I
believe. She tells me little about him, but I have my
suspicions that they intend to announce their engagement very
soon."
Derek was unprepared for the sudden blankness that washed
through him, the sinking feeling of loss. Although he hadn't
seen Mei-ling for some time, she was often in his thoughts -
and now the door he had hoped would stay open had shut.
"I'm glad for her." he said, swallowing his sorrow, burying
it along with the rest. "She deserves to be happy... "
"Ah, old friend, don't take it so hard." Tzin-Soong scolded,
yet there was sympathy in his voice. "What passed between you
was a transient thing - you must have known it couldn't last.
Mei-ling was curious, I think, and ambitious."
"Ambitious?"
"She told me once that she would be a precept one day." the
old man's eyes twinkled. "And rumour has it that one of the
cardinal qualifications for a female precept is to have slept
with Derek Rayne!"
"Lee, don't tease me over this!" Derek protested. "There's no
such rumour... is there?"
"I assure you that there is." the old man was laughing now.
"And I fear that it has a basis in fact!"
His humour was infectious and Derek found himself drawn into
it. "Not entirely - I don't even know the new precept of the
Hong Kong house."
Tzin-Soong was still chuckling. "Give our little Mei-ling
five, maybe ten years, and that may no longer be true!"
Derek stopped off at the hospital on his way back. Nick was
with Rachel, who looked worn-out and wraith-pale. Kat lay as
if peacefully asleep, serene and in the pink of health. Dr
Lopez was in attendance, nodding to him as he entered the
room.
"No change?" Derek read the answer in their eyes.
"We ve run a couple more scans and found no abnormality." the
medic said. "The drug-screen came in negative, her blood
chemistry is nominal and, although the final results will take
another day, there's no sign of meningitis or any other
infection. The one hopeful thing I can tell you is that an EEG
showed some brain activity - she's still ticking over in
there, albeit at a rather low level."
"We still don't know when she'll wake." Rachel added. Derek
noted the 'when', glad that she hadn't sunk down into the
realms of 'if'.
"I wish I could suggest a course of treatment." Ellen Lopez
sighed. "Watch and wait - that's the best we can do. I'd have
to say that orthodox medicine is pretty much stumped here. If
you know of any faith-healers or witch-doctors you might want
to give them a call - they may be more use to Kat than I am."
"We're grateful for everything you've done." Derek admitted.
"I know. she gathered up the charts. "It's just that the
waiting's so damn hard."
When Dr Lopez had gone, Nick came to his side and lowered his
voice. "Any developments on that other matter?"
Derek merely shook his head. Rachel, seeming intent only on
her daughter, glanced up. "Are we working on a case?"
"Nothing major... " he reassured her.
"Look, I know that you guys are nurse-maiding me, and I
appreciate it, really I do, but you don't have to." she
frowned. "How can you trust me to do the demon-and-ghost-and-
bogeyman stuff and yet not dare to leave me alone in case I
fall apart because Kat's ill?"
"Rachel, you don't have to prove anything to us." Nick said.
"We know how tough and resourceful you are... "
"There are times when all of us need a little help." Derek
added.
"All of us, yes." her blue eyes were accusing. "Except you."
"Oh, even me." he confessed. "I break down sometimes, usually
in private, but I do break down."
Her lips twisted in a sneer of disbelief. "Sure you do,
Derek! Go back to the island, both of you, and get some sleep.
I won't be on my own for long - Emily's coming in later - and
the staff look out for me, make me eat and nap now and then.
Go back and do your Legacy stuff - I'll be sure to call if
anything alters here."
Kat stands on the lonely road, between the shattered tree and
the ancient stone. The figure in the dark cloak faces her.
Neither of them cast a shadow - there's still no sun in the
sky. An small piece of eternity passes in silence.
"How will you go by land?" says the knight on the road.
Kat jumps again at the sound. "What?"
"Oh, clean out your ears, young lady, for pity's sake!" snaps
the figure. "How will you go by land?"
It comes to her then - this is a game of riddles. The words
have a familiar ring to them, perhaps a verse read to her at
school or a song her father sang to lull her to sleep. Kat has
a good memory and she searches it now, finding the response
with a surge of triumph. "With a good staff in my hand."
"That's better, much better!" the false knight crows in
delight, and it seems to Kat that she almost recognises his
voice. "Now, how will you go by sea?"
"With a good boat under me."
"Splendid, quite splendid!" he suddenly brings his hands out
from under the cloak, rubbing them together. "I just knew
you'd get the hang of this eventually!"
He has a ring on one finger - Kat sees it before he draws his
hands back into hiding, a flash of gold and a dark stone. Fear
rises in her like a pillar of smoke.
"Yes, I knew you'd get the hang of it." the knight repeats,
his voice oozing with malicious satisfaction.