The Grigori: Stalking Tender Prey Part 2

Enniel replaced the statuette upon its table. No, the insect must be netted, the power of its wings a.n.a.lysed and channelled.

The Parzupheim intended to do just that. They believed they were acting in the best interests of all the creatures upon the earth. Whilst they might play with humanity, they also felt they should be responsible for the little people and endeavour to protect them whenever possible. In any case, a world without toys would be a terribly dull place.

Enniel knew that one of his wards, the artist Aninka Prussoe, was currently waiting to see him. He could feel her presence in the front hall of the house, her tension, her nervousness. Enniel had summoned her to the house to interview her about recent events in Cresterfield, where she lived. Aninka had no idea what she had become mixed up in, poor child. Neither did Enniel have any intention of enlightening her too fully. She would not understand the implications, and might prove obstructive to his aims. The problem with so many of the young, Enniel thought, was that they foolishly considered the past should be abandoned and forgotten. They wanted the fast, colourful world of humanity, its trivialities and surface gloss. They were glamorised by it all. Aninka, courted by the artistic world because of her talents (a gift of her heritage, though she chose to ignore it), was perhaps one of the worst examples. Maturity would bring common sense, Enniel knew. She could not maintain her heretical beliefs for centuries, when her inhuman condition would force her to seek the asylum of her own kind, but in the meantime she insisted on playing the role of the rebel child, transforming herself into a beacon for the spirits of corruption. Enniel was annoyed by this, for now was too delicate a time for maverick Grigori to be charging about the world. They would be gathered up and used by the powers that instigated change, the powers of time. For this reason, Enniel would coax Aninka's story from her and then use her as a lure to capture his prey.

As he sauntered back to his desk to call a member of his staff on the intercom so that Aninka could be brought to his study, Enniel's eyes were drawn to a tapestry hanging upon the wall, half-hidden in the shadows cast by the long curtains beside the coloured window. The tapestry had been designed by a famous Pre-Raphaelite painter in the early part of the century, but its existence was not proclaimed in any catalogue of the artist's work. It depicted one of the ring-leaders of the original Anannage rebellion standing in a field of corn, dressed in a robe of white and gold: Shemyaza, the beautiful seducer, whose l.u.s.t had caused the downfall of his race. Enniel thought he detected a smugness hovering around the ascetic yet sensual features.

Thought you could be rid of my influence? Fool! You are wrong to think I would leave you in peace. Why should you prosper while I suffer?

Shemyaza had been punished severely for his actions, and in the myths of the Grigori, he suffered eternal torment, his soul held in limbo, neither in this world nor the next. Still, his spirit prevailed in the hearts of those considered Anakim, and their followers. Trouble-makers, fired by the frustrated bitterness of Shemyaza's hatred.

Enniel was a powerful man, and he had powerful allies, but still he feared the task he had been given. He knew powers existed that were greater than the combined might of his people, and in the forthcoming chase, the prey might well turn and devour the hunters.

Aninka Prussoe knew she was being kept waiting on purpose. The hall of the old house was dark and silent, but for the ticking of the grandfather clock under the stairs. A wash of green and ruby light fell down the stairs onto the black and white tiled floor from the stained gla.s.s windows above the first landing. It was like a museum, or a mausoleum. The grim, reclining angelic effigy of grey stone against the wall did nothing to dispel the gloomy atmosphere. Once, she could have wandered into one of the parlours, or the library, to amuse herself until her guardian, Enniel, had the time and politeness to see her. Now, she felt like a visitor, and the hall kept her at bay. Only once Enniel had accepted her presence could she feel comfortable roaming the house.

Aninka stood up, and paced across the hall, her high heels staccato and echoing against the tiles. She peeled off her long black kid gloves and slapped them against the palm of one hand. She was nervous. Last night, at her cousin Noah's in the north, she had somehow managed to fire herself up again. She'd convinced herself she must speak honestly to her guardian about her part in the atrocity which had taken place in Cresterfield. Now, entombed by the silence of his oppressive house, she wondered whether she had been right. Wouldn't he scorn her for her involvement, chastise her stupidity? She was not the guilty party, but she was afraid she'd be sent from this place feeling as if she was. She so rarely returned to the house since she'd left it as a teenager to attend university in the city. The release had been euphoric. Not until she'd escaped had she realised how oppressed she'd been within its walls. Enniel had not rebuked her absences at family celebrations, but alone in her room in the city, she'd sensed the condensed activity going on back home, the s.p.a.ce where her soul should be in the collective gathering. In some ways, she knew she could never really be absent. In her dreams, they summoned her, and she went there, denied of choice. It was easy to believe she'd adopted the life beyond the family, free of all it implied. In truth, her real life' could only ever be a sham, something she could play at until time decreed she must seek the sanctuary of the enclosing walls once more. Enniel let her play; he indulged her - and her cousins, most of whom had fled to immerse themselves in the hustle of mundane life. They were all still bound to him, and knew it. Perhaps she should have sent an occasional letter, she thought.

Someone came through the curtains that obscured a corridor ahead of her. Soft-footed, politely distant and utterly correct. Her guardian's apprentice. They called him a bottelier, more commonly known as a butler. Austin,' she said. I've been here nearly twenty minutes!'

The bottelier bowed. He was a tall man, apparently of early middle age, severely handsome, his steel grey hair held in a knot at the nape of his neck. Aninka was only an inch or so shorter than he. Apologies, Miss Aninka. Mr Enniel has been on the phone.'

Is that any reason to leave me sitting here in the hall like a stranger?'

With respect, Miss Aninka, that was your choice. This house is your home; you were free to wait where you liked.'

Aninka could not respond. The old devil knew only too well how she felt. Well, take me to him, then. Let's not drop the formalities.'

Austin led the way into the corridor. Beyond the curtain, no natural light shone. Peac.o.c.k lamps illumined the hallway only dimly, their ancient coloured gla.s.s too thick and rheumy to provide much brilliance. Here the floor was carpeted, and the smell of cedar wood was strong. How long was it since she'd last visited: three years, four? Childhood memories came back with startling clarity. The feel of the ancient plush against small, bare feet. She knew the feel and the character of each goblin carving on the wall panels. Every one of them had experienced her childish, exploring hands. She had named them too: Aster, Colly, Sarry-bun.

The corridor ended at a T-junction where a woman in black was seated in a high-backed chair before an imposing double doorway. Beside her was a table, highly polished, which supported a florid bowl of carnations, deep red, almost unnaturally so. Aninka repressed a shudder. Good morning, Aunt,' she said. The woman neither responded, nor even acknowledged Aninka's presence. Her face was white, her eyes dark and staring. She did not look mad, merely contemplative. She had the ability to make anyone feel like a ghost.

Austin knocked politely on the double doors and then slid them apart. Aninka drew in her breath and marched through the aperture. The doors whispered shut behind her.

Enniel had positioned himself against the window of stained gla.s.s. This was the famous peac.o.c.k window; the tail was fully seventeen feet across. The body of the bird changed into a serpent; it had a serpent's head. Enniel was relaxed. He could have been Aninka's age.

Good of you to see me, Enniel,' Aninka said. You must be busy.' She wanted to be sarcastic, but failed.

Not as busy as you, presumably,' he answered silkily, seeing as you so rarely have the time to visit me.'

It could easily become an argument. Aninka refused to be drawn in. Well, after Noah called you, I knew I'd have to see you. I feel it's urgent we talk.'

Enniel gestured towards a bulky leather sofa at the side of the room. Beside it, a tray of tea things waited on a spindly table. All was prepared. Please, sit down.'

Aninka perched herself precariously on the edge. She wanted to appear at ease, but it was difficult. Echoes of previous visits marred the atmosphere. Ghosts of her own raised voice could be heard in the dark tapestries upon the panelled walls. She found her hands were clutching each other in her lap. Enniel slid down beside her and set about pouring her a cup of tea, a.s.sam, his preferred brew.

So, there has been a spot of... unpleasantness,' he began. She was relieved he did not intend an overture to their interview of questions about her life, her friends, her career. Normally, he wanted to put all that under minute inspection.

Thank you for getting me out of a mess,' she said. I was... perhaps unwise in my choice of friends.'

Do not chastise yourself, my dear. What's done is done. n.o.body blames you.' He handed her the tea in a large ancient cup, decorated with delicate enamel paintings of dragons. The cup wobbled unevenly upon its saucer. She took it.

I want to tell you how it happened, then you can judge for yourself. I've been living in Cresterfield for a couple of years, as you know...'

He interrupted. Of course, you had your exhibition there recently. I read about it in the paper. Did it go well?'

Yes... It attracted many members of the family.' She risked a smile. My best customers, of course.' She paused. But there was one... I had not met him before. He said he'd been travelling abroad.'

Even now, several weeks after the event, her heart had begun to race as she started to recount her story. She had told everything to her cousin Noah before of course, but still, it made her feel cold. She could not speak without shaking. This, more than what she had witnessed and experienced, unnerved her. Normally, she always felt strong, nothing could ruffle her feathers. What naivete!

Aninka's story: Cresterfield, July The gallery had been one of those austere, over lit places, not to her taste at all. As usual the opening night had attracted the art elite of the town, a breed Aninka despised. She smiled at them pleasantly, nodded at their conversation while thinking of more interesting things. Noah and two other cousins, Tearah and Rachel, had come to offer support; she'd been seeing a lot of them recently. There had been plans to move on to a Thai restaurant later - just the four of them. They were confident they could sneak away without having to take Leonora Ramwithe, the gallery proprietor, and her excruciating husband, with them. Then he had arrived. His height alerted Aninka to the possibility he might be Grigori immediately, and she had whispered to Rachel, Who's that? Ours, by any chance?'

Rachel had not known him either.

He had not come over to them directly, but had wandered around, wine gla.s.s in hand, to inspect Aninka's paintings. She winced as he paused at the piece she considered the weakest. He was certainly her type: rather forbidding in appearance, dressed in tight black leather trousers and a loose dark shirt. His dusty looking fair hair hung unbound down his back. Go and speak to him,' she said to Rachel.

Her cousin, a willowy, frail looking girl, gave her a quizzical glance. Am I to be your procuress tonight?' she teased. What about our private meal?'

I am curious. I was not suggesting we break bread together,' Aninka answered.

Rachel shook her head. He is clearly one of us. He'll come over himself shortly.'

But what if he didn't? Aninka noticed Leonora glide over to the new arrival in her bloated cloud of chiffon. The gallery owner gestured widely as she spoke about the paintings. A proprietorial paw touched the newcomer's shoulder. Aninka could tell he would soon be gathered up and sucked into Leonora's clique for the rest of the night. But then, the moment had to come. Leonora looked in her direction. He had asked her about the artist. Presently, a billowing descent, newcomer in tow.

This is Aninka Prussoe,' said Leonora, as if the artist was a fitting of the gallery, fixed to the wall.

He had smiled. A pretty name. Are you foreign?'

Yes, very.'

He had taken her hand, kissed it. The gesture was corny, if not vile. Still, she felt elated. His beauty, at close hand, was ever more stunning.

Your work is interesting,' he said. A Pre-Raphaelite revival? Should sell a lot as prints.'

Am I supposed to care you disapprove? she thought, instinctively bridling. I paint what I like. This is what I like. Modern art does little for me.'

Aninka is very successful,' Leonora added, needlessly. It was clear the newcomer had dismissed the woman from his attention.

And you are?' Tearah demanded. She was more imperious than either of her female cousins, and more heavily built. A Grigori Amazon with chestnut hair, which she wore cropped, for some reason.

He'd bowed to her. Othman. Peverel Othman.'

Inevitably, he'd accompanied them to the restaurant. The cousins had been guarded, unable to decide whether Othman was Grigori or not. At times he seemed to drop hints, yet when a carefully probing question was delivered, gave the unexpected answer. Rachel and Aninka decamped to the Ladies' Room. Here, they discussed Othman. They could reach no clear conclusion. He appeared to be Grigori, having the same dress sense and appearance, yet he might simply a be a tall outsider who was drawn to the Look. Many people were. It had been quite in vogue for nearly two decades now.

Othman had told them he'd been travelling, and had spoken of the places he'd visited: India, Norway, France. There seemed no pattern. He'd asked Aninka a lot of questions about her work, especially the subject matter. You clearly emulate Waterhouse and his ilk, yet you have painted mythologies they rarely touched.'

I am not a plagiarist,' Aninka answered. Babylonian mythology interests me a great deal. I feel there is much to be learned from it about the current world.' That was a big enough hint, surely. He did not seem to recognise it as such.

It's all very Biblical, though. Are you a religious woman?'

It's pre-Biblical, actually,' Aninka said. The stories of those times are very colourful. It has nothing to do with Judaeo-Christian religion.'

Still, he did not respond. He could not be Grigori, then, surely, unless he was playing with them.

At the end of the meal, he asked if he could call her. She gave him her phone number. Are you staying here long?'

Depends on what I find to interest me,' he'd answered.

He did not call her for over two weeks, by which time, she'd given up on him.

Enniel paused Aninka's discourse at this point. He went to his desk and pressed one of the b.u.t.tons on a tape recorder. Aninka hadn't realised he'd been taping their conversation. This is only the beginning,' she said. There's so much more.'

I know that,' Enniel replied, but I don't want to tire you. I want you to recall everything in detail, and there's no rush.'

Aninka rubbed her forehead. A headache was starting. Do you never think about what a burden our heritage is to us?'

Enniel laughed. A common complaint of the young! My dear, if you insist on spending so much time among humans, you will start thinking like them.'

Aninka felt a hot surge of irritation pa.s.s through her. I'm claustrophobic amongst family. To be honest, most of the time I want to forget what I am.'

And it seems you have been unusually successful,' Enniel remarked lightly, otherwise you wouldn't have found yourself in that unsavoury situation.'

Chapter Four.

Sat.u.r.day, 17th October, Little Moor On Sat.u.r.day morning, the traveller rose up from his bed of ferns and heather. He looked around himself, hunting for signs. There it was: the flash of light. He moved without stiffness towards it; a star in the sky, the reflection of light on gla.s.s. Mid-morning, he found a cl.u.s.ter of houses nestling in the cupped hands of a valley. The road that led to it was hewn into the land itself, its high banks thick with seeding gra.s.ses. There was a deep, loamy smell, as if some elemental creature was breathing hard beneath the soil. He came to a crossroads where a black and white sign pointed towards the houses and said, Little Moor'. Little more than what? wondered the traveller, smiling to himself. The other roads, it would seem, led to nowhere.

Verity Cranton was roused from peaceful sleep by the insistent ringing of the doorbell. For a moment, she was disoriented and couldn't remember what day it was. She glanced at her bedside clock; eight-thirty. Early for someone to come calling. Strange. Louis was generally out of bed by eight every morning, so she lay waiting for him to answer the door. Some quality of the ringing had awakened a memory within her. The urgency of it. She thought of heralds, news, bad news. The ringing came again. Where was her father? Reluctantly, Verity got out of bed. She shrugged herself into her dressing-gown as she walked across the landing. Whoever was at the door now had their finger pressed continuously on the bell.

All right, all right,' Verity muttered beneath her breath. What could be so urgent? She wondered, briefly, whether something could have happened to Daniel, and then ran down the stairs, filled with a brutal optimism.

A whey-faced man in a grey suit stood in the porch. Miss Cranton?' he said.

Verity pulled the collar of her dressing-gown together. The air was chill, the garden beyond the door still and empty. There was a strange, static quality to the morning. The moment before she answered the question seemed abnormally long. Yes. What do you want?'

She was waiting for it. Is Daniel Cranton your brother? She was almost smiling.

The man was clutching a briefcase. I am Oswald Grise.' He proffered her a business card, which revealed he was a solicitor. I have come to collect you. You were notified.'

No, I wasn't. I have no idea what you're talking about. You'd better explain.'

The man frowned in slight impatience. Miss Cranton, I think you're aware of why I'm here. You did sign the contract. And you were notified of the date.' He looked at his watch. We have two hours' drive ahead of us. Perhaps I could come in and wait while you get ready to leave?' He made to step over the threshold, but Verity would not let him pa.s.s.

There is obviously some of kind of mistake. I really don't know what you're talking about. What contract? What date?' She had begun to feel uneasy, even threatened, to the point where she wished Louis would make an appearance.

The marriage,' said the man. Your marriage.'

Verity uttered a shocked laugh. You have the wrong person, I'm afraid! I'm not getting married. You've come to the wrong house.'

I've come to the right house. Please don't delay any longer, Miss Cranton. We're cutting it fine as it is.'

This is a joke,' Verity said. Just who am I supposed to be marrying?'

Grise looked at her in disbelief. Verity realised he thought she was lying, covering up. This was absurd.

You are due to marry Mr Ambleton at 12 noon today. Mr Anthony Ambleton. Surely you remember.'

Verity's vision went momentarily black. She could not draw breath. For a terrifying few seconds, she wondered whether she really had signed some kind of contract, and subsequently erased the memory of it from her mind. Was that possible? Then, bewilderment and fear were replaced by anger. Go away!' she hissed. Get off my property!' She made to close the door in Grise's face, but he stepped forward quickly and prevented it.

Now, Miss Cranton, please don't make any fuss. You've had the money, you signed the contract, now you are required to fulfil your part of the agreement. Should you refuse, you will find yourself in trouble.'

I don't care!' Verity cried. If you don't leave now, I'm calling the police. Ambleton's mad! I never signed a contract, never! I haven't seen him for over a year. This is ridiculous!'

Mr Ambleton is absolutely sure you agreed to marry him, Miss Cranton.'

I signed nothing! Get out of here!'

Vez?'

Verity turned in relief. Louis had come down the stairs. Strangely, he was dressed in a dark suit and tie. Dad! Tell this man to go. Get rid of him.'

Louis smiled, that crooked, wry smile. Come on now, Vez. Run upstairs and get dressed. We don't want to be late, do we?'

Verity froze. Dad?'

Louis limped forward, and smiled at Grise. I'll have her ready in a moment or two.'

No you b.l.o.o.d.y won't!' Verity snapped. This is crazy! I'm not marrying that creep! You can't make me!' He wants to be rid of me, she thought. He's in on this. He wants to get rid of me.

You will marry him,' Louis answered in an even tone. You have no choice. It's all arranged. It'll all work out. You'll see.'

No!'

In horror, Verity tried to pull away as her father took hold of her arm, but his grip was surprisingly strong. Grise stepped into the house, taking her other arm in a firm grasp.

Don't play up, Vez,' Louis said. You're going to be a bride. He's waited for this. He went through so much. Now he's much better and you'll be happy with him, Vez. For ever.'

Together, the men frog-marched her back towards the stairs.

Verity kicked and struggled, but could not escape. She began to scream.

The doorbell woke her up.