The Grigori: Stalking Tender Prey Part 29

Othman pushed her backwards so she lay on the rough pine needles. He removed her underwear, ran his hands across her flat stomach, playfully pulled at her pubic hair. We'll start together,' he murmured, lying down beside her. He kissed her deeply, filling her mouth with his swollen tongue. He ma.s.saged her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, sc.r.a.ped his fingernails across her belly, pushed his fingers inside her. Owen had never excited her the way this man did. It was like he made her drunk on s.e.x, where anything was possible. As he worked dextrously at arousing her, his free hand guided her own fingers down between her legs. It no longer seemed embarra.s.sing. Soon he was kneeling upright between her spread thighs, not touching her at all. She felt like a writhing ma.s.s of exposed nerves. As she continued the process he had begun, she was aware of him casting earth upon her. Fragments of leaves and twigs fell into her open mouth. She could see his hand moving above her. The ground beneath her body felt hot and wet like mud. Sharp things dug into her spine and b.u.t.tocks. She pressed herself against them. Then Othman was pulling her hands away from herself, dragging her body up into a sitting position. She felt delirious. Now, he would take her. Waiting for it was the most exquisite pleasure.

Something moved between her open legs. Something alive.

Lily uttered a squeak, thinking of insects. Othman said, Relax, give yourself up to it.'

An invasive pressure, like a rough finger, touched her body. A moment of panic combined with her heightened sensuality. What is this?'

You have invoked the man of the forest,' Othman said in a soothing voice. Relax. I am with you.' He still held her hands, her arms stretched out before her.

Lily sat quivering, her spine aching, as the spirit of the forest took on woody, loamy, mossy flesh and rose within her. It was a phallus of earth, rising up from the floor of the hollow, as thick as the organ of a stallion. The sensation was unlike anything she could ever have imagined: not exactly painful, but strange. She felt tears running down her face as the alien thing expanded within her, as if sucking up her own juices. Then it began to move, retracting back into the earth, thrusting up into her once more. It scratched her with twigs and bark, pressed painfully against her cervix. Now, as the hurt increased, her excitement mounted. She wanted the pain, wanted to be torn apart by the enormity of the alien thing that thrust into her. She pulled her hands away from Othman's grip, grasped her own b.r.e.a.s.t.s, added her own movements to that of the forest lover. Othman was irrelevant. When the o.r.g.a.s.m came, she screamed loudly, the cry of a mating vixen. With her release, she felt the phallus crumble within her, reduced to fragments of leaf and mould. She howled again, filled with a sense of power and rage. If she stood up now, her head would look over the tree tops. She was G.o.ddess; pure female.

When Othman pushed her back onto the earth, she fought him with nails and teeth. He thrust up inside her, grinding sharp fragments into the tender flesh. She gripped his body with her thighs, snarling, clawing at his back, lunging up to bite his face. When the next o.r.g.a.s.m crested within her, it was as if a saline tide washed all the particles of earth out of her, cleansing and healing. She could concentrate on the pure aspect of pleasure without any interference of pain, however intoxicating.

The next o.r.g.a.s.m was calmer, leading her inside her own head. Here, she walked a long corridor, that seemed to be deep underground. She could pause to look at the wall paintings. They were of people performing rituals, dressed in cloaks of feathers. The corridor faded into dimness. She was losing it. Then, another spasm of release brought it back into sharp focus. There was a dark circular chamber, its perimeter hidden in shadow. All, in fact, was dark, but for a tiny blue glow in the centre of the room. Lily approached it. A ring of stones surrounded the light. Lily knelt beside them, leaned forward and blew upon the flame. It flickered slightly. She blew again. Her breath seemed to blow something away, an invisible obstruction that blocked the flame. It rose as a straight, blue luminance, casting azure light around the chamber. Lily saw humped, motionless forms clad in rags positioned around the ring of stones. Seven of them. She stood up. The chamber was fading now, and there was no further spasm of o.r.g.a.s.m to rekindle the vision. She came to herself, panting upon the floor of the hollow in the High Place, Othman heavy and motionless upon her. She managed to push him off to get her breath. He lay on his back, looking at her. His expression was unreadable. Lily didn't care. He had given her something, or had he merely been a tool for her to use? She walked around the hollow, needing to move, to expel energy. Neither she nor Othman said a word. Presently, she retrieved her clothes and dressed herself. When she began to walk down the hill, Othman jumped up and said, Do you want me to walk you back?'

She glanced behind her briefly, shook her head, raised a hand in farewell. She needed to be alone now. The forest did not frighten her. She was part of it.

Once the girl had gone, Othman lay back down upon the earth. He could sense the flame beneath him, far below. There would be a temple of course, an underground vault. But where was the entrance? He didn't think it was here on the High Place. There were only two viable options, he supposed. The church of St Shem, or Long Eden itself. Probably both. Now could be the time to gain entrance to Long Eden. Now, the guardian of the house might let him inside.

When Lily got back to the cottage, she saw there was a light on. The thought that Owen might be home somehow rea.s.sured her. That surprised her. She felt very tired now, and sore. It was odd what s.e.x could make you do, she thought. It did not seem odd to her what s.e.x had appeared to make the forest floor do: that seemed only natural. She was a Murkaster, and they had been more than ordinary people. The idea of this did not seem strange now. She had acknowledged her connection with the vanished Murkasters and accepted it. Perhaps she would tell Owen about it now.

She opened the front door and went into the kitchen, calling Owen's name. There was no reply. Perhaps he was in the parlour.

Lily uttered a shocked cry when she found Emma Manden lying on her sofa, drinking some of her strawberry wine. I hope you don't mind me letting myself in,' Emma said. But I wanted to wait for you. Was it good?'

Lily felt herself blush; Emma's remark brought reality crashing back in.

I told you he would come for you tonight, didn't I?' Emma said before Lily could answer her. Are you all right?'

Yes.' Lily sat down shakily on the sofa beside Emma.

Emma lightly touched her arm. Oh, don't worry. We've all had fun up at the High Place. I know what happened to you tonight. Unfortunately, I was never strong enough to wake the flame, but then I'm not Grigori, and you are. Well, partly.'

What is Grigori?' Lily took the bottle of wine and swigged from it.

The Murkasters were Grigori,' Emma said. They were not entirely human, which makes you the same, doesn't it?'

If I'm not human, what am I?' Lily laughed a little. She didn't feel at all human at the moment.

Just something else. The Grigori are an ancient race, who have existed amongst humanity for many thousands of years, hidden, yet not hidden. They are powerful people, and possess abilities and senses humans don't have. Perhaps you have felt the pressure of that deep in your heart, Lily. I know you must have felt different to everyone else you know.'

Lily nodded wearily. Well, yes, I suppose so. Mum told us we were, anyway.' She giggled nervously. But inhuman? That's a little hard to take!'

Any harder to take than some of the other things that have been happening?' Emma asked gently. Look into your heart, Lily.'

Lily sighed deeply. I can't think at the moment. It's all too confusing. A week ago, I was an ordinary person with a fairly ordinary life. Now, my life has become full of mysteries, and I'm not myself any more.'

Emma patted her arm, then jumped up from the sofa. Don't worry about it, my dear. Let me run you a bath. You look exhausted. Then we can talk.'

Lily said nothing, watched Emma walk from the room. She heard the woman go upstairs. Of course, she would know this house. After a moment, Lily got to her feet. She felt stiff now, as if she'd been exercising furiously. It was an effort to get upstairs.

Emma came out of the bathroom, and took Lily's arm. Don't worry, you'll be fine.'

I feel...' Lily's knees gave way, but Emma broke her crumpled fall.

Come on, into the bedroom. Let's get those dirty clothes off.'

Meekly, Lily allowed the woman to take control. It reminded her of when her mother was alive, of a time when she'd come into the cottage after falling off her bike and badly grazing her legs. The disorientation. The shock. It was the same. Also, the raw soreness, although it wasn't her knees that pained her now.

When the bath was ready, Emma helped Lily limp into the bathroom. The steam rising from the water was scented with herbs. Fragments of leaves floated in the bath. Healing herbs,' Emma explained. Just get in, dear. Come on.'

The water was exactly the right temperature. Entering it was like falling into a pair of comforting arms, relaxing against a soft body. Mmmm,' Lily murmured. She wanted to sink beneath the water, but Emma held her around the shoulders, gently flicking the water over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and neck. She rubbed Lily's arms and legs, stroking away the forest dirt. There, that's better, isn't it? Shall we wash your hair?'

Emma found shampoo on a shelf next to the sink. She used the toothbrush gla.s.s - murky and unwashed - to wet Lily's hair. Lily gave herself up to the enjoyment of having her head ma.s.saged. It's like when Mum was alive,' she said in a slurred voice.

Well, didn't I tell you I was a relation of sorts?' Emma said with a bright laugh. We all need looking after sometimes.'

When Lily got out of the bath, Emma wrapped her in a towel, and led her back to the bedroom. Lily had begun to shiver. Is it getting cold?'

No. Lie on the bed, dear. I've brought something with me to make you feel better.' She held a small, gla.s.s pot in her hands, and was uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the lid. Do you know, my mother had to do this for me once upon a time. I was very young, younger than you are now. This is a special ointment. I'll let you keep it, and you can use it for a couple of days. Take off the towel, Lily, and open your legs a little. This won't take a moment.'

The ointment stung at first, but soon eclipsed the soreness with a soothing numbness. Emma sat on the edge of the bed. Now I'll get you something to drink.'

Wine,' said Lily, flapping one hand against the bed.

No,' Emma said firmly. Wine won't do you any good at all. Get into bed. I shan't be long.'

Left alone, Lily began to cry. She didn't know why, because she didn't feel sad. Everything just seemed so strange. Grigori: what were they? She thought of Ninlil and Shemyaza in the garden. They hadn't seemed entirely human either.

Emma came back carrying a tray of tea things. I don't know, my girl. You need some lessons in housekeeping, you and that brother of yours. The place is a tip!' Her words were harsh, but she was still smiling.

Owen isn't here any more,' Lily said. He...' She couldn't go on.

Oh, he'll be back!' Emma said. She took her cigarettes and lighter from a pocket on her skirt. You've no need to worry about Owen.'

What am I going to do?' Lily said. So much is happening...'

Emma lit a cigarette, exhaled. My dear, we have to work together. Basically, the situation is this. The Murkasters, being Grigori, gave certain benefits to the people of Little Moor. One of these things was an extended life span. But when they left, the benefits went with them. The flame beneath the High Place has the power to rejuvenate but once the Grigori dampened it, none of us knew how to activate it again. The Murkasters were very selfish to leave in the way they did! But now, another Grigori has come. The man you know as Peverel Othman. What he's doing here, I'm not entirely sure, but we have to use the situation to help ourselves. He seeks to control us, but we must equally control him. If he leaves us, I shall lose everything I've regained.'

Lily felt very sleepy now. It was difficult to concentrate on Emma's words. Did you know Othman was coming here? Is that why you returned to Little Moor?'

Emma laughed. Allow me to let you in on a little secret, Lily. I never left the village!'

Lily frowned. But I've never met you before. Where were you hiding? Why were you hiding?'

You've met me a thousand times. And I wasn't hiding. Well, let's put it this way. I was hidden, but it was beyond my control. My body betrayed me, and I was trapped within it. You knew me as Emilia Manden, Eva's mother.'

Lily put one hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. No! I don't believe it.'

You must,' Emma said. She did not seem mad, yet her claim was outrageous. I realise this must sound very unlikely to you, but it is the truth. That is the power of the Grigori. I smelled Othman out as soon as he got here, and I forced him to give me back what was mine.' She indicated her svelte body. This.'

How did he do that?'

Emma laughed. Oh come, Lily dear, how do they do anything? It's all s.e.x, the great source of power, the fount of magic.'

Lily was faced with the image of Othman making love to Emma, then realised he must have actually made love to Emilia. The thought was disgusting. She was so old! Did he really do that?'

Oh yes. Believe it, dear. He will have his way with many people in Little Moor. You mustn't make the mistake of getting possessive about him. That path leads only to the town of hurt. The Grigori use us, but we must also use them.'

How do they use us? Just for s.e.x?'

Emma shook her head. That's only part of it. They like experimenting, and we make good subjects for their experiments. They claim to have helped evolve the human race, and who knows, it might be true. They told me they want only to help us become more like them. Of course, this might be a lie. They might just be evil, cold-hearted and curious, eager to twist and deform our bodies and our minds for their own pleasure and entertainment.'

That's horrible!'

Well, I could make your hair curl with stories about Long Eden when I was a girl!' She flicked ash on the carpet. Anyway, one of their pet projects was creating hybrids. They've always done it. You and Owen are the product of such an experiment. Othman knows that. If I were him, I'd want to reclaim Long Eden, get inside the house. Perhaps he will continue the experiments. Who can tell? We must make him want to stay, Lily. At least until you and Owen can claim the power that is yours.'

You think we could make old people young?'

Emma laughed again, patted Lily's hand. That remains to be seen. I don't know how much the Grigori traits lie within you. Othman will bring them out if they're there. He's already started, hasn't he?'

Chapter Twenty-Two.

Sat.u.r.day 24th October: Abyss Recording Studios, Vienna Taziel Levantine lay asleep at one o'clock in the afternoon. It was a grey anvil of a day; nothing worth getting up for. Taziel's clothes lay strewn around the floor of the darkened room, limp ghosts of his long body fashioned in fabric. He was dreaming. The dreams were not of his work, bled from the near dry well of his creativity, nor of the last person he had spoken to, on the phone, before falling asleep - his woman. He dreamed of the simurgh, a bird-creature evoked from the myths of his race, which flapped carrion-scented feathers, wet with death, in his face and screamed incomprehensible prophecies. Behind the fierce claws, smoke billowed and curled. Through it, Taziel's sleeping mind could see the image of a man, hanging upside down, twisting in the hot wind. It was a familiar haunting. Taziel twitched and grimaced in his sleep, but there was no-one there to see or comfort him. He had locked the guest room door against everyone: concerned friends, anxious engineers, disgruntled fellow musicians who saw the second hand on the clock marking off money and more money. Taziel did not want to work; it seemed a travesty. He knew he was being humoured, dragged out of the rigid pit of isolation he had clawed for himself in the remnants of his existence. His wounds were healed; he had no excuses for licking them in private. They were only scars now.

Three years ago, a man had come into his life and systematically destroyed it: Peverel Othman. He had brought with him the promise of magics unimaginable, but there had been a cost. After a sleek seduction, Othman had taken over the management of Taziel's band, all of whom were Grigori. As Taziel's work had soared to new levels of creativity, and the band's fortunes waxed strong, Othman had dabbled in the politics of the music business. He had engineered a rivalry between Taziel's band and another - for publicity, Othman claimed - but the mounting tide of jealousy and deceit had ended in tragedy. Taziel had hit out in fury, and there'd been a casualty of his rage. Taziel had escaped imprisonment only because of Grigori connections. He felt little remorse now for the crippling injury he had inflicted against the front-man of the rival band, but his heart was still broken by Othman's betrayal. When the storm broke, Othman had fled and Taziel had not seen him since. Sick with despair, Taziel had hidden himself away and some kind of fluke of fate had kept the healing presence of Adele beside him. He had vowed never to work again, but his music made money, and others were not content to let him vanish without trace.

Come back,' they had wheedled, Write music again, record, be happy. See light.'

In the end, it had been easier to comply; their therapies were harder to bear than work. Also, his record company, Grigori owned, owned him. They had used all manner of threats to smoke him out; he still feared prison, being incarcerated with the lowest aspects of humanity. A huge marketing machine stood ticking over, waiting to rev up, churn out hypocrisies. The company people expected Taziel to exorcise the demons of his fall and supposed resurrection in the music, and relished the lucrative thought of his fans being able to a.n.a.lyse his tortured soul via his lyrics. But no faces burned in Taziel's memory, and his heart was a blank slate. Adele, his woman, kept him calm; she had stayed by him during the flaying times, while others had fled. He knew that some of her friends considered her a saint, others a mad woman. It did not matter what they thought. He never abused her. They existed in a bubble of excision; everything painful she cut out of his reality before it might reach him.

Adele could not control his dreams.

Angra Mainyu!' spat the simurgh, and Taziel turned over in the bed, his limbs bound in tangled sheets. The bird engulfed him in its thundering wings, thrust its beak against his head as if to break open the skull, implant a thought there. The Hanged One is waiting for you! He is hungry for you, Taziel! Then came wakefulness, and the insistent knocking was not against his own skull, but in the world of the flesh. He heard the door handle rattling, the sound of his name being called, Taz! Taz!'

All right.' Disoriented, Taziel sat on the edge of the bed for a few moments, watching the world sway around him. He felt as if he was drawing something back into himself, something which had been roaming.

Taz, it's the phone!'

He pulled on a long, black T-shirt and went to open the door. Outside, his closest friend and guitarist, Rafe, took a step backwards, as if he hadn't expected the door to open at all.

Who's on the phone?' Taziel asked. He had deliberately avoided looking in the mirror on the way out, but guessed from the reflection in Rafe's expression he did not look particularly lovely. He was unshaven and, because Grigori were not particularly hairy, the patchy growth looked almost mangy. His long, fair hair was a mat of tangles.

Enniel Prussoe.' Rafe shook his head. Are you OK?'

Taziel nodded dismissively, repeating the name of the caller a few times, then, What does he want?'

Wouldn't say.'

There were no phones in the guest rooms at the studio. They were designed to be places of rest and nothing more; business should not cross their thresholds. Taziel slouched his way to an empty meeting room on the next floor. Rafe hovered in the doorway as Taziel seated himself in an executive swivel chair at the head of an enormous table laid with neat notepads instead of placemats. The overcast afternoon light was softened by marbled paper blinds which occluded the floor to ceiling windows. Rafe watched as Taziel picked up the phone and the call was put through to him. After only a few seconds, Taziel swung his chair around, so that Rafe could not see his face. But Rafe heard him say No!' several times. The small word echoed in the immense silence of the room. Each no' was delivered in a different tone: first wonderment, even pleasant surprise, then fear, then adamant refusal. Rafe shifted his position uneasily. He thought Taziel Levantine was fragile and yearned to intervene.

Taziel put down the phone, but did not turn to face the door. He said, They're making me go to England.'

Rafe took these words as an invitation into the room. Why? The alb.u.m's not finished yet.'

Taziel turned round then. His face looked stricken. Rafe had not seen that expression for some time, and had hoped never to see it again. What's happened?' He was thinking of a lawsuit, some unexpected legal revenant. Sometimes, money was not enough to satisfy the wounded, the victims. It was possible someone, somewhere had reanimated the scandal.

Taziel shook his head to signify he could not explain, then made an effort to appear normal. It nearly succeeded and would probably have convinced anyone other than Rafe, or Adele. You'll have to carry on without me as best you can. Prussoe tells me I shouldn't be away long.'

I can come with you.'

No. Not necessary. It's family business, that's all.' Taziel stood up. I'd better throw some things into a bag. Call Adele for me, will you?'

What do I tell her?'

Taziel flashed a feral smile at his friend. Invent something.'

It's nothing to do with...?' Rafe let the question hang, afraid of invoking bitter ghosts.

Taziel drew in his breath. It was never over, Rafe. And it has to be.'

Rafe watched him walk back up the corridor towards the stairs. The faint suggestion of a spring in Taziel's step made Rafe very much afraid.

Chapter Twenty-Three.

Sunday 25th October: High Crag House, Cornwall Aninka was told that the car would come to pick her up at seven-thirty. She spent the day mooching around the house, avoiding relatives, trying to recapture childhood memories in some rooms, trying to shun them in others. Out in the real world, among ordinary people, it was easy to forget who and what she really was. Here, she could be nothing but Grigori. It seemed unfair she had to have this heritage thrust upon her.

During the day, she rang Noah, but could only reach his answering machine. She felt abandoned, chastised. What was Peverel Othman doing now? Where was he? Such questions were like hooks in her heart. She didn't want him to be Anakim, evil. She wanted him back.

Walking through a misty rain in the afternoon, lost in the tangled realms of the garden, she considered that it could have been an accident that people had died in Cresterfield. Enniel had told her that the herbal mixture Othman had given to Wendy and the others had undoubtedly contributed to their deaths. No trace of poison had been found in the bodies, however. Aninka now knew that Othman had invoked a demon which had taken their souls, but Enniel had suggested that if the Marks' and their friends had not taken the haoma, they might have been able to resist the demon's power long enough to flee the garage and escape it. Cause of death had been given, officially, as heart failure brought on by group hysteria. Had Othman wanted to kill Aninka as well? She couldn't bear the thought of that, not when she had the memory of his warmth and his beauty to lay alongside it. But then, she argued, Othman had eaten the haoma-laced meal too. Of course, Grigori had more robust const.i.tutions than humans. Perhaps she was immune to its will-weakening effects, and Othman had known that. Yes, that must be the explanation. She wondered whether he'd tried to contact her at home since she'd left the flat. Was he aghast at what he'd done, terrified of the consequences? No. His history suggested he knew what he'd been doing. And the girl, Serafina. She had not died of poisoning or heart failure.

Now Aninka stood before the long windows in one of the drawing rooms, chain-smoking. Rain lashed the gla.s.s, salt rain from the sea. The room was warm, enclosed. A fire burned in the enormous grate. Clocks ticked. As the darkness came, her reflection bloomed in the window, became a mirror image. She looked bewildered, hanging there like a ghost on the outside.