Midnight is a Lonely Place

LVIII

Snow had settled in the dunes. The streaming moonlight cast long, colourless shadows over the sand. As the clouds drifted inexorably in from the north-east, the sky, backlit to opal and then to dull pewter, lowered closer to the land. No night birds called; only the wind in the trees behind the cottage disturbed the silence of the grave as it lay now lapped in its mantle of snow.

The young man looking down at it cast no shadow; he left no footprints. Like the woman he loved he sought revenge. No kind god had received his soul as sacrifice, for with his dying breath he had vowed to return and that vow had kept him from his love. There was no need to comb the furthest galaxies; Marcus Severus Secundus was anchored to this spot by blood. The blood of his victims. His hate had kept them apart through the centuries. The young man smiled. They had all three been released by the meddling of the girl and through her this secret charnel house would be made known to the world and his vengeance would be made sweet.

In front of him the moon was shrouded suddenly in a cloak of cloud. The darkness had returned to the land and with it came the snow. Thick, white, whirling, dissolving the shadow which was all that remained of the druid, Nion, save his need for revenge and his love.

There was a hair in her mouth. She pawed at it, screwing up her face, and opened her eyes to find a head next to hers on the pillow. Frowning, she stared at it. Sue. It was Sue, her tangled hair strewn across the pillow, fast asleep, cuddled up beside her on the floor. Alison moved her head slightly. A violent pain slammed away behind her temples, but she could see dimly in the candlelight. Candlelight? Had they been to a party? A disco somewhere? Why was she on the floor? ‘Sue!’ She shoved at the girl next to her with her elbow. ‘Sue!’ The whisper was louder this time. Somehow she managed to sit up, her head spinning. She could just see Sue’s mother asleep on the sofa. Why? Why were they all asleep by the fire in her own house? There was no one else there. The fire was burning merrily – she could feel its warmth. ‘Sue!’ Not a whisper this time, but a peremptory call.

Sue opened her eyes. ‘What?’

‘How long have you been here?’

‘I don’t know. Hours. Are you all right?’ Sue sat up and looked at her hard.

‘Of course I’m all right. Why?’

‘They said you’d gone funny.’

‘What do you mean, funny?’

‘I don’t know. All kinds of funny things are happening. Mum crashed the Range Rover, look at my bruises! And we saw your ghost. The Roman. He was horrible.’

‘You saw him?’ Alison’s eyes rounded. She sat up and hugged her knees with a shiver. ‘Is that why you’re here?’

‘I think so. Dad found us. He wasn’t even angry. I think he’s scared.’

There was a moment’s silence as they considered this. Sue bit her lip. ‘Mum’s asleep.’

They both looked at the sofa.

‘Where’s everyone else?’

‘I don’t know.’ There was a rising note of hysteria in Sue’s voice.

‘They can’t have gone.’

‘Of course they can’t have gone.’ Sue did not sound too sure. ‘Shall I look?’

‘No! Don’t leave me!’

Hugging one another, the two girls stared round, frightened, as on the sofa Cissy muttered in her sleep. Inside the room the silence was overwhelming. Even the fire seemed quiet, the sweet smoky smell of burning apple logs slowly giving way to the overpowering aroma of wet earth.