black fabric leaped outward into bat's wings.
"Oh. Ta,” Ellen said. Now why did he do that?
"God bless,” said Bess's voice behind her.
He has . The door snicked shut. The rain beat on the umbrella. Her feet were wet, the night was dark, but he was waiting. Ellen plunged into the shadow beneath the archway and collided with the wall. Pain streaked hot across her left hand. Ripped it on a nail, most like. Damn and blast!
She ran, slipping and stumbling, down the road toward Pomparles Bridge. A dark green Jaguar waited there, the glint of passing headlamps trickling like liquid fire down its windscreen. Chucking the umbrella away, Ellen scrambled into the cool leather-scented interior of the car. There. They were shut out.
Robin's eyes flashed green in the gloom. “Well?"
"Mum says the Americans are off to Salisbury tomorrow. Calum's son's coming here tonight."
"And?” he asked.
She was his favorite, wasn't she? He listened to her even though he already knew all the answers. To him all hearts were open, all desires known. “The traitor's off to Salisbury as well. Good job, that, we can turn over his chapel and find the artifact."
"He'll not be keeping it in his chapel, although it's close to hand, I expect. Not that it will serve his purposes without the other two."
"We have the Book. Calum's after bringing us the Stone."
"Well now,” Robin said, his voice a low growl, “Calum's not working with us any longer. Vivian corrupted him and turned him away from us. She paid the price for her treason, struck down by the hand of God."
Ellen went even colder. “You told me Calum was a special friend."
"He's gone wrong, hasn't he? See how strong our enemies are, how watchful we have to be? But God is on our side."
"Yes, he is.” A car came along the road from Glastonbury. It stopped, headlamps spotlighting the sign “Temple Manor B&B,” then turned into the car park. The twin red eyes of its tail lamps disappeared behind the wall. Was that him, then, Calum's son? Calum set great store by him. “Mick will be corrupted by the traitor as well!"
"I'll sort him out."
"That's good of you, Robin.” Ellen held her throbbing hand in front of her face. In the dim light she could see blood red against her skin.
"Hurt yourself, have you?” Robin took her cold hand in his and lifted it to his lips. Just the slightest breath, tingling across her palm, and the pain ebbed. “There you are."
Her palm was whole again. “Robin, you're the business!"
"Yes,” he replied. He started the car. It purred up the road. The lights of Glastonbury smeared and ran down the windows, as though the town was drowning and she and Robin alone were saved. Ellen nestled into the seat, safe at the left hand of God.
Chapter Nine
Mick raised the knocker and let it fall. He was minded of the sanctuary knocker at Durham cathedral. Sanctuary. The word had a good sound to it, solid, like the reverberating thud of iron upon iron.
The door opened. His bleary eyes focused on the man who stood in the opening. “Mr. Puckle, is it?"
"Puckle it is, lad. Come through.” And, over Mick's shoulder as he stepped across the threshold, “Thomas. Filthy night, isn't it?"
"And yet without rain nothing would grow.” The second man was tall, with a stern pale face like the stone effigy of a Crusader. He closed his umbrella and shut the door. “Good evening. Mick Dewar, I presume?"
"Aye, that I am."
"Thomas London.” His handclasp was firm if cool.
"The missus has already gone up to bed—headache—but I can lay on some sandwiches and a cuppa,” said Puckle.
Mick flexed his icy fingers. “Thank you kindly."
The distant beat of Nevermas's newest hit reverberated not in his ears but in his entire body. The lads had done themselves proud—brilliant bit of work, “First Rites.” It had played on the car radio so often the words furrowed Mick's mind: From the world, the flesh, and the Devil deliver me. From the world, the flesh, and the Devil make
"Oh. Ta,” Ellen said. Now why did he do that?
"God bless,” said Bess's voice behind her.
He has . The door snicked shut. The rain beat on the umbrella. Her feet were wet, the night was dark, but he was waiting. Ellen plunged into the shadow beneath the archway and collided with the wall. Pain streaked hot across her left hand. Ripped it on a nail, most like. Damn and blast!
She ran, slipping and stumbling, down the road toward Pomparles Bridge. A dark green Jaguar waited there, the glint of passing headlamps trickling like liquid fire down its windscreen. Chucking the umbrella away, Ellen scrambled into the cool leather-scented interior of the car. There. They were shut out.
Robin's eyes flashed green in the gloom. “Well?"
"Mum says the Americans are off to Salisbury tomorrow. Calum's son's coming here tonight."
"And?” he asked.
She was his favorite, wasn't she? He listened to her even though he already knew all the answers. To him all hearts were open, all desires known. “The traitor's off to Salisbury as well. Good job, that, we can turn over his chapel and find the artifact."
"He'll not be keeping it in his chapel, although it's close to hand, I expect. Not that it will serve his purposes without the other two."
"We have the Book. Calum's after bringing us the Stone."
"Well now,” Robin said, his voice a low growl, “Calum's not working with us any longer. Vivian corrupted him and turned him away from us. She paid the price for her treason, struck down by the hand of God."
Ellen went even colder. “You told me Calum was a special friend."
"He's gone wrong, hasn't he? See how strong our enemies are, how watchful we have to be? But God is on our side."
"Yes, he is.” A car came along the road from Glastonbury. It stopped, headlamps spotlighting the sign “Temple Manor B&B,” then turned into the car park. The twin red eyes of its tail lamps disappeared behind the wall. Was that him, then, Calum's son? Calum set great store by him. “Mick will be corrupted by the traitor as well!"
"I'll sort him out."
"That's good of you, Robin.” Ellen held her throbbing hand in front of her face. In the dim light she could see blood red against her skin.
"Hurt yourself, have you?” Robin took her cold hand in his and lifted it to his lips. Just the slightest breath, tingling across her palm, and the pain ebbed. “There you are."
Her palm was whole again. “Robin, you're the business!"
"Yes,” he replied. He started the car. It purred up the road. The lights of Glastonbury smeared and ran down the windows, as though the town was drowning and she and Robin alone were saved. Ellen nestled into the seat, safe at the left hand of God.
Chapter Nine
Mick raised the knocker and let it fall. He was minded of the sanctuary knocker at Durham cathedral. Sanctuary. The word had a good sound to it, solid, like the reverberating thud of iron upon iron.
The door opened. His bleary eyes focused on the man who stood in the opening. “Mr. Puckle, is it?"
"Puckle it is, lad. Come through.” And, over Mick's shoulder as he stepped across the threshold, “Thomas. Filthy night, isn't it?"
"And yet without rain nothing would grow.” The second man was tall, with a stern pale face like the stone effigy of a Crusader. He closed his umbrella and shut the door. “Good evening. Mick Dewar, I presume?"
"Aye, that I am."
"Thomas London.” His handclasp was firm if cool.
"The missus has already gone up to bed—headache—but I can lay on some sandwiches and a cuppa,” said Puckle.
Mick flexed his icy fingers. “Thank you kindly."
The distant beat of Nevermas's newest hit reverberated not in his ears but in his entire body. The lads had done themselves proud—brilliant bit of work, “First Rites.” It had played on the car radio so often the words furrowed Mick's mind: From the world, the flesh, and the Devil deliver me. From the world, the flesh, and the Devil make
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