The Magic Cottage

It took me no time at all to reach the bedroom.

'Oh no—'

Where there had once been a hairline split in the wall, there was now a one-inch furrow running from floor to ceiling. I imagined I could see the night peering through from the other side.

'Forget about packing,' I told Midge. 'We're getting out right now before this place falls apart.'

She was hesitant. There was a turmoil going on inside her that was almost visible. I could appreciate her dismay, her bewilderment; my only wonder was that she wasn't totally traumatized. Midge's dream had become a nightmare, everything that had happened here illogical and disconcerting (to say the least). An idyll had been corrupted by forces that neither of us understood—and frankly, as far as I was concerned, didn't want to understand. It was worse for her, because she was aware that she had a role in this disorder of things, but she had no idea what that role was. I'd had a glimmer, and I'd tried to convey that to her, but when it came down to it, what did I know about anything? The only thing that was obvious was that Gramarye was no longer a safe place to hang around in.

I was about to go to Midge and drag her out of the bedroom—drag her from her own introspection—when her eyes widened and she pointed toward the window.

Headlight beams were gliding to a stop on the other side of the garden fence. More headlights from behind lit up the yellow Citroen.

'Bastards,' I muttered.

Grabbing Midge by the wrist, I stomped out into the hallway.

'What are you going to do?' She clung to me as I snatched up the telephone receiver, and her trembling ran through me as though I were touching a tuning fork.

'It's about time the police got involved in all this. I don't know what the fuck I'm gonna tell 'em, but I'll think of something. Holding you against your will might do for a starter.'

'But that's not true.'

'So I'll lie a little. We just need the police here.'

Static leapt out of the earpiece like a gremlin up to mischief.

I cursed and held the receiver away as I dialed. More terrible static, and then a whining screech, the kind of sound we might all hear one day when the Bomb has dropped and line meltdown has started as we ring to check on loved ones.

'Shit!' I said again (times of pressure, my language gets pretty poor). I jiggled the cradle contacts until the less strident interference returned, then redialed. Same sound, ear-piercing sharp.

We both winced and I slammed down the receiver. 'Out through this way,' I shouted, already reaching for the door. 'We'll hide in the forest—they'll never find us there.'

'No, Mike. We're safer inside Gramarye.'

I stared at her incredulously. 'Are you kidding? Can't you see what's happening to this place? This is condemned property we're standing in.'

'I don't think we'll be harmed here.'

'Flora Chaldean probably felt the same. Look, I don't know what Mycroft and his loonies have in mind, but I think club membership is now out as far as we're concerned. And Mycroft let us come here because that's where he wants us. God knows why, but I'm sure he's got his reasons. So let's get, come on!'

I opened the door, and dislodged bats beat against my head and raised arms before skittering off into the gloom. In the chill of the moment I'd forgotten about them. I waited for a mass launch. None came, but my relief was only momentary.

Lights were emerging from the woods.

I was back inside and locking the door in a flash. 'They followed us through the forest too.'

Midge was wearing a stupefied expression.

'He split his forces, sent some by road, the others through the forest after us. Seems I was right—he wants us trapped inside the cottage.'

Understanding appeared to sink in slowly; then she nodded her head and was suddenly very calm, no longer trembling.

'Christ, the front door! We didn't lock it!' I lost my footing at the bend of the stairs in my haste to get down to the kitchen and only managed to control my tumble by sticking my flattened hands against either wall. I slid some of the way, but was up and running by the time I reached the bottom. I shot both door bolts, top and bottom, and rested my forehead against the wood, catching my breath.

It was several moments before I plucked up the nerve to peek out of the window. The car lights had been doused and I could just make out moonlight bouncing off the metal tops beyond the fence. No people out there, no Synergists. As far as I could tell.

'Midge!' I called back up the stairs. 'Find Sixsmythe's number and call him—we might get lucky this time.'

I drew the kitchen curtains, not wanting them to see in if they were out there. As I passed the table on my way to the stairs, I couldn't help touching the furry heap lying there. It wasn't a conscious gesture, and certainly not dwelt upon; a passing contact, no more than that. Could be it was a token of affection, a regret that Rumbo was gone. Maybe a private 'so long, buddy.'

Then I was pounding stairs, expecting to find Midge dialing or at least leafing through the local directory. The hallway was empty.

She was in the round room, silhouetted by the half-moon brightness, and she was watching the gathering outside.

'Midge, why didn't you call—'

'He can't help us, Mike.'

'Sixsmythe? He's the only contact we've got around here.'

'He wouldn't know how to help. It's too late anyway.'

I followed her gaze and didn't like what I saw. No, I didn't like it at all.

Mycroft and his motley mob were in the open, their shapes distinct and black against the moon-drenched grass. They stood apart, separate entities, spread like stone menhirs and just as still. Those who had arrived from the forest had switched off their flashlights and although each was isolated, occupying his or her own space, they were a pack, united with their Synergist leader in some mysterious cause that terrified me.

They watched the cottage as we watched them.

I stood closer to Midge and she said quietly, 'They want us to die.'

That's how she put it. Not 'They want to kill us,' but 'They want us to die,' as if they'd have no part in the act, they wouldn't bloody their own hands.

'That's a bit drastic.' If my scorn was reassuring to her it didn't ease my own concern. 'They can't go around murdering people just because they like the look of a house. There's laws against that kind of gazumping.'

'They wanted Flora to die and she did.'

So much for humor.

'She had a heart attack, Okay, so maybe they frightened her enough to cause it, but she was an old lady; how they gonna scare us that much?'

'Weren't you frightened inside their Temple, inside that terrible room? Weren't you scared in the forest?'

'Sure. But we're on home base now—let's see what Mycroft can do here.'

You know, sometimes bravado is the worst thing for tempting fate. What could he do? Plenty, and we were about to find out.

It didn't happen immediately. Seconds ticked by and nobody and nothing seemed to be moving—there wasn't even a drifting cloud in the sky. And it was quiet, so graveyard quiet. Even the floorboards had stopped groaning. The loudest thing was the stench in the air.

I wanted to step away from the window—we weren't too close, not near enough for the Synergists to see us—but somehow I was rooted to the spot. Fascinated, you see, morbidly curious as to what (or was not) going on outside. Even breathing was a bit of a chore, my skin feeling too tightly wrapped around my chest. We stared out and they stared in.

Then the nearest figure raised an arm, in his hand a long cane.

That's when hell let loose.