Death's Shadow

“I read their minds. Access their secrets. Absorb their memories. I’ve been able to do it since I came back to life.”

“Have you read my mind?” she asks sharply and I nod shamefully. “How much did you learn?”

“A lot. But I’d never reveal what I know. I wouldn’t even have taken it, except I’ve no choice. Every time I touch someone, I steal from them. I can’t stop it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Meera asks, looking more confused than angry.

“I would have eventually, but there was so much else to deal with…” I shrug it off. “Anyway, I touched one of the werewolves and saw into its mind. It was a jumble, shards of memory all mixed up. I couldn’t make sense of most of what I saw. But I learnt his name, who he was before he changed and who he was passed on to.”

“Well, come on,” Meera says when I hesitate.

“His name was Caspar,” I tell her. “He was a Grady. He turned into a werewolf when he was fourteen. His parents did what many of their kin do, and turned him over to the family executioners—the Lambs.” I know about the Lambs from the memories of Bill-E and Beranabus.

“But the Lambs didn’t execute him,” Meera says, her expression fierce.

“No. I’m assuming the other werewolves were family members scheduled for execution too. But all of them wound up here.”

“The guys with the guns…”

“They were probably working for the Lambs.”

We stare at each other, then at Dervish lying unconscious by our feet. And the temperature of the room seems to drop ten degrees.

Meera doesn’t understand why the Lambs would do this. They sometimes keep werewolves alive, to experiment on them in an attempt to unlock their genetic codes and discover a cure. But only with the parents’ permission.

“I can picture them keeping the beasts alive on the quiet,” she says. “Very few parents care to commit their children to a lifetime of laboratory misery, even if they’ve turned into werewolves. It’s no surprise if the Lambs told them their kids had been executed, then kept them alive to study.

“But why bring them here to attack us? And how did they organise them? They were working as a team, as if they’d been trained. I didn’t think you could do that with werewolves. Even if you could, why send them against us?”

That’s the key question. According to Meera, Dervish never had much love for the Lambs. They originally formed to execute children who’d turned, but over the decades they acquired more power and branched out into more experimental areas. Dervish didn’t approve of that, especially since he didn’t think science could find a cure for a magically determined disease.

“The Lambs never liked Dervish either,” Meera says. “They thought if he explained more about demons, it might help them with their studies. But they’d no reason to attack him. At least none that I’m aware of.”

“Maybe it’s me,” I mumble. “Grubbs turned into a werewolf—temporarily—and because of his magical powers, the Lambs couldn’t stop him. Maybe they’re afraid I’ll turn too and become a menace.”

“But they don’t know you’re one of the family,” Meera says. “Dervish told them nothing about you. There’s something we’re missing…”

We spend hours debating the mystery. We get no closer to the truth, but at least it helps to pass the time. During the discussions, I think of another reason why the Lambs might have targeted me. But I say nothing of it to Meera, deciding to wait until the other Disciples arrive, so I don’t have to repeat myself.

Someone knocks on the door leading to the yard.

Meera and I were both half-dozing. We jolt awake at the sound and I strengthen the magical fields around the doors and walls. Then a man shouts, “Little pigs, little pigs, let us come in!”

“Idiot,” Meera grunts, but she’s smiling. “It’s Shark.”

“I know. I remember his voice from Bill-E’s dream.” I remove the spells and the battered door swings open. A tall, burly man in an army uniform enters, followed by an elderly Indian woman who walks with a limp.

“Sorry we’re late,” Shark says, hugging Meera and lifting her off the floor.

“How is he?” Sharmila asks, hobbling directly to Dervish.

“He’s been like that since the attack,” I tell her. “No change.”

She stares at me suspiciously. “You must be Bec. I have heard about you.”

“The dead girl who came back to life,” Shark says. He’s looking at me oddly. “I thought you’d be more like a boy, considering…”

“…I stole Bill-E’s body?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s nothing of Bill-E left,” I tell them. “Except his memories. That’s how I know you and Sharmila.”

Shark frowns. “I never met him.”

“I did,” Sharmila says, “but many years ago, when he was very young.”

“I know. But he met both of you.” I grin weakly at their confusion.

“Bec can tell you about that later,” Meera snaps. “What’s happening outside?”

“Nothing,” Shark says. “All quiet. Your birds have flown the coop.”

“You’re positive? It isn’t a trap, to lure us out of hiding?” Shark shakes his head. “Then let’s get Dervish straight to a hospital. We can talk about the attack on the way. But I’ll tell you this much—they weren’t birds. They were Lambs.”

Shark and Meera carry Dervish up the steps out of the cellar as gently as they can. Shark grumbles about what he’s going to do to the Lambs when he catches up with them. He drove here in a van. There’s a hospital trolley in the rear. We strap Dervish down and Sharmila produces a drip and heart monitor. She hooks Dervish up. I watch with interest—it’s the first time I’ve seen such apparatus.

When Dervish is as secure as we can make him, I ask Shark if he’s absolutely certain we’re not going to be attacked.

“Nothing in life’s an absolute,” he replies, squinting at the trees, the mansion, the sky. “But if this was a trap, the time to attack would have been when we were moving Dervish up from the cellar. That’s when we were most vulnerable. I’m confident we’ve nothing to fear for the time being.”

“Then I’ve a favour to ask.” I feel strange being so forward but this is no time to be shy. “I can open a window to the Demonata’s universe from the cellar. I’d like you to go through and find Beranabus.”

Shark blinks slowly. Sharmila is frowning.

“Have you ever been to that universe?” Sharmila asks.

“No.”

“Then you do not know what you are asking. It is a place of chaos and peril. We have never been there without Beranabus to guide us.”

“I know how dangerous it is,” I mutter, flashing on some of Beranabus’s many memories of the hellish universe, “But I’ll try to open the window to one of the less savage zones. Did Beranabus teach you a spell to find him once you’re there?”

“No,” Shark grunts. “But Dervish did.”

“We have never tested it,” Sharmila notes. “What if the window closes and we cannot find him? We will be stranded.”

“Dervish might be dying,” Meera hisses.

“I have sympathy for Dervish,” Sharmila says coolly. “That is why I came when you summoned me. But can Beranabus heal him? And even if he can, why should we risk our lives for his?”

“It’s not about helping Dervish,” I say quickly before an argument develops. “We don’t know who the Lambs were after. Their target might have been Dervish or Meera, but it was probably me.”

“What if it was?” Shark asks.

“I’m important,” I mutter, feeling embarrassed. “I can’t explain—there isn’t time—but I’m part of a powerful force which might mean the difference between winning and losing the war with the Demonata.”

Sharmila’s eyes narrow. “The Kah-Gash?”