They paused in a lay-by on the A40 east of Postcombe to weigh up their options. Most people stayed in their vehicles, taking the opportunity to have a quick snack or a drink, but the ones who had naturally gravitated towards the leading group gathered on the roadside for a conference. There were Breaker, Meg, Carolina, and four others whom Shavi didn't know by name. While they spoke hear- edly, Shavi circled the group, focusing his attention on the fields that swept out to the north and east.
It was late afternoon and the sweltering temperature of the day had been made worse by thick cloud cover rolling in to trap the heat. They would have to consider making camp soon, and that was a prospect Shavi did not relish.
Exhausted by the day's driving, still shattered by what had happened to Penny, the travellers' nerves were fraying, their voices growing harsh. Shavi tried to ignore them to concentrate on the darkening landscape, but their debate grew louder and more hectoring until he turned and snapped, 'Quiet!'
They all looked at him. A car roared by and then the road grew still. 'What is it?' Carolina said. 'There's nothing-'
He waved her quiet with a chopping motion of his hand. Something was jarring on his nerves, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. There was the wind in the trees. Distant traffic noise from the motorway. Nothing, nothing… And then he had it. The field birds were cawing harshly; on the surface it was not unusual, but instinctively he seemed to know what they were saying. He could hear the tonal differences, the faint nuances, almost as if it was speech. They were frightened.
He spun round to the others. 'Back to the vehicles. Quickly. It is not safe here.'
The words had barely left his mouth when there was movement along all the hedgerows of the fields: darkness separating from the shadows near the hedge bottoms, rising out of ditches; the Fomorii were moving.
Most of the travellers obeyed him instantly and ran towards their vehicles. One of the men whom Shavi didn't know turned to look at the fields curiously; his eyes started to roll and nausea passed across his face. Shavi gave him a violent shove in the direction of his camper van before he could see any more.
'Do not look at the fields!' Shavi yelled. 'Get on the road and keep driving! Follow Breaker's lead!'
He threw himself in beside Breaker and the bus lurched out on to the road. A horn blared furiously as a Porsche overtook at high speed. 'What's going on?' Breaker asked.
'The Fomorii are attacking,' Shavi said darkly, one eye fixed on the wing mirror. 'They want me. And they will destroy you all to get at me.'
The vehicles surged on to the road in a wave of creaking, protesting metal. But age lay heavy on some of them and their response was poor. Shavi held himself tense as he watched the trail pull out of the lay-by as the fields turned black with movement; it was as if a termites' nest had suddenly been vacated.
'Are they all with us?' Breaker asked anxiously.
Shavi counted the vehicles out. 'Nearly there.' A bus. Another. A mini-van. 'One more.' The straggler was the camper van belonging to the traveller Shavi had forced into action. It was slow, weaving unnecessarily, and Shavi knew the driver was trying to see what was in the fields through his mirror. 'Do not look,' he prayed under his breath.
The camper van slewed suddenly to one side and came to a halt. Shavi pictured the driver vomiting, then passing out. He slammed a hand against the side window as if it would jolt the driver awake.
In the mirror Shavi watched the darkness sweep over the hedgerow into the lay-by. He had an impression of teeth and body armour, wings and too many legs, all shimmering sable, and although he had grown almost immune to the appearance of the Night Walkers, he still felt his stomach churn.
The Fomorii hit the camper van like a tidal wave. It crumpled as if it were made of paper, then shredded into a million pieces. Shavi looked away quickly.
Breaker glanced at him, but didn't have to ask. After a long silence, the traveller said, 'Do you think they'll follow us into London?'
'They will not be able to keep up with the vehicles if you travel at speed. But now they know I am with you they will continue to hunt you down. If we go into London there is a danger we will be obstructed, slowed down.'
'Then what?' Breaker's thumb was banging on the wheel in an anxious rhythm.
Shavi thought for a moment. 'We must speed up, but not go completely out of sight. They must see you drop me off-'
'We can't abandon you to them!' Breaker flashed him a dismayed glance.
'I will have a better chance of hiding from them alone. There must be somewhere near here where I can attempt to lose them.' He snatched up Breaker's dog-eared book of maps and hastily riffled through the pages. When he found the page they were on, he pored over it for a minute, then stabbed his finger down. 'Here.'
When Breaker was convinced the convoy was going to go straight into the centre of High Wycombe, Shavi indicated a turning. They came to a stop at West Wycombe and waited anxiously, with constant reference to the mirror. Meg and Carolina could contain themselves no longer, and ran from their respective vehicles to see what was planned. They pleaded with him not to go, but he would not be deterred; his leaving was the only chance they had.
When he spied movement in the countryside on either side, he kissed them both, shook Breaker's hand forcefully, then sent them on their way. His last view of the travellers was a series of pale, frightened faces trying to comprehend what was happening in their lives.
He waited alone in the road for as long as he could. It quickly became obvious the dark stream of Fomorii had realised he had left the convoy, for they hurtled towards him relentlessly, without heeding the disappearing vehicles.
Once he was sure of that, he dashed through a gate and ran as fast as his legs would carry him.
The lowering clouds made the late afternoon into twilight. The very air around him seemed to have a gun- metal sheen and he could taste iron on the back of his tongue; a storm was brewing, which he hoped would be to his advantage, although he had the unnerving feeling the Fomorii could see in the gloomiest weather conditions.
But at least he was sure he could make the location work for him. Once he saw the name on the map, the information about myths, legends and history that he had amassed over a lifetime instantly came into play.
He was sprinting through the classically designed grounds of West Wycombe Park in full view of the gleaming Palladian mansion where the Dashwood family had made their home for hundreds of years. It was one of their ancestors who had earned the place such notoriety. In the mid-eighteenth century Sir Francis Dashwood founded a private brotherhood of the upper crust, which he ironically named the Knights of St. Francis. There was little of the chivalrous about a secret society dedicated to orgies and blasphemous religious ceremonies, acts which earned it the nickname the Hellfire Club and a motto Do what thou wilt. The truth had turned into legend, which had haunted the family and the area ever since, but somewhere in the grounds was another part of Sir Francis' grim legacy which Shavi thought might save his life; if only he could find it.
He headed for the unmistakable landmark of St. Lawrence's Church, built by Dashwood, with a meeting place for ten of his Hellfire Knights in a gleaming, golden ball on the top of the tower. Shavi had half expected to be met by security guards or someone trying to make him buy a ticket, but things were falling apart quickly all over; what was the point of maintaining tourist locations when everyone was trying to live on a day-to-day basis in a climate of increasing fear?
At the church he stopped and glanced back. The shadowy shapes were closer now, massing as they flowed down the sweeping green slopes of the garden. Quickly he scanned the area.
Eventually he found what he was looking for: an entrance cut into the hillside overlooking the park. Within lay a network of artificial caves going deep underground where the Hellfire Club had held its magic rituals and orgies. It was tucked away at just such an angle that the approaching Fomorii would not see him take the detour and would presume he had continued on through the grounds; and it was discreet enough that unless they knew it was there, they would not see it. He hoped.
He skidded inside, his chest aching from his ragged breathing; even fit as he now was, he hadn't moved at such a clip for a long time. The catacombs were filled with an inky darkness. Lights had been installed for the tourists, but he didn't dare attempt to put them on, even if he could have located the light switch. He moved as swiftly as he could while feeling his way along the chill, dank walls. When he rounded a corner and the ambient light
