and Tom said they wanted to come too, to stretch their legs, and once Ruth saw she would be left alone with Laura she opted to join them.
'You lot are freaks,' Laura gibed. 'Choosing physical exercise when you can lounge around and chill?' Tom convinced her she should sit in the van to guard the talismans so she could drive away at the first sign of trouble. Church borrowed Laura's small knapsack and tucked the Wayfinder inside it. 'I'm never letting this out of my sight again, whether we need it or not,' he said with a grin.
They strode up the leafy lane to the village with a lively step, despite the exertions of the night before.
'You know what?' Veitch said to Church ahead of the others. 'I never felt as alive as I do now.'
Church knew what he meant. 'It's like you don't fully appreciate life until you've faced up to death. I know that's a real cliche-all those adrenalin junkies doing dangerous sports say it all the time. But I never thought for a moment it might be true.'
'Makes you think how bad we're leading our lives, with awful office jobs and poxy suburban houses.' Veitch thought for a moment, then glanced at Church. 'Maybe we're on the wrong side.'
'What do you mean?'
'We're fighting to keep the things the way they always have been, right? What happens if that's not the best way? What if all this magic and shit is the way it really should be?'
Church recalled a conversation he had with Ruth soon after they first met about his dismay at the way magic seemed to have drained out of life. 'But what about all the death and suffering? People getting slaughtered, medical technology failing?'
'Maybe that's all part and parcel of having a richer life. What's better-big highs and deep lows or a flatline?'
Church smiled. 'I never took you for a philosopher, Ryan. But it all sounds a little Nietzchean to me.'
'You what?'
At that point Tom and Shavi caught up with them and introduced a vociferous religious debate. Veitch listened for a moment, then dropped back until he was walking just in front of Ruth. She eyed him contemptuously. 'Don't even think of talking to me.'
'I just wanted to say that was a really brave thing you did last night. You saved us all.'
'Do you really think I need your validation?'
Veitch went to reply, but her face was filled with such cold fury he knew it was pointless. He dropped back further and trailed behind them all.
The village shop was just opening up for the morning. Church and Shavi both picked up wire baskets and loaded them up with essentials. Just before they reached the checkout, a short, ruddy-faced man in his fifties with white hair and a checked flat cap rushed in, leaving the door wide open.
'Born in a barn, Rhys?' the woman behind the counter said.
Ruth, who was nearest, saw that he wasn't in the mood to banter. His face was flushed and he was breathless, as if he'd run all the way there. 'Did you hear about Dermott?' he gasped. The woman shook her head, suddenly intrigued. 'Missing, he is. They found his bike and a shoe up near the old Pirate's Lantern. Edith is in a right old state. She expected to find him in bed after the night shift and when he wasn't there she called the police.'
The woman and the man launched into a lurid conversation about what might have happened to their friend, but Ruth was no longer listening. She knew what had happened to him. The Hunt had found their sacrificial soul. Feeling suddenly sick, she dashed out of the shop and sat on the pavement, her head in her hands. How many people who had crossed their path had suffered? she wondered.
The others emerged soon after, laughing and joking, but she found it impossible to join in. Even when they won, there was a price to pay.
The knock at the passenger door window came just as Laura had settled out in the back, mulling over whether or not she had fallen for Church, hating herself for it. It was brief, friendly; not at all insistent. Deciding it was kids playing or the part-time car park attendant wanting to check their ticket, she decided she couldn't be bothered to answer it. But when it came again thirty seconds later, she sighed irritably and then scrambled over the back of the passenger seat. She was surprised to see a man who looked like a tramp in his shabby black suit. Yet his red brocade waistcoat added a note of flamboyance, as did his swept-back silver hair and sparkling eyes, which suggested a rich, deep humour. His skin had that weathered, suntanned appearance that only came from a life on the road, but his smile was pleasant enough.
Laura wound down the window. 'I haven't got any spare change. I like to sharpen it to throw at authority figures.'
'An admirable pursuit, my dear,' he said in a rich, theatrical voice. 'But I am not seeking financial remuneration. Although I must say I am a little down on my luck at the moment. Travelling great distances can be an expensive business. But that is by-the-by. In actual fact, I am seeking young Mr. Churchill. Is he around, by any chance?'
Laura laughed in surprise. 'You know Church?'
'We had a wonderful evening of great humour, fantastic storytelling and, frankly, serious inebriation at a Salisbury hostel. Why, your generous friend even allowed me to drink his health into the night on his hotel tab. A wonderful fellow, and no mistaking.' Laura laughed at his faux dramatic persona, which seemed to have been culled from old films and older books, but his charm was unmistakable. 'And, as is his genial nature, he asked me to look him up the next time I was in the vicinity. And here I am!' He suddenly clapped his hands into a praying posture and half buried his face between them. 'Oh, forgive me! I have forgotten the very basis of good manners-the introduction. My name, my dear, is Callow.'
He held out his hand. Laura hesitated for a moment, then took it. 'Laura DuSantiago,' she said, aping his theatrical style.
'And will you allow me to rest a while in your vehicle until young Mr. Churchill's return? I fear my legs are weary.'
Laura began to open the door, but then a thought jarred: Church didn't have the van when Callow would have met him, and there was no way he could have known they'd be there in an obscure Welsh village. She looked into his face suspiciously.
Callow smiled, said nothing. He was still holding on to her hand and his grip was growing tighter. 'Let go.' Her voice was suddenly hard and frosty.
She tried to drag her hand free, but Callow's strength belied his appearance. His smile now seemed grotesque. He forced his head through the open window and she was hit by a blast of foul breath. She realised he was trying to prevent anyone seeing what was happening. 'You bastard-'
Before she could say any more, Callow gently brushed his free hand across the back of her arm. She couldn't understand his action, until she saw a thin red line blossom where his fingers had passed. It seemed almost magical. She watched it in bemusement, trying to work out how he had done it. But the stinging shocked her alert and she caught hold of his wrist, forcing his hand up; a razor blade was surreptitiously lodged between his tightly held fingers. She had only a second to take it in when he suddenly let go of her hand and smashed his fist hard into her face. Laura saw stars, felt the explosion of pain, then pitched backwards across the seats in a daze. When she came around, Callow had the door open and was clambering in over her.
She savagely kicked a foot towards his groin, but instead it slammed into his thigh. He winced, but the smile never left his lips. His eyes, no longer sparkling, were fixed on her face.
Laura began to yell and struggle, but Callow made another pass with his hand, slashing the soft underside of her forearm, dangerously near to the exposed veins at her wrist. Before she could respond, he started sweeping his hand back and forth across her face. She threw her arms up to protect herself, feeling her flesh split and the wet warmth trickle down to her T-shirt. She yelled out, the agony of the moment multiplied by a sudden image of her mother showing her the bloodstained razor blade two years earlier. Not again, her mind roared.
The seriousness of her predicament hit her like a train; no one was going to save her; Callow had forced her into a position where she couldn't fight back; and just as she decided her only hope was to scream until someone came run ning, he hit her in the face again, grabbed her by the hair and bundled her over the back of the seats.
In her daze, she was vaguely aware of him dropping down beside her like a giant spider, and then he had gripped the razor blade between knuckle and thumb and was cutting into her in a frenzy. The last thing Laura saw before she blacked out was so horrible she couldn't tell if it was a hallucination brought on by the pain and the
