‘We have no choice,’ said the tall thin man, who was clearly leading the meeting. (You could tell by his authoritative manner – and his funny hat.)
‘We have to give her the codes so that she can go after him.’
There was a chorus of dissent; these were cautious men – if they
were
men
‘We cannot.’
‘We
must
not.’
‘It is not for us to interfere.’
The thin man waved a hand for silence. ‘We have
already
interfered,’ he said, ‘now we must help to put things right. Think! Imagine the damage he will do. Why, he might destroy the world. Do you think he would care? All he cares about is his revenge on she who took away his powers as a Djinn and destroyed his plans. He will do anything to achieve his objective, and
we
are to blame. We are the ones who let this thing get out of hand. Had we not played his game for him, he would never have got this far.’
There were some murmurs of agreement.
‘We sent her after him. Because of us, she killed the vampire’s god, the one they called Ran-Kur, and transferred his power to the lunatic. We allowed him to fool her because we allowed him to fool us –
us
!’ he thundered. ‘And by God, we
are
going to help her to stop him. Tamar Black is our only hope now.’
One figure tentatively raised a hand. ‘Um …?’
‘Yes Sligo, what is it?’
‘Well sir, it’s just that … er – well the thing is, we were wondering, you see, do we really think that she is the best person for the job? She’s so impulsive, you see,’ he paused nervously and looked around for backup. He got none. The leader looked at him in thunderous silence. He gulped and plunged on. ‘All I meant was that, well, last time she made so many mistakes …’
‘The mistakes were ours also, Sligo, as I believe I have already pointed out.’
‘Yes sir, quite! But then she got mortals involved, sir, rather irresponsible we, er – I thought,’
‘You thought so, did you?’ the leader frowned. Sligo cowered. The others tried to look as if they had nothing to do with anything at all, in any way whatsoever and had never seen the unfortunate Sligo in their lives before.
‘All right, all right,’ said the leader, ‘now listen to me, if you are referring to the involvement of the policeman, Stiles. He was
already
involved, if you remember? She rescued him from the vampires that our lunatic friend had sent after him. He wrote the prophecy himself. A fact that even we did not pick up on until it was too late. If you are referring to the unfortunate involvement of the witch – well we all make mistakes. Besides, it turned out well enough. In any event, I do not intend to justify my decision to you. Indeed no other choice is before us. She is the only one who can do it, and, more importantly, she is the only one who
will
.’
‘But, how do we
know
she will go after him?’
‘She will. She will have no choice. If she does not, he will take his revenge. It has already begun.’
PART ONE: TIME HOPPING
~ Chapter One ~
B
ombs were whistling down from the sky. The streets were deserted. ‘Very prudent,’ the stranger thought. However, it would not be difficult to make it seem like an accident.
This suited his sense of style; a murder was such an untidy thing, so completely without finesse. In any case, the people who counted would see his hand in what had happened.
Yes, this was much better, so much more elegant and satisfactory. Now he just had to find his man.
He was probably in a bomb shelter somewhere; he was a cowardly type, hadn’t he avoided the draft? Very different from his descendant – that cursed nuisance.
Now the only question was: was it a communal bomb shelter or a private one? He headed out to the man’s address to find out.
* * *
‘I think that’s about it,’ said Denny with satisfaction.
‘The house looks beautiful,’ agreed Tamar. ‘You wouldn’t think it was the same place.’
‘Well, letting some sunlight in didn’t hurt.’
‘It
should
look good; it took long enough. I don’t know why you insisted on doing it all manually, though, even the garden.’
‘What else did we have to do? Besides it’s more satisfying to do it yourself, it gives you a sense of accomplishment.’
‘Don’t preach, admit it, you were just bored.’
‘We should have a housewarming party,’ he said, changing the subject.
‘For our
vast
number of friends?’ she said, sarcastically.
‘Well, there’s Jack and Hecaté, and Cindy and Eugene, and we should invite the neighbours, from the village down there. After all, we did rid the place of all the vampires – they should be
pleased
to welcome us. Besides, that’s what a housewarming is for, to meet your new neighbours.’
‘You’re really enjoying this aren’t you?’
‘What?’
‘Having a home of your own.’
‘Yeah, why not, aren’t you?’
Tamar smiled sheepishly. ‘Yes, I am I suppose,’ she admitted. ‘Okay, a party. But I’m not doing the catering without using magic, I’m sick of doing everything the mortal way, it’s so
slow
.’
They wandered out into their new garden. You could tell that Tamar had cheated a bit out here; the cypresses were too perfect, and anyway, they had not been there a week ago. Neither had the weeping willows or the pond. The truth was Tamar had used a good deal of magic to make the house and garden both look better, in much the same way as she made herself look like a supermodel. Her own face, the one she had been born with, had not seen the light of day for many thousands of years, and she liked it that way. Vanity was definitely her favourite besetting sin, that and a love of comfort and a strong belief in her own good taste. Their former abode, Denny’s grotty London flat had been a work of art by the time she had finished wiggling her perfect nose. Denny was inclined to be indulgent; he had been a slacker since before there had been a word for it, and he could not have cared less about the state of the bathroom, or his own appearance. But if she wanted a designer life, he was not bothered about that either, as long as he did not have to do anything, and just so long as she did not try to tidy
him
up too much.
Strangely enough she didn’t. She liked him pretty much the way he was. A foil to her beauty, she felt, was better than a rival. Men were not meant to be pretty. Not that Denny was ugly exactly, just pale and thin and scruffy. The only thing she might possibly have changed about him was his propensity for picking out awful tunes on his battered and beloved guitar, a habit of his which nearly drove her to distraction. ‘You sound like an ape tuning up a broken fiddle with its toes,’ she told him, but to no avail. If only he would stick to singing in the shower – he was
good
at that. In fact, his singing voice was truly remarkable, unlike the songs he occasionally wrote, which were only remarkable for how truly awful they were.
They had decided to get a car, for the sake of appearances. Tamar had had her heart set on a Jaguar XL, but Denny turned up one afternoon with a perfectly ordinary, although brand new and gleaming, Citroën.
Tamar was scathing. ‘Honestly Denny, you might make an effort to have a
bit
of style,’ she said. ‘I mean, anybody who’s nobody drives one of those.’
‘Well?’
‘Well.’
‘Look, I’m sorry, but this is who I am. I
am
nobody and I like it. If you don’t like it then … oh I give up.’
Tamar had settled it by turning the Citroën into the car of her dreams, just by looking sternly at it. A method which worked on most things – even inanimate objects were intimidated by her stare – but which, unfortunately, had no effect whatsoever on Denny, unlike most men, who will at least change their socks after enough evil looks.
In the end, most of their new home, like their old one, was the result of imagination. A fact of which Denny was actually well aware, but he did not really care.
The house, however, unlike the flat, had been fairly magnificent to begin with. It now resembled, externally at least, due to Tamar’s extensive renovations and wild imagination, nothing so much as a small castle situated in the middle of several acres of land, surrounded by rolling countryside peppered with quaint villages. Denny hated it, a confirmed urbanite he was distinctly uncomfortable around nature, and the sound of silence was one that he found profoundly unnerving. But the house itself, he had to admit, was pretty impressive. It had two large wings, several reception rooms, a huge kitchen, with a range oven large enough to roast a whole ox and enough bedrooms to house several cricket teams – if you included the ones in the attic. It had taken Tamar and himself several months to get the place to their liking (without magic, it would have undoubtedly taken several years) or rather to
her
liking. Her only concession being the conversion of one of the smaller reception rooms into a game room. The main hall, they had divided into smaller areas with room dividers to make a cosy living space, as recommended in the various copies of “Home Drivel” that littered the place since Tamar had begun renovations – Denny was thinking it was about time to cut off her supply. Of all the things he had never expected from her, an over-weaning interest in curtain fabric would have been top of the list.
Since the main room was at the back of the house, they had ripped down the heavy curtains and made French windows that opened out onto the garden. The all-important computer, which Askphrit had used to access mainframe and disappear into the past, was in this room, cleverly concealed in the panelling, and available at the touch of a lever. Behind this room was the weapons training area, which Denny had insisted on, in case he ever needed it again, if he lost his Athame which gave him extraordinary powers. In any case, he still trained for three hours every day, just in case. Tamar loved the house and all the trappings of luxury. Denny quite liked the house, although, unlike Askphrit, its previous owner, Denny had no great desire to play Lord of the manor. He did like having a proper garden, though, even if most of it
was
created by magic.
The sunshine was real enough, and it felt good, after many months of darkness, to feel it on their faces, and the backs of their necks. It was early spring, but it felt hot.
‘Mmm,’ said Tamar, ‘it’s nice isn’t it? Warm.’
Denny shivered.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Tamar.
“I dunno. It felt like somebody walked over my grave, and I just had this really strong memory of my mother telling me how my granddad died in the war. He was bombed out, in his house, before he could get to the shelter. Mum said they found bits of him all over the garden – horrible. That story always made me shudder as a kid. I had nightmares about it; I suppose that’s why it seemed like I actually saw it, just now, like a dream.’
‘Why now, all of a sudden? Were you thinking about him?’
‘No, why would I? I never met him.’
Tamar narrowed her eyes. ‘Does your mother remember him?’ She asked this as if it was of vital importance.
‘Denny frowned. ‘No, I just said, he died in the war, before she was born.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that,’ said Tamar, and she snapped her fingers. ‘Tempus Suspendré,’ she said. Time froze. Denny stood before her like a statue.
Tamar breathed a sigh of relief. She touched Denny’s face. ‘Still here,’ she said.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, she could not help but smile, a little guiltily, at the memory this action conjured up. She had never told him, but she had, on occasion frozen Denny like this, just so that she could touch him and kiss him without having him die on her. Until the power of the Athame, a ceremonial knife used by demons to steal magic powers, had come into Denny’s possession, only the briefest of contact had been possible due to Tamar’s own inner power, which was so overwhelming, that she could kill a mortal with a touch. But with Denny frozen, she could touch him for as long as she wanted to, since technically it was still only for a second of his time. This was no longer a problem since Denny now had almost as much power as her – as long as he had the Athame. It had not been nearly the same.
She unfroze him, being careful not to unfreeze time anywhere else. That could be disastrous.
Denny blinked. ‘W – what happened? You sort of – jumped, like a bad recording.’
Tamar squinted at him; he was getting more observant, he had never noticed before. ‘I had to stop time,’ she told him.
Denny looked up; there were birds frozen in the sky. ‘Why?’
She ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Well,’ she said, uncertainly. ‘I don’t quite know how to explain it. You know that Askphrit has gone into the past somewhere?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, what I think may have happened is: he’s killed your grandfather to make sure that you never get born, but he got the timing just a little bit wrong, your mother had obviously already been conceived – lucky for us.’
‘No, no – I told you my granddad died in the war, my mother told me.’
‘He did
now
, but that’s only because Askphrit went back in time to make sure of it. That’s why you remember it that way.’
‘Oh! I see – I think. So, maybe in – what, another timeline, I
did
know him?’
‘Quite possibly.’
‘
Bastard
!’
‘Yes, that’s what I’ve always said,’ said Tamar calmly.
‘Mind you,’ Denny added, ‘if he was anything like the rest of my family, it’s probably no loss.’ He mused for a moment on this then asked, ‘So, why did you freeze time?’
‘Because he
will
realise his mistake, and that means that you could vanish from existence at any second.’
Denny was startled. ‘Any second?’
‘Yes, he’s in the past, remember? It doesn’t matter how long it actually takes him, it’ll still happen instantly. It’ll be as if you’ve never existed.’