Emma turned away from the sea. ‘I’m not Grigori,’ she said.
Aninka’s face assumed a determined expression. She reached out briefly and touched Emma’s arm. ‘I will help you find the twins,’ she said.
Chapter Seventeen
Rites of Truth and Passage
When Sofia arrived at Pharos for dinner, she was still high from her meeting during the afternoon. Her heart continued to beat faster than normal, and there were spots of colour along her sharp cheek-bones. She felt slightly out of breath and unnaturally joyous. The experience of seeing Azazel in the flesh had affected her more than she would have believed possible. There was no doubt he was everything they thought him to be.
Salamiel’s secretary showed her into the library, where a fire burned in medieval splendour and the indigo drapes were drawn against the night. Sofia demanded a gin and tonic and Nina moved obediently to the sideboard to mix one. Sofia stood before the fire, taking quick, thirsty sips and staring into the flames.
‘Sofia.’
She turned to the sound of her name and put her empty glass down on the mantle-piece. Salamiel had come into the room and upon his arm was a beautiful young woman. Lily Winter. It had to be. Her long red hair fell softly over her breasts, confined only by tortoiseshell combs behind her ears. She wore a long dinner dress of green fabric that looked rather too old for her. Sofia was slightly annoyed Salamiel was not alone, for some things she did not want to discuss in front of the girl. Collecting herself, she glided towards Salamiel, put her hands upon his shoulders and kissed the air beside his left cheek. ‘Sal! How lovely to see you!’ She withdrew and smiled at Lily. ‘And you must be Salamiel’s visitor, Miss Lily Winter.’
The girl smiled awkwardly and wriggled her shoulders. ‘Hi.’ She appeared to feel uncomfortable in her matron’s gown. Sofia did not blame her. Salamiel had obviously chosen it for her. Stupid creature! No taste!
‘How pretty you are.’ Sofia drawled.
Lily blushed. Sofia drew in her breath and turned to Salamiel. ‘Sal, darling, I really must have a few minutes alone with you before dinner. I’ve had a horrible letter from my broker again. Would you look at it for me?’
‘With pleasure.’ Salamiel disengaged Lily from his arm. ‘Sit here for a while will you, my dear. Nina will get you a drink.’
‘I do apologise for whisking him off like this,’ Sofia trilled at Lily, ‘but I simply can’t digest my meal until my mind’s at rest.’
‘That’s OK,’ Lily said, moving towards the couch.
Salamiel smiled at her. ‘Thank you, Lily. We shan’t be long.’ He virtually dragged Sofia from the room.
Outside, with the library door shut, Salamiel and Sofia held onto each other’s arms, their relative status forgotten in the intensity of the moment. The light was dim around them. Only their eyes glittered and the jewels at Sofia’s throat. ‘Well?’ Salamiel hissed.
‘Yes!’ Sofia exhaled. She was shaking. ‘He lives!’
Salamiel let her go and briefly closed his eyes, a delighted grin spreading across his face. He took hold of her arm again. ‘My study. Come.’
They ran down the corridor, creatures far removed from the masks they wore in human, and occasionally each other’s, company. Their tall shadows flickered along the walls. Sofia looked like the Witch Queen from a fairy tale, with her long, black gown and gleaming hair and eyes. Salamiel looked like what he was; a son of angels, crowned with a fiery mane, his eyes glowing like coals. They stopped before the door behind which Salamiel’s private office could be found. Sofia followed him into the room and threw herself into a leather chair, her gown spreading out around her feet like a pool of Indian ink. ‘I saw it in his face the minute I walked into his room,’ she said, breathlessly. Her eyes were like black gems in their deep sockets, her flesh like powdered tissue. Her breath even steamed a little on the warm air.
‘How did he appear?’ Salamiel leaned on the desk beside her, his hair hanging over his chest. His face was in shadow, but for his pale cheekbones and the wet gleam of his eyes.
‘Magnificent! He is tired and troubled, but underneath it all, I feel he is in control. He is playing with Enniel and his cronies. He’s just waiting to see what they are offering.’
Salamiel watched her breast rising and falling. The physical manifestation of her excitement fascinated him, although he was equally shocked by it. ‘What did you discuss?’
Sofia shrugged and shook her head. ‘Hardly anything. I dropped a few morsels of bait, subtle ones. It remains to be seen whether he picks them up.’ She rubbed her hands together; her fingers were like polished bones, the skin deathly pale. ‘I need a drink. Have you anything in here?’
Salamiel nodded and went around the desk to open a drawer. ‘What are Enniel’s plans?’
‘Oh, the Parzupheim will meet at High Crag during the next few days. They’ll pussy-foot around Azazel, because they haven’t got his measure. Now they have him in their claws, but in truth, I don’t think they have a clue what to do with him.’ She smiled in a brittle fashion and accepted a small tumbler of whisky from Salamiel. ‘Which is all to our advantage. I shall need to speak to him alone, of course, and in the very near future. I don’t want to risk Enniel getting any hooks into him.’
She seemed to be calming down, as if her feverish excitement had only been a desperate need to expel in words some of what she’d seen that afternoon. Salamiel was amused by her condition. She had not anticipated the force of Azazel’s presence, his overwhelming charisma. Salamiel was glad it had winded her. ‘What was your impression, though? Do you think he’ll come to us without any trouble?’
She nodded. ‘If I intrigue him enough, yes.’ Her hands still shook a little as she put the tumbler to her lips. Before she spoke, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘I want to begin work by the winter solstice. Azazel must initiate the preliminaries to awakening the Shamir.’
‘That gives us very little time.’
She sneered, took another drink. ‘Enough!’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘I need to establish what Azazel wants, and then offer it to him. I suspect he desires only solitude and peace, in which case, it will be easy. If he comes to us, we shall give him a citadel in which to hide, somewhere where no other Grigori can molest him.’
‘Azazel was never a one for peace and quiet,’ Salamiel remarked. He wasn’t sure whether the anxiety he felt was inspired by suspicion or perplexity.
Sofia directed a sharp glance at him, apparently in command of her composure once more. ‘There are bound to be changes! What do you expect? If you think he’s going to come bouncing into Pharos like a long-lost friend, ready for a party, forget it!’
‘But is his mind... intact?’
Sofia inhaled impatiently through her nose. ‘It’s impossible to tell at this stage, but he certainly didn’t look or sound like a lunatic.’
‘I was not thinking of anything so extreme. I was thinking of instability, depression, confusion.’
Sofia leaned forward in her chair. ‘Listen, Salamiel. Azazel is like a man who’s been kept hostage in a hostile country for a long, long time. Freedom must be a frightening thing to him at the moment. He’s bound to be disorientated and unsure. We must be patient and understanding.’
Salamiel’s expression was bleak. ‘He’s worse than you’re saying, isn’t he?’
Sofia shook her head. ‘I can’t make any firm judgements on what I’ve seen so far.’
‘Describe him.’
‘I can’t.’ Her voice was hoarse. She sipped the whisky, staring Salamiel in the eye. ‘He possesses a beauty beyond words. To see him is to desire him. That, of course, is part of his power. He is a prince of light, my dear, and we must take care, for fear of being blinded by him.’
Salamiel felt a shiver of apprehension fizz down his spine. He was sure he’d lived this moment before.
Back in the library, Lily sipped gin while she waited for Salamiel and his friend to return. Nina attempted to keep her occupied by talking about clo
thes and make-up; topics in which Lily had scant interest. She was thinking about Salamiel and his visitor, Sofia. They had been surrounded by a thick fog of tension, which had suggested the presence of secrets and excitement. Sofia had been desperate to talk to Salamiel. She had claimed she wanted advice about a letter, but there had been no letter in her hand when she’d left the room, and her hand-bag still lay beside the sofa. Lily considered these things, while nodding and smiling at Nina, who appeared oblivious of her lack of attention. Then, she remembered what Salamiel had said to her earlier. Sofia had seen Shem that afternoon. The woman’s frenetic air confirmed it. He had cast his spell on her. But why did Sofia need to speak to Salamiel alone? What were they keeping from her? Lily realised she must be firm with herself, and not trust Salamiel, nor his strange friend, too easily.
At High Crag, Shemyaza ate alone in his room. He too thought about the meeting with Sofia that afternoon. She was typical of her kind; high-ranking Grigori were all very similar. The realm of conspiracy and intrigue was her home territory. He had known at once that she was rather more than a representative of the Parzupheim, and also that Enniel was unaware of her true nature. Ultimately, Sofia represented only herself. A sub-text had passed between them. She had seemed to be making an offer: whatever he desired in exchange for the use of his powers. She had told him that his first act must be to awaken the Shamir, the serpent power in the land. He knew nothing about this, although talk of the subject kindled uncomfortable feelings within him that were almost like memories. Shem noticed that Enniel seemed surprised by Sofia’s words. Clearly, she had not spoken to him first, but he tried to hide the fact. ‘I think we need to discuss this matter with the Parzupheim before any decisions are made,’ Enniel had said stiffly. ‘Perhaps Shemyaza isn’t yet ready to take on such a potentially dangerous task.’
Sofia had ignored him. ‘The Shamir waits,’ she had said, curling one of her elegant hands into a fist before her, ‘and by awakening it, you will initiate the dawn of a new age.’
Shem had felt faintly embarrassed by such talk. Sofia believed him to be more aware and in control of his strengths than he actually was, but he realised this was probably a fortunate misconception. He had no doubt that should she get the faintest inkling she could exploit him, or the slightest whiff of weakness, she’d pounce, dig her teeth into the back of his neck and never let go. Peverel Othman had locked horns with such people in the past, and won, but Shemyaza did not yet feel strong enough to deal with a similar situation. Othman had invaded the darkest, deepest cabals of the Grigori. In such places he had learned of ancient, forbidden rituals, which he’d subsequently employed in Cresterfield and Little Moor. Shem knew that Sofia was familiar with all those unhallowed practices, and could smell their residue on him. She was the one whom the Parzupheim had sent to Little Moor after he’d fled. Therefore, it was safe to assume she’d been able to visualise everything that had happened there. Shem could tell that, unlike Enniel, she did not disapprove of his actions. It was clear to him that she was a creature who felt very little emotion, and who understood that Othman had done only what he’d felt was necessary and right. Whether he agreed with her judgement, Shem was not quite sure. Was he capable of perpetrating the cruelties that Othman had dispensed so casually? Could he sacrifice Daniel to a demon now?
Perhaps Sofia was the least of his considerations at present. He’d abandoned the twins to an unknown fate, which now pricked at his conscience. He needed Daniel to help find them again, and Daniel must be brought to heel.
Daniel knew he should take heed of Shemyaza’s words: not for his own sake, or even for Shem’s, but for the sake of some greater purpose. Playing games now was a waste of valuable time. He could sense the evaporating hours, slipping away like sand through a narrow waist of glass. He could sense dark, purply power moving in, gathering in a cloud of bruising storms above High Crag. Yet part of him, a new rebellious part, felt annoyed that Shem thought he could order him around, select his lovers, apportion his time. Daniel did not like feeling owned. For this reason, although he felt uncomfortable about it, he sought Taziel out and apologised to him. Taziel was hurt, spoke of the way Peverel Othman had damaged him and implied further damage was imminent. Daniel acted contrite, affectionate. While conscious at every moment of Shemyaza’s presence within the house, he cajoled Taziel into the room they’d been given and offered himself unreservedly. Taziel seemed convinced by this display, although even as they writhed together on the bed, Daniel knew the magic of what had occurred between them that morning had been ephemeral, doomed to a single experience. Now it was only hungry struggling, the gratification of shallow appetites. He wondered whether Taziel was aware of this. Like Daniel, he was extremely sensitive to atmospheres. It seemed they were acting out a play, and the lines they spoke to one another failed to connect, did not make up an entire conversation.
In the evening, after they had eaten, Taziel dozed on the bed, while Daniel lay awake, his heart beating in what felt like panic. Shem had done this, crushed the fragile shoot of their relationship before it could take root. They had glimpsed the promise that morning, now it had been poisoned. Daniel could smell the scent of Owen’s body in the room, and knew that Shem had projected it. Leave me alone! he cried in his mind. Let me experience life! You have lived through so much. Would you deny me the same opportunities?
He could almost hear Shem’s reply. Daniel, you have to make sacrifices. This dalliance is a waste of your time. You are destined for better things. Cast him off. Come to me. We have work to do.
Daniel knew it was only a matter of time before he gave in.
He awoke in the middle of the night with a start, as if someone had poked him. For a moment, he lay breathing hard, blinking at the darkness. Taziel snored softly beside him, his tangled hair spread across the pillow. Looking at him, Daniel experienced a pang of emotion. He leaned over to kiss him, but before his lips made contact, a bolt of blue radiance filled his eyes.
Throwing himself back against the wall, Daniel saw a spinning ball of azure light hanging over the end of the bed. It was so bright, it was painful to look at. The room was rendered black and white by its brilliance. It spat out sparkling motes. Yet Taziel did not wake up. Daniel managed to gasp, ‘Shem! No!’
A low-pitched female voice answered him. ‘No, my Daniel. Not Shem.’
The light condensed until a shape was visible within it; a woman sitting with her knees raised, her arms curled around her ankles. She was young, her hair was black and she wore a string of gold disks around her brow. ‘Ishtahar.’ Daniel breathed the name like a prayer.
She nodded at him, smiling. ‘I am she. Listen, Daniel, for I have no strength here and cannot stay long. You must quell the torment within you and return to the inner silence that used to be your guide. A wild and judgmental storm is gathering around Shemyaza, and dark sisters move close to breathe the mist of their will around him. Go back to him, and give yourself to him completely. This will teach him how to give again. An important lesson, for there is much that Shem must give before the storm abates. But go to him as an equal and teach him humility.’
Daniel gulped air; it had become difficult to breathe. ‘Give myself to him as an equal? How? Must I leave Taziel?’
Ishtahar closed her eyes for a moment, the blink of a smiling cat. ‘The path of the seer is the loneliest of paths, my Daniel, but its rewards can be great. The time of your initiation has long passed; it has never been dealt with. You must take control of your own heart, body and vitality, and let no other dominate them. When this is done, the time to reclaim your birthright will be upon you.’
‘My birthright? What is it?’
‘You will know. For now, you must go to Shem, and go to him soon. He needs your strength. He attempts to control you, because he is used to power, to those who must obey. But you cannot let his ways muddy your clear sight. Let him think you dance to his sacred music. Ultimately, you are beyond his control. But there is one thing you must do before the dawn
light lifts from the sea. When you go to Shem, go to him as an adult, not as a child. Undertake this rite of passage before the night shies before the sun. Do you hear me?’
Daniel nodded slowly. ‘Yes, but you must tell me how.’
‘No time.’ She seemed to be receding in his sight, becoming smaller. Now it appeared she was at the end of a dark tunnel. ‘There can be no tall candles, no sweet incense, no ritual chant for this ceremony, for your time is short. Listen to your blood, Daniel Cranton. This is not the time for hearts or minds.’
There was a crack of blinding blue light, then darkness. Daniel found he was leaning over Taziel, as he had been the moment before Ishtahar appeared. He felt disorientated, unsure of whether he’d been dreaming or hallucinating, or whether Shemyaza’s woman really had revealed herself to him.
Taziel made a small, sleepy sound, then awoke. He jumped to find Daniel leaning over him. ‘What is it?’
Daniel almost told him what had happened, but then only put a finger against his lips and murmured, ‘Ssh.’
Taziel looked afraid, as if he sensed something peculiar had occurred. Daniel put his hands upon Taziel’s shoulders, pushed him against the bed.
‘You look weird,’ Taziel said. ‘Stop it.’
Daniel could feel the cold air on his naked back and the beat of blood in his loins. Listen to your blood. He drew in his breath, his head hanging between his shoulders.
‘Daniel?’
He raised his head, and could barely see, for his vision was broken up with spinning motes of grey light. ‘Owen, Shemyaza, you,’ he said slowly. ‘All of you have taken me as your boy, drunk from me like a vessel. Surrender to me, Taziel. Let me be a man for you.’
Taziel blinked at him. ‘What’s the matter? Have you been dreaming?’
Daniel shook his head. ‘No. I am awake.’ He reached out and cupped Taziel’s jaw with one hand, bent down to kiss him fiercely. There was some small protest to begin with, but it was swiftly quenched.