Sample chapters from
Chapter One
The Huntsman
Soon. Perhaps soon.
Emmi Jones pressed her hands against the steering wheel and breathed.
I could murder a cigarette.
Normally there would be cigarettes in the glove compartment. "Normally" was six months ago, but she still couldn't get used to it.
She pulled her beloved little Volkswagen Golf up under the overhanging trees of a roadside copse, turned off the engine and just sat for a while, watching the wintry sun sink towards the horizon. She brushed a carroty wisp of hair from her forehead. To her right, the frosty fields glittered, beautiful but bleak; to her left, the stripped trees stood stark, their shadows long, fleeing from the light.
"Normal" was before she’d broken up with Roger, the latest in a long line of short-lived relationships.
Out of habit, her hand reached under her coat for the object in her left jeans pocket. She withdrew it, fingering the piece of worn felt that protected it, held in place by a somewhat perished elastic band. She unwrapped it and cradled it in her hand, the familiar weight and sharpness bringing a degree of comfort.
"Normal" was before she'd decided that her life needed some serious changes. And some serious answers. She looked down at the cherished thing. Perhaps soon she would have some. Soon.
She took another unsteady breath and frowned. Why did she have to be so nervous? The worst that could happen was that she'd be back where she started. And she’d managed perfectly well for twenty-five years.
Perfectly well.
Emmi reached for her phone, frowning at herself again. Procrastinating wouldn't help. Still. She pressed speed dial 3 and listened as the phone rang at the other end. Once. Twice.
"Hello?"
"Hi Edwin, it's me."
"Hi." She could hear the smile in his voice. "Are you asking me to put the kettle on, or telling us you've been delayed?"
Emmi smiled, too. "Closer to the second. I have an… errand to run on the way, so I'll be a little later than planned."
"Ah. So you phoned up to be enigmatic. I see."
Emmi laughed. But there was still a hint of hesitation before she said, "I'm going to call on Margery Trent."
"You've found her? I was still looking."
"Yes. The day before yesterday. Sorry I didn't let you know before."
A pause.
"Are you sure you want to do this on your own? I could meet you there. I mean, I assume you're pretty close to home by now."
Home. She sighed.
"I'm serious Emmi. Tell me where you are and I'll come. Or come here and have a cup of tea first, and we'll go together. George is here already, and you know Cecily won't really relax until you arrive."
"It'll be fine Edwin. Really." She knew he didn't buy the forced lightness. "Tell Henry and Cecily I shouldn't be more than an hour or so. I'm parked by a wood near Ashwell - that's where she lives, would you believe it? Half an hour for my… interview, and then half an hour more to Lincoln, tops."
In her mind, she could see his dubious little frown.
"Well, all right then." A sigh. "I know it's no use arguing with you."
"So I'll see you in an hour, then." Bright. Chirpy. She wasn't fooling either of them.
"Emmi –"
"What is it?"
He didn't reply immediately.
"Edwin, if I'm going to be there by five, I need to make a start."
"Never mind. Sorry."
"Come on, I know that tone. What's the matter?"
"I don't think this is the best time to say it. Wait till you get here."
"Oh, thanks. Now I get to worry about what it is that you won't tell me."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. I wasn't thinking."
Emmi smiled. "Well, that's not like you. Come on, Sands – spill. You can't leave me in suspense for a whole hour."
He didn't laugh as she'd thought he would.
"There's one other thing." Another small sigh. She waited. "Rick will be here tomorrow."
Emmi's heart seemed to drop a few inches inside her chest, landing with a thud. Then it went into overdrive. Damn. She frowned as she tried to breath normally. Damn damn damn.
"I wanted to warn you as soon as possible."
Emmi focused on her breathing.
"Emmi? Are you still there?"
"Yes." Her own voice sounded far away to her. She pulled herself together. "Yes, I'm here."
"Emmi, it'll be ok. We're all here for you."
"I know it will." Bright. Chirpy. "That's ancient history anyway. Don't worry, Edwin."
An unconvinced silence.
"And now, if I'm going to see you in an hour's time, I need to get moving."
"Ok. You're sure you don't want me to come?"
"Quite sure. But have the kettle on when I get there."
"Count on it." The smile was back.
"Bye then."
"Bye Emmi."
Emmi ended the call, locked her phone, returned it to her pocket. She became aware that the Keepsake was still in her clenched hand. The red pressure pattern left by its corners tingled slightly as the circulation began to return. She picked up its cloth to rewrap it, but the old elastic band snapped. Great. She shielded it as best she could, and poked it into her coat pocket. Then she took a deep breath, and turned the ignition key.
Nothing happened.
Oh perfect. She checked the dashboard. Petrol and battery were fine. She tried again. And again. Still nothing. Not even a sputter.
The sun was pretty low now, so Emmi took her torch from the glove compartment before getting out to check the spark plugs and high-tension coil, and finally even the exhaust pipe and air filter. Nothing seemed amiss.
Puzzled now as well as annoyed, she climbed back into the car and grabbed a wet wipe, also from the glove compartment, to clean the grease from her hands. Then she tried the ignition one last time. Diddly.
Ok, time to phone the RAC.
And of course, her phone now had no signal. Emmi began to feel that the elements were against her. There was a sort of tension in the air, now that she stopped to think about it. As though there were a thunderstorm in the offing. Yet the skies were clear, a cold eggshell blue with only wisps of cloud glowing with the late sunlight. It was probably just the tension building up inside her, she decided.
She climbed reluctantly out into the cold again, tucking her scarf more snugly around her throat, and began to walk back up the road, trying to get a signal. Perhaps the trees were blocking it? Weird, though—it had been fine when she called Edwin. The sun was now on the horizon behind her, and the road falling into dusk, but she could see well enough. If all else failed, she'd have to take her torch and walk to Ashwell for help, but it was still a couple of miles away, and in this weather, at nightfall, it wasn't her first choice. Naturally, she had to break down at the end of the shortest day of the year. Because her life was that perfect. Still no signal.
A dull, red glow lit the bare tree trunks, then faded. The day's last breath before dying? Rage, rage at the dying of the light.
And at that moment, her phone went dead altogether. So that was it. Low battery. Yet she could have sworn it was well charged this morning. Maybe it needed a new one. That would be about par for the course today.
A cold, dark walk it would have to be, then. Better lock the car up before she set off. She stuffed her reddened hands into her pockets and turned back towards it. She’d walked farther than she’d realised. The car looked very small and far away. Emmi shivered, feeling suddenly vulnerable; exposed. She shrugged it off. Getting jittery, aren’t we?
And then she saw the horseman.
A thin beam of red-gold lay along the ground from her feet straight towards him. She hadn't noticed the sound of hooves until this moment. But she'd been preoccupied, of course. Well, that was a stroke of luck. He'd probably know where the nearest garage was, and might even be able to send help and save her the walk. It was about time something went right. She started walking towards him.
Clop-clop, clop-clop.
He seemed a very large man. With the last light behind him, she couldn't really see his face, especially with the added shadow of his wide-brimmed hat. There were a couple of dogs with him. Big dogs. They really ought to have been on leads.
Clop-clop, clop-clop.
Soon he'd be close enough to speak to without shouting. He was between her and the car already. Emmi felt a prickle of unease. Her hands tingled, as they always did when she felt tense. Or threatened.
She shook it off. No need to be silly. It had been an odd day, that was all. One of those days when everything went wrong.
And something was wrong now. She knew it in her gut.
Clop-clop, clop-clop.
The Rider's hair was rather straggly, and he seemed to have a beard. The dogs were even bigger than she'd thought. They sniffed about them, as though tracking something. From time to time they growled.
Clop-clop, clop-clop.
The tingling in Emmi’s hands grew stronger. Maybe she wouldn't speak to him after all. No, that was just daft. Here was the first helpful thing to happen all day, and she was going to pass it up because she was feeling superstitious. Good God, woman, get a grip.
Clop-clop, clop-clop.
He was only a few yards away now. Before she lost her nerve again, Emmi tried to speak, but only a croak came from her dry throat. As she cleared it, the Rider turned towards her, and she got her first proper look at his face.
For the second time that evening, Emmi's heart sought a new location in her chest. Or possibly outside it. Her hands came up from her pockets, instinctively defensive. The next second she heard a clink and clatter as the Keepsake hit the road, free of its wrapping. There was still sufficient light to catch the orange-gold enamelling. The Rider looked down at it, then back at her. Then, slowly, he smiled. Emmi turned, stooping to grab the Keepsake in the same movement.
Then she ran.
The ground under the trees was still frozen from the night before, and slimy with the fallen leaves left from autumn. Behind her, Emmi heard a gruff word of command. And then the dogs began to bay. The Hunt was on.
She'd known he'd set his dogs on her. Known it. Scuffling of paws in the leaves. She didn't look back.
The bitter air tore at her throat. She slipped, stumbled, cursed as she righted herself. Keep moving!
The barking was louder now, closer. A high bark and a low one, blending in sinister harmony. She couldn't hope to outrun them. Not for long. Keep moving!
Tree trunks loomed out of the dusk. She had no idea where she was going. A gleam of light caught her eye, and she followed it without thinking, struggling up a low bank, grabbing the tree trunks to help her. Scuffling. Sniffing. Barking. Don't look back. Keep moving!
Top of the bank. Down the other side, heart pounding. She skidded, slipped over, slithered to the bottom. Get up!
Emmi scrambled to regain her feet, her breath rasping painfully. She put out her hand to grab something – anything! – to help her get off the ground.
And then she stopped.
Black fabric under her hand. A black-clad figure before her. Another hideous lurch of her heart - surely it couldn't beat any faster?
She looked up.
It was the most beautiful face Emmi had ever seen. The eyes alone stopped you in your tracks. Blue. Cold. Sad. The pale skin seemed to glow with a light of its own beneath the dark hood that framed it. It had the power of the view from a mountain top, or of the ocean breaking over rocks, or of a waterfall at sunset: for a moment, the world stilled and everything else was forgotten.
The woman put out a hand and helped Emmi to her feet. The sounds of pursuit seemed fainter; dimmed. The woman turned, lifted a graceful hand and pointed to her left. Emmi became aware of her surroundings again. She looked in the direction indicted, and saw a light glimmering amongst the trees, a golden thread reaching out to her like a lifeline. A house! And not too far off.
"Go."
Emmi, still breathless, could only nod her thanks. She made towards the hope she had been given. To her left, her brain dimly registered the glint of water. Not far. Keep moving.
As she staggered to the garden gate, a flash of blue light behind her lit up the house and surrounding trees. Yelping, scuffling—but growing fainter, retreating. Her traumatised brain became aware that she'd left the woman to face the danger that she herself was fleeing. She turned.
The woman was gone. No sign of the dogs, either. Or their master, thank God! A soft, rhythmic thudding in the darkness. She ducked as a large bird flew low over her head, its wings beating strongly.
The next moment, she was hammering on the house door.
* * * * *
When the police arrived an hour later, Emmi was still shaking. The middle-aged couple who had opened the door to her were kind and concerned, but clearly didn't quite know what to do, or what to make of it all.
Constable Harris, the rather rotund policeman who was interviewing her, didn't seem to know what to make of it either. He also seemed to be at the end of a very trying day.
"Name?"
"Emmi Jones."
"Emmi short for Emily?"
She paused only fractionally. "Short for Gersemi."
Constable Harris stopped writing and looked up at her. They always did. She said quickly, "It's Scandinavian, I think."
"Ah." He nodded vaguely. "How do you spell it?"
She told him.
"Miss, Mrs or Ms?"
"Miss."
"Date of birth?"
"Twenty-fourth of June, 1996." I think.
"Right. Now, what exactly happened, Miss Jones?"
As steadily as she could, Emmi described her ordeal.
"So it was a completely unprovoked attack?"
Emmi nodded. Constable Harris looked over his notes so far.
"Now, what about this brooch that drew his attention? Could I have a look at that, please?"
Emmi produced the Keepsake. She hesitated for a moment before unwrapping it. She'd been pleased to find, once she was in a fit state to notice such things, that its old protective felt was still there, hanging half out of her pocket. Constable Harris viewed it dispassionately and made notes.
"Is it worth much, do you know?"
"I have no idea."
"I see." More scribbling. "And you didn't recognise your assailant?"
"No." She shuddered. "No."
"Would you know him if you saw him again?"
"Definitely."
"Could you please describe him? Give as much detail as you can."
Emmi forced herself to see the Rider again in her mind's eye.
"I couldn't see much detail in the dusk. He was tall, I think, and big built. Shoulder length hair and a beard."
"Colour of hair?"
"I couldn't really tell in that light. Brown, I suppose."
"Ah." Scribbling. "Any distinguishing features?"
Emmi cleared her throat.
"He only had one eye."
Constable Harris looked up sharply. "You sure about that, Miss? You did say the light was bad."
"Yes. The left one was missing. Just an empty socket. And a scar." That hadn't been the worst thing about him, though. The worst thing was the eye that was still there.
The policeman looked sceptical, but wrote it down.
"And what colour was his horse?"
"Some pale colour; white or grey, I'm not sure."
"I see." Constable Harris had the resigned air of a man who was used to witnesses who weren’t sure what colour things were. "And how about these dogs that were set on you?"
"They were… big. They came about up to my waist. I think they were black. I can't even guess at the breed I'm afraid, I don't know much about dogs. But they had thick, shaggy hair around their shoulders."
Had they really been dogs? If she hadn't known better, she'd have said they might be wolves—but that was just ridiculous. The policeman already seemed to have her pegged as an incoherent and possibly hysterical witness, and she didn't want to confirm him in that opinion. Anyway, surely real wolves didn't get that big? That was just in stories and films.
"Now Miss, this woman you met?"
Emmi described her as best she could: the blue eyes, the high cheekbones. She couldn't guess at her age.
"And then she… vanished?"
Emmi nodded, knowing that her story sounded fanciful at best. She began to be afraid that she might get into trouble for wasting police time. Constable Harris cleared his throat.
"Miss Jones, are you quite sure about this… woman? You were afraid and confused… couldn't you have seen… some tree stump, perhaps, and mistaken it for a figure in the dark?"
"No." Emmi frowned slightly. "I've told you that she spoke to me. And before you ask, no, I haven't been drinking or taking drugs. This is what happened."
They breathalysed her, just the same. And when it was all over, she still had to arrange for her car to be towed to a garage.
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