Prologue – 1924
He cautiously made his way down the narrow stone steps. He could sense the answer was here. All the rumours, the stories–he was finally going to discover the truth. Here, in this small building–in this hidden room–he would prove that it was all a lie; that there was no such thing as ghosts, or wit…
It was the tiniest of sounds, but the hair instantly rose on the back of his neck.
He turned, and the blood drained from his face. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.
He started praying, but it was far too late for that…
ooOoo
My phone pinged, but I ignored it. Furiously pulling on my helmet, I stormed out of the house, fired up the Ninja and spread gravel all over her driveway. I accelerated down the long, straight fen road with a roar, reaching a hundred and seventy, but then managing to calm down before I hit the early morning traffic.
Damn Annika and her conniving, treacherous infidelity!
The second text banged in just before I reached the station and, sighing, I reversed direction, heading back the way I’d come toward the big estate out in the sticks.
Pretentious in the extreme, Kimberley Hall stood on nearly a thousand acres of privately owned park and woodland. I parked the bike on the huge driveway behind an assortment of police vehicles, this time just about managing to leave the gravel in place. A uniformed officer pointed me through an archway, and I trudged across two hundred yards of open, dew-laced pasture in my leathers and black motorcycle boots to the small folly by the side of the lake. Police tape already surrounded the building and several officers were milling around outside.
“Hey, Sarge–the D.I.’s inside going batshit wondering where you are.”
“Nice to see you, too, Alfie.” He grinned at me; one of the good guys, he could always be relied on to help drive the demons back to the shadowy edges on a shitty October morning.
I ducked through the small entrance and stopped, giving my eyes time to adjust.
“Where the fuck have you been, Sergeant?”
“Sorry, Guv–I missed the first call.” And I would not–would not–give him the satisfaction of seeing the tears flow.
He stared at me for a long moment with his cold, dispassionate eyes. Detective Inspector Ian Jarvis was as unpredictable as my periods, and you never knew what he was going to do next. Drove most people bonkers, but I really didn’t give a damn. I didn’t like him, and he didn’t like me, especially after I spurned his drunken advances with a thumb-lock at the party last year; he still can’t use it properly.
“So, what gives?”
He pursed his lips and grunted, deciding to leave it. “Local contractors were doing some repair work for the landowner here in the folly. They found a hidden entrance by the fireplace. Curiosity got the better of them and they discovered a staircase leading to another room below this one.” He paused. “Along with two bodies.”
I frowned. “Recent?”
His lips twitched. “No. That’s the strange thing. It looks like they’ve been there a long time.”
“What’s a ‘long time’?”
“Well, the old lady who owns the manor house says she knows who they might be. And if she’s right, then nearly two hundred years. We’ll know more once forensics have finished.”
“Fuck. Two hundred years? Then what are we doing here?”
“Well, now. That’s the question, isn’t it, Sergeant?”
I waited whilst he decided to tell me the rest.
“Thing is, it’s not like the bodies have lain undisturbed. The place is immaculate, with signs of fresh activity. And forensics reckon the bodies have been moved here recently. So there are definite signs of foul play and there’s certainly more to this than meets the eye, Sergeant. And it’s still a crime, and it’s our job to investigate–the papers will have a field day if we look like we’re not doing anything. They’re already circling like vultures by the front gates.”
He stabbed his finger at me. “So go and have a look–I want to know your thoughts. This should be right up your street, what with your degree and all. Sims and his team are down there now, taking pictures, dusting for prints and seeing what, if any, DNA or other clues there might be. The case is yours, and you can have Parks and Davis. But I want you to keep me in the loop.”
He had to bend quite low as he exited, his coat flapping around his thin legs, and I pushed my unkind thoughts back into their box.
At least he was giving me the case–though presumably only because he could cast the blame elsewhere when a two-hundred-year-old murder proved unsolvable.
The spiral staircase was narrow, and the temperature dropped like a stone as I descended.
I saw what Jarvis meant. The room was like a shrine. Stone walls with fat candles sat on recessed shelves. Several faded Kilims adorned the walls, and thick Middle Eastern rugs covered the flagged floor. There was a small bookcase on one side which Cameron Davis, one of my two allotted Constables, was going through, and in the middle of the room sat two hardwood oblong tables, each with the remains of a body lying on it. Tattered remnants of clothing partially adorned the corpses indicating the likelihood that it was a man and a woman lying there and other than that it was mostly just bones with some skin and hair attached. But the place was pristine, almost as if the cleaners had been down the day before to make it ready for inspection.
I shivered. Bloody hell, it was cold down here!
I left Sims and his people to it and when I came back up Jarvis had gone. I headed straight for the sunlight, turned my face towards the weak winter rays and tried to soak up the faint warmth.
I was the youngest Detective Sergeant in the Norfolk Constabulary and had already passed the exam for Inspector. Some considered me too big for my boots and promotion wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon with fossils like Jarvis in my way. I let out a deep sigh.
“Cup of tea, dear?”
“What? Oh, no thanks.” Christ, where did they dig her up from? She looked as old as the bones at the bottom of that staircase.
Detective Constable Alfie Parks wandered over, looking annoyingly cheerful.
I nodded towards the woman with the tea. “Who’s she?”
“That’s old Mrs Blackwood. She’s the sole surviving member of the family. Lives in the manor house.”
“Well, who the hell let her out? Shouldn’t she be in a care home or something?”
He laughed. “She has a couple of staff that look after the house, plus some people on the estate. And–you didn’t hear this from me, but from all accounts, she’s not entirely all there, if you know what I mean.”
“Really? No shit, Sherlock.”
Alfie ignored my sarcasm. “Apparently, the dotty old bat has outlived three husbands.”
“That, I can believe.” I squinted into the sun. “Any suspicion she’s involved?”
He shrugged. “She wouldn’t have been born when those two down there kicked the bucket, but other than that, no idea. It was her who said she might be able to identify them, though.”
“So I heard. Guess I’ll have to interview her. What’s down there?”
“Orchard. it’s nestled between those big old oak trees. Mostly apple, with a few pear and plum trees thrown in.”
Christ, this place must be worth an absolute fortune! And all for one old woman.
“Hey, are you joining us for a drink tonight, Van?”
“Sorry, Alfie–I’ve got plans.”
“You always have plans.”
I shrugged apologetically. “This time it just happens to be true. Hen party.”
“I’ll let you off then.”
“Gee, thanks Constable.”
We looked up and I could see Mrs Blackwood watching us, offering tea to anyone that wandered too close.
Davis emerged from the folly and hailed me.
“Sergeant Dodds?”
“Yes, Cam?”
“We found this–it looks like some sort of diary.”
“Anything interesting in it?”
“It’s not in English.”
I took it off him, opened the cover. Oh, for fucks sake!
“It’s Latin, Cam. Alfie? See if you can get it translated.” I took a deep breath. “Okay, I’d better go and talk to her. See if she makes any kind of sense. Wish me luck.”
ooOoo
When I got off duty I headed straight home for a shower and change. I hadn’t been back to my digs for several days; been frittering my time away with that charlatan Annika. The flat felt empty. Empty and lonely.
I’d worked a lot of the anger out of my system during the day and now I sat down and had a good cry. I gave myself ten minutes of self-pity before I got fed up. Enough of this maudlin bullshit, Vanessa. Get over it! Tonight was Denise’s hen party, and whilst I wasn’t her best friend anymore, I was one of her oldest. I should be feeling good for her, and it might even turn out to be a timely distraction. Maybe I could get laid.
Some hope, I thought, slipping on the more daring of the two dresses I owned. Most of Denise’s friends were straighter than the rod residing up Jarvis’ backside. And anyway, I couldn’t stop thinking about two bodies that had been dead for nearly two centuries. Something decidedly weird going on there for sure…
It was in full swing when I arrived, and I had some catching up to do. Three quick Martinis and I could feel the inhibitions loosen. I knew most of the other girls there, but Denise had obviously made some new friends because one of them was making eyes at me. She was wearing a red dress and when our gazes met there was a definite frisson somewhere in my nether regions.
“Where’s Annika?”
“What? Oh, let’s not go there, shall we? It’ll spoil your party.”
“Oh. Like that is it? I’m sorry, darling.”
“Don’t worry. It was probably on the rocks anyway. Who’s the girl in the red dress?”
“What? Oh, where?”
But she’d gone, so I got myself another Martini and then she was suddenly there at my elbow.
“Hi, I’m Jasmine.”
Jet black hair, green eyes and a smile that turned my stomach to mush and had me speculating just how quickly I could get her knickers off.
“Vanessa.”
“Nice to meet you, Vanessa. Would you like to dance?”
Well, she didn’t waste any time. Maybe it was my lucky night after all.
“Love to.”
We got close real fast, and she had an aroma that made me want to growl. She was wearing a stunning necklace with a crimson stone the size of a quail’s egg nestling in the hollow at the base of her exquisite throat, and I guess my subconscious made the next move because all of a sudden I was nuzzling her neck and she gave such a contented sigh that time just seemed to stand still.
We took a taxi back to my flat. She stopped dead when she saw the Ninja parked outside.
“This your bike?”
I nodded.
“Wow–a Kawasaki Ninja. That’s a potent machine to have rumbling between your legs,” she giggled. “How does it feel?”
I shrugged. “Pretty fucking powerful,” I admitted. “Are you coming inside?” I was impatient.
I wasn’t the only one. We’d hardly got through the door when Jasmine pinned me against the wall and kissed me with an enthusiasm that literally took my breath away. Her intensity was a little unsettling as I was usually the one that took the initiative like this.
Leaving me gasping, she put her mouth next to my ear. “I want to taste you,” she whispered.
I wasn’t going to argue. I pushed her down and moaned as she slid her head under my dress. I felt the warmth of her breath as she impatiently pulled the gusset of my panties to one side and wormed her tongue between my lips. I sighed as she found my nub. She began to tease me and my legs started to tremble as I slowly started to slide down the wall.
Jasmine withdrew her head, face covered in my dew.
“Sit on my face,” she breathed.
“Bedroom,” I croaked. I led her up the stairs and, smiling, she lay on my bed and simply waited for me. I slipped off my panties, straddled her head and discovered an Eden I’d never suspected of existing.
Oh, my God–she was so good at this…
I’d been eaten out plenty of times, but not like this. It was like she desired me, coveted me more than life itself. She drew me out and quickly had me almost hyperventilating as I rode her face, then she slipped a finger up my derrière, and I came with a series of raw grunts, culminating in a wail that left me drained to the point of collapse.
She gave a self-satisfied giggle, and I gave her rump a sharp slap.
“Just you wait,” I growled.
She stuck her tongue out. “Promises, promises!”
I didn’t have her delightful gift, but cunnilingus is something I truly enjoy, and I wanted to give back what she’d given to me. I relished the fragrance of this green-eyed Jasmine; a dark-haired siren who tasted of riddles and secrets. I was utterly captivated by this mysterious woman who’d ensnared me with her seductive gaze and as I feasted on her, I noticed a small leaf-shaped birthmark inside her left thigh; a tiny imperfection that only enhanced her allure.
“Please,” she begged. “I need to cum!”
Her breathing accelerated as I took her beyond the brink, giving her what she sought, what she’d already given me, and I discovered that she was one of those enviable women you could keep on the boil until she literally begged me to stop.
“No more, please, I–I want you to fuck me. Fuck me, Vanessa, please!”
Not one to disappoint, I reached into my side drawer and pulled out my strap-on. I flipped her over and hissed in her ear. “Do you want it hard?”
“Oh God, yes!” she pleaded. “As hard as you can, Vanessa. Make me scream.”
She was more than ready, and she moaned with contentment as I sank into her, and I slowly began to pound her, giving her exactly what she wanted. She was urgently gripping the sheets and I pushed my thumb into her backside and her moans turned to whimpers.
“Mmm, yes…”
“You want me there, do you?”
“Please…”
So I took her that way, too, and she pushed back and demanded more, and I thrust into her without mercy and she shuddered and came with the promised scream that would no doubt have my neighbours wondering just what the fuck was going on in here, and they’d have hit the nail right on the head.
*
Afterwards, naked and exhausted, we lay entwined on the sweat-soaked sheets. I stroked her skin with my fingers, until they gravitated to the stone around her neck. I slid them over the smooth, cold surface and I felt something stir in me; something primaeval and potent. I could feel her eyes watching me.
“Is it real?” I whispered.
“Don’t be silly,” she giggled. “You think I could afford a ruby that size?” She shrugged apologetically. “It’s just a garnet.”
For a moment I felt real disappointment. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
I glanced down at her clothes piled on the floor. And spied the sheathed blade coyly snuggled amidst the silk and cotton.
“But that’s real.” I’d no idea where the hell she’d got it or, more interestingly, where she’d secreted it, but it very much looked like a Pesh-kabz–a Persian dagger with a curved blade. I only recognised it because my grandmother had owned one. But hers had not been as ornate, or as long as this beauty.
“Yes.”
“Where on earth did you find that? You know carrying a weapon is illegal, don’t you? You could be arrested,” I chided.
She shrugged. “I want to be able to protect myself. I’d rather be arrested than assaulted.”
We locked eyes for a moment. Hers carried just a hint of amusement, almost daring me to challenge her. Somewhere during the evening, she’d learnt I was a police officer; knew I could call her on it. Maybe it tickled her to show me what she’d got, knowing it was illicit.
I let it go. Technically I should have confiscated it, but didn’t think that was the way to begin a new relationship.
If that was what this was.
And for a moment, before I fell asleep, I was struck by the merest hint of unease.
Why a Pesh-kabz? Why that particular type of blade?
ooOoo
She was gone when I woke, and for a moment I felt disappointment as the loneliness crowded back in.
Shrugging, I showered and headed out. I wanted to interview old Mrs Blackwood again, and also get a better look around that big old house and the grounds. All I’d got out of her yesterday were the possible names of the victims: Fabian Reginald Blackwood, and his wife Ariana. When I’d asked why she thought it was them she’d told me that, according to the family history, they’d disappeared mysteriously one Christmas Eve back in the 1830s and everyone had assumed they’d run off. It was a well-known story in the family, she’d said.
For a wild moment, I still wondered if she could have committed the murders herself. But though she appeared ancient, she wasn’t that old. Born in 1938 according to her details, so more than a hundred years after the two victims had died.
If that was who they were. Forensics would be able to give us a date, which would hopefully corroborate her theory.
The plethora of vehicles that had been there yesterday had gone, likely attending to matters more urgent. My bike looked insignificant on the vast circular driveway.
“Cup of tea,” she asked as she led me through the huge entranceway.
Jeez–her and her bloody tea!
“No, thanks.”
“So, what can I do for you today, Detective-Sergeant?”
“You can tell me about the victims–Fabian and Ariana, didn’t you say? Anything would be helpful.”
“Yes, of course dear.”
We sat in the drawing room. I could hear the loud ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.
“Yes, well. He was the third son of John Blackwood, the first Earl of Kimberley, so he wasn’t due to inherit. but nor did he show any interest in being a soldier or joining the clergy. He was a bit of a romantic by all accounts–an adventurer with plenty of imagination, but not necessarily endowed with an awful lot of sense.
As she spoke, I started to build the picture of this man who had been reduced to a pile of bones in our mortuary.
“Like so many others, he went out to India. Wanted to discover himself, or make his fortune or some such rubbish. They were all at it, you know–the ones who couldn’t make it here in Britain. I believe he was a member of the Royal Geographical Society–or whatever it was called back then. There was a rumour that he was working for the government. You know, The Great Game and all that?”
“The Great Game?”
“Yes. It was some sort of struggle between Britain and Russia over Central Asia. You should look it up. Most interesting. Of course, they’re all ‘Stans’ now.”
“Stans?”
“Yes, you know, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan…”
“Right, yes, I get the idea,” I interrupted.
I made some notes in my pocketbook. “Do you think there was any motive to kill him?”
“Well, I don’t know about that. But he did have a bit of an escapade whilst he was out there. And when he returned he was never quite the same.”
She paused to sip her bloody tea.
“Came home with a wife–that was Ariana, of course–and minus a few marbles by all accounts. It was him that built the folly, you know? There’s some sort of story about it, but damned if I can remember what it was. Anyway, the wife wasn’t very welcome, of course.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it was most unorthodox as I’m sure you can appreciate. The family was quite distressed. I’m sure she was a lovely thing but, you know, she wasn’t one of us, was she? She was–well, she was foreign; she didn’t have any breeding.”
Dear God. I just might have to kill her myself. Very slowly.
“And how about you, Detective Sergeant? Where are you from?”
Jesus–was she deliberately trying to bait me?
“Norwich.”
“Oh, you know what I mean, silly. You have just the hint of something exotic about you…”
I sighed. “Not that it’s relevant, but my grandmother fled from Iran when the Shah was overthrown in 1979,” I said evenly. “My mother was five years old.” One half. I was exactly one-half Iranian, and most people couldn’t tell. My father gave me a name that allowed me to fit in and I wondered what had set old Mrs Blackwood’s radar spinning. No doubt she’d be getting me deported if given half a chance. Patronising cow.
“Ooh, how exciting! From Tehran, was she?”
“Not all Iranians are from Tehran, Mrs Blackwood. My family was from a town called Neyshabur in the North-East. You won’t have heard of it.”
“Ah, I see. Well, you never know about people, do you?”
I was getting fed up with her and her condescending xenophobia. God forbid I should tell her I was a lesbian as well. Dyke on a bike? She’d love that. On reflection, deporting wouldn’t be enough. She’d probably have me stoned to death.
“Mind if I have a look around the grounds?”
“Of course not, dear.”
Bitch!
ooOoo
There was an elderly groundsman working not far from the Folly and he waved at me as I wandered down.
“You that detective?”
“Guilty,” I smiled.
“Funny old carryings-on, aren’t they?” he offered, nodding towards the Folly. He had a broad Norfolk accent.
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“Always been strange goins’-on round ‘ere.”
“Oh?”
“Family’s a bit odd, you know. Since well before my time an’ all.”
“How’s that, then?”
“You wouldn’t believe what I seen, in my years ‘ere.”
I sighed internally and waited patiently for him to say what he wanted to get off his chest.
“Locals are always talking about it.”
“Talking about what, exactly?”
“Been ‘ere forever, that old lady.”
Jeez, he was changing tack every time he spoke!
“So I heard.”
“Still going, though.”
“Tough old bird, eh?”
“Staff don’t tend to stay very long, either.”
“You're still here,” I pointed out.
He started to clam up. “I probably shouldn’t ‘ave said anythin’, should I?”
Christ, like what?
“There are things in the woods, you see. People see them sometimes. ‘specially in the orchard.”
“Things?”
His mouth seemed to be working up the courage, and finally, he whispered the word.
“Ghosts.”
“Ghosts?” I repeated.
“Well, I guess there’s only one.”
“Oh, well that’s okay then.”
He looked reproachfully at me. “You’re taking the mickey, ain’t you, Miss?”
“I’d never.”
“You shouldn’t mock me, Miss. Nobody ever believes old George, do they?” He swallowed. “But I swear, I’ve seen things…”
“I believe you, George, I really do,” I said hurriedly.
He scratched his head. “I understand you not believin’ me, Miss, but…”
“But what?”
“I reckon you might want to check your missing persons list, like.”
Ah, the point at last.
“And why’s that, George?”
“Just ‘sayin.” He turned back to his work. “You be careful of that ghost, now, you hear, Miss?”
Jesus Christ!
*
It was probably nothing, but I’d kick myself if it turned out he was right.
I called Alfie. Asked him to check the files for MisPers in the area. He went noticeably silent when I told him to go back two hundred years. Told him just to do it.
My phone pinged as I headed back to my lonely bike and the land of sanity and reason.
It was Jasmine–though I didn’t remember giving her my number.
Fabulous night, darling! You really are something! Do you want to go again? I do so love how masterful you were. Quite made me lather my knickers thinking about it this morning.
Careful! warned my little voice. At the same time, I remembered how she had made me feel for a few glorious hours when I seriously needed a boost.
Fuck it!
Love to! I wrote. My finger hesitated over the send button.
ooOoo
I scrounged a bite to eat, then hit the station to check in with my team. Alfie and Cameron were hard at it.
“Where’s the Guvnor?”
“Forensics, getting an update. It looks like the dates tie in.”
“That’s helpful.”
“And Boss? I’ve got some translations for you.”
“That was fast.”
He grinned. “They’re working on the rest, but thought you’d want to see the results as they came in.”
“Thanks, Alfie. Well done.”
“Oh, and I did that search on the MisPers you asked for.”
“Bloody hell, Alfie, are you after a promotion or something?”
“Yeah, I wish. Anyway, I found some interesting articles in the archives. Each one nothing much by itself, but when you start putting them together over the period you said, it’s positively creepy.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, so far, there are at least eighteen missing person cases linked to the area around Kimberley Hall.”
“Eighteen? And nobody’s noticed?”
“Well, it’s like I said–they take place over two hundred years, Van. Not easy to see a pattern unless you’re looking. What made you think to check?”
“Groundkeeper at Kimberley Hall said something. I had him down as a paranoid nutter, but…”
“Well, he might be onto something. And look at this one–a police Inspector Robert Appleyard went missing in 1924.” He passed the file to me. “One of our own, Boss.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay–good work, Alfie. Keep looking. And see if you can find out what D.I. Appleyard was working on a hundred years ago. And find out about something called ‘The Great Game’, will you?”
See–I could be nice if I wanted. Even if my annual reports included things like ‘has authority issues’, and ‘would do well to control her temper’. I even ignored his use of my first name without ripping him a new one. Only Alfie would dare try it.
I took the translated pages over to my desk and sat down to read.
Okay, Fabian–what have you got for me that will shed some light on this?
5 June 1831
I am in good spirits. We have spent several agreeable nights with the Shah of Chitral. His Kingdom lies on the borders of Kafiristan, and we have visited with the Kalash people who reside in a nearby valley. They are non-Muslims who claim descent from Alexander the Great. There may be something to this, as their skin is much paler than those from the surrounding tribes.
14 June 1831
Today we crossed the Durah Pass and will soon leave the Hindu Kush behind us. It was unbelievably cold and particularly hard going for the heavily laden ponies and mules. I estimate the pass was about 14,000 feet and there was still a significant amount of snow even this late in the year.
I noticed that many of the early entries spoke of the difficulties of travel through the mountains of the North-West Frontier of India, and across the hot plains of northern Afghanistan.
18 August 1831
Today we departed the town of Balkh and hopefully we will arrive at Khawja Salah by this evening. Tomorrow, with luck we shall cross the famed Oxus River into Turkistan. The Oxus is reputed to have its source in the Pamir mountains to the East, and my guides tell me that when the winter snows melts, the river is more than a mile wide. Hopefully, at this point of the season, it will be more manageable.
3 September 1831
I can hardly contain my excitement! Today, in the distance, we made out the minarets and domes of Bukhara–the holiest city in Muslim Central Asia and the objective of our expedition. I know of no Europeans who have reached as far as this. When I return, I hope my report will find favour with the Geographical Society of London and the other interested parties who have helped fund my expedition.
I wondered at that bit about ‘other interested parties’. I definitely needed to read up on this ‘Great Game’ as it was called.
17 October 1831
I have been the guest of the Emir of Bukhara for nearly a month now, and things are not going to be as easy as I would wish. Those with whom I met in London before I embarked on this expedition hoped I might be able to lay the ground for the forging of an alliance. I suspect, however, that the Emir does not wholly trust me.
His distrust is perhaps understandable. The ruler has many concubines, and I admit that one in particular has ensnared me. Her name is Ariana, and she has eyes you could get lost in. Whilst we have been here, the Emir has been most generous with his favours, however, I do not think he meant for me to fall in love with a member of his Court. This has rather complicated things.
Oh, you stupid bastard, Fabian…
ooOoo
I do not understand why, but that night I dreamt of the Emir’s concubines; I dreamt of a magnificent beauty called Ariana, with eyes you could get lost in. There was something incredibly vivid as I thrashed between the sheets; something so real about the fingers probing, exploring. A confusing image of Jasmine juxtaposed itself with the fantasy and I woke with a yell, panting, covered in sweat and confused. My snatch was sodden and my state of arousal left me with little choice. I groaned as the merest touch of my finger drove me over the edge, and shook as I came, soaking the sheets.
Afterwards, I was so drained I fell into such a deep sleep that my alarm completely failed to wake me.
ooOoo
It was late afternoon when I woke. I turned the shower to full cold and gasped as I attempted to wake up. I felt like I’d been drugged or enchanted or something. This case was starting to beguile me in ways I had not expected.
I kick-started the bike and spent the journey ruminating on the missing person cases. In no time at all, Kimberley Hall hove into view and a welcome silence enveloped me as I turned off the ignition.
What was it about this place?
The last of the sun’s rays disappeared as I traipsed to the folly. But I had no interest in it right now and my feet carried me straight past, and all of a sudden I was surrounded by apple trees.
I was in the orchard.
I realised I had been on autopilot. What had drawn me here?
There was a light breeze moving through the branches, and the trees seemed almost to be whispering to each other. My footsteps crackled over fallen twigs. The ground had an ethereal quality to it–almost hallowed. I paused to listen and shivered, though didn’t think it was the evening chill.
Without warning, goosebumps broke out all over my body and the hairs stood up on my neck. I quickly ran through my senses but couldn’t work out what had triggered me. I turned back towards the folly, and that was when I saw her.
A lonely, pale figure wearing some sort of white gown. Fragile, wraithlike and sad in the waning light of dusk. She had eyes that were fixed on mine. She opened her mouth, but no sound emerged, though she looked like she was desperately trying to say something to me.
I tried to make sense of what my eyes were telling me but I was struggling to accept it; struggling to face up to the obvious conclusion; that the groundsman had spoken the truth.
Ghost.
But that wasn’t the most startling thing. No, the truly improbable thing–the unbelievable thing–was that this–this apparition–looked the spitting image of a woman I’d met just two days ago.
She looked like Jasmine.
ooOoo
I must have fainted. The others would have a right giggle if they ever found out and I didn't intend to tell them.
It was fully dark now and not a ghost in sight. I walked back towards the big house; towards the house and the light and my motorcycle and some semblance of normality.
How the fuck could a–a ghost–if that was what it was–look like a girl I met at a party on Friday night?
Seriously–what the fuck was going on?
ooOoo
I didn’t sleep well, which wasn’t surprising. I hit the office early but Alfie and Cameron were both there already, keen sods.
“Have you seen the Guvnor?”
“Not yet, Sarge.”
Just as well. He wanted updates, but what was I going to tell him, exactly? We’re looking into missing person cases going back two hundred years and, by the way, I saw a ghost last night who resembles my new amoureuse.
I don’t think so. I quite liked my job.
“We’ve got some more of that diary translated, Sarge. Still a chunk left, but…”
“I’ll have a look at it later. Can you check a name for me?”
“Sure, boss.”
“It’s Jasmine Jadoger. That’s Juliet Alpha Delta Oscar Golf Echo Romeo.”
I’d sneaked a look in her clutch bag and taken a picture of her license whilst she was in the bathroom. Not exactly ethical, but I was a police officer, after all.
“Got it, boss.”
“Unofficial at this stage, okay? It might not be anything.”
“No problem. Oh, you asked me to find out about The Great Game?”
“Yes?”
“So, it was a kind of secret war between Russia and Britain in the nineteenth century. The Russians were worried about the expansion of British India across the North-West frontier, and the British were worried about the growth of the Russian Empire into Central Asia.
“Apparently, at the beginning of the century, the two empires lay nearly 2,000 miles apart and most maps showed a big, fat nothingness in between. Both sides sent agents–explorers, spies, soldiers and others–to discover what lay out there, and then try to negotiate treaties and win influence with the people they found. By the early 20th Century, some of the Russian outposts were only twenty miles from British India–particularly where the Wakhan Corridor of Afghanistan now separates the Hindu Kush in modern Pakistan from the Pamirs of Tajikistan.”
“Thanks, Alfie, that’s great.”
And it was all very interesting, but I couldn’t yet see how it fit in. But at least it gave me some context on what was going on out there at the time, and what Fabian Blackwood was doing in–what was it–Bukhara?
I took the diary and translations home with me. Not strictly by the book, and nor was the brandy I poured myself, but I really didn’t care. I needed a drink even if it wasn’t yet noon.
Right, Fabian–please give me a clue as to what the fuck is going on.
24 October 1831
I fear I am in a great deal of trouble. I cannot but think of Ariana. I am lost when I take but one glance into her liquid, emerald eyes. She has captured my heart and enmeshed my soul. I would take my leave of this place and entice her away with me in a heartbeat. There is, however, a complication, and I admit I do not know what to do.
I have learnt that many of the Emir’s concubines are slaves. In a stolen moment, the delightful Ariana told me that she and her sister were taken from their home in Persia, from a settlement called Nishapur. For slaves, becoming a concubine to the ruler is viewed as a highly prized position, however, her sister was not so lucky, and for reasons I do not yet understand, she has been imprisoned below the palace in one of the Emir’s foul dungeons.
I found that my hands were shaking. Nishapur! These poor girls had been taken from the same town that my mother had been born in–only now it was known as Neyshabur. The coincidence was startling, and the more I read, the more unsettled I became.
I took a deep breath, and continued.
30 October 1831
Dear God, what folly have I done! We are on the run, and the Emir’s guards are looking for us. Through my foolish actions I have led us all into mortal peril.
There are things that I have not dared put to paper before this moment. Oh, it is madness even now, I know, to write of these things, but I fear I must, in case I am taken, and I cannot otherwise have my story known.
I have never spoken of my loneliness for it is simply not done. I realise now that my life has been empty. Now that I have met Ariana, I truly understand what love is and I cannot comprehend a life without it.
Ariana has also told me of her love for me, but only agreed to abscond if I brought her sister with us. In the face of their suffering, how could I possibly argue? I will not go into the detail of how we achieved such a thing, for it would implicate others, but we engineered our escape three nights ago and managed a head start on our pursuers.
But there is more to this than I first understood. Ariana’s sister, I now learn, was imprisoned for stealing a jewel most precious to the Emir. It is a stone, apparently, of certain mystical properties originating from the mines of Mogok in Burma. As if stealing away with one of the Emir’s concubines and her sister is not enough, it appears I am now also in league with a thief!
Oh, the things we do for love and companionship! What am I to do?
2 November 1831
I have found the jewel! Ariana’s sister had somehow secreted this gem about her person without discovery, but she admitted to me that she was in possession of it, and has consented to give it into my care. It is a rich, fiery red, and the size of a starling’s egg. My intention was to somehow arrange its return in the hope that it would pacify our pursuers, however, now that I have set eyes upon it, I confess that it has captured something within me, and I am loath to surrender it. I wonder if, by giving it up, this was her intention?
There were more entries describing their escape, but I glossed over those and found myself mesmerised by the following entry:
5 December 1831
I have written of my love for Ariana, but I hesitate to write of our passion. Yet how can I not? For our ardour is part of what we are. I have been astounded by the different ways she knows to please a man. And please me she does.
I am sure she must have been shown these things. It is, perhaps, unseemly to go into detail, but how else could I possibly convey the depth of our feelings for each other?
Ariana has such a warm and delicate mouth, and uses it with delightful proficiency. When she envelopes me, well, all I can say is it is not something my education prepared me for. Indeed, I would say it is the most preferable way I have discovered of exclaiming, were it not for one thing.
My love uses something she calls ‘pompoir’. It is such a diabolically exquisite sensation, and I have no idea how she is able to perform such a thing. When I summoned up the courage to ask her, she was reluctant to divulge how she became so proficient in such an agreeable skill.
It appears I am completely untutored in such things. But Ariana is patient with me and has shown me how I may please her; it is not something I ever imagined myself doing, but I have drunk from her cup and found it a most satisfying experience. I have been able to induce what she calls ‘the little death’. Her taste and aroma invigorate me to a degree I could not ever have imagined. Three–even four times in a single night on one occasion.
Well, good for you, Fabian. Pompoir, indeed! You lucky bastard.
The diary entries gave me a lot to think about. There were some uncanny parallels between the past and present that were profoundly disturbing. That stone…
The intercom buzzed. Reluctantly I put the papers to one side and went to see who it was.
“Hello, Vanessa–It’s Jasmine. Are you going to let me in?”
Bugger. Now what do I do?
I buzzed her in.
*
I poured us both a brandy.
“You didn’t return my messages.”
“Got a lot on my mind. Sorry.”
“Well, maybe I can do something about that,” she smiled.
She was still wearing the garnet, I noticed. I was no expert, but the damned thing looked real enough to me. Thing was, I was no longer sure what was real and what was not.
Was Jasmine real, or was I dreaming her? Not like I could ask if she was a ghost, was it?
“Jasmine, I’d really love to, but I honestly don’t have the…”
She put her hands on my shoulders and I completely forgot what I was saying. Something odd was happening; I could feel a presence inside me, deep inside my head and an ethereal sense of tranquillity washed through my being and suddenly everything was alright.
No, she’s doing something to, you, you mustn’t let her…
“I told you I’d help you relax. Don’t fight me, Vanessa.”
Yes, that’s right, relax. Don’t want to fight her anymore.
I was looking into her eyes now and all I wanted to do was take my clothes off and be naked with her.
“Let me show you how much fun I can be,” she murmured.
She undressed me. I giggled when she freed my B-cups from their holster and, oh my, she used her mouth in ways that aroused me like I’d never experienced before.
Then she made love to me. Not like I usually prefer, no. But this was infinitely more desirable. Tribadism, yes, or tribbing. I giggled to myself. Not something I’d tried very often, but Jasmine was so very good at this, and we were naked now. My loins purred their satisfaction as they melded with Jasmine’s, sliding together perfectly, fitting so beautifully that we were as one.
She was controlling everything that was happening between us, and the heat in my core grew and grew and it was as if a delicious fire had been lit in my loins and it spread until I was filled with a joy so intense I thought I might spontaneously combust, and then it was like the cork had been released from the champagne and I cried; cried both tears of joy and tears of sorrow with an ecstatic abandon that I had never come close to experiencing before.
“Sleep now,” she crooned. I tried to resist, thought it was important to resist, because something still wasn’t quite right, but…
ooOoo
Damn! It was nearly five. What the hell had happened? Why did I have that feeling again? like I was under some sort of spell?
Forced myself up. Got dressed, found my keys.
I took it steady on the Ninja. That was the second time she’d disappeared, evaporating like an errant wraith. What had she done to me?
Somehow I made it to the station without falling off or hitting anything. God must love me tonight.
“You alright, Boss?”
“Just a bit whacked, Alfie,” I mumbled. Understatement of the year.
“Okay Sarge, if you say so.” He didn’t look convinced. “We’ve finished the translations.” Alfie handed me the final papers.
“Thanks.”
“Oh, and Sarge?”
“Yes, Alfie?”
“I checked that name out, like you asked. It’s weird, because there’s nothing on the system. It’s like she doesn’t exist; like she’s a ghost or something. So I got curious and looked up the surname–I’d never come across a name like that before. Turns out it’s Persian.”
I felt my blood go cold. I knew I had recognised the word.
“And?”
“‘Jadoger’, in Persian, means witch.”
ooOoo
I headed to Macy’s Bar; I needed to think–and I wanted coffee; lots of coffee! I slid into a booth at the back in a complete daze, the data whirling in my head but not making any sense. Not any kind of sane sense, anyway.
Am I going mad?
I retrieved the latest set of translations and tried to let the subconscious do the work. There wasn’t too much left to read; the entries had become more infrequent, but covered a wider time span.
1 April 1832
Sometimes I think I am going mad. I have spent many nights with my beloved and, though sometimes we do not speak, we have often shared a delightful union that leaves me quenched to the point of collapse.
Yet one thing disconcerts me. Much of our intimacy takes place in the darkness with, at most, the flames from a nearby fire to lighten the shadows. During these most intimate moments, I have sometimes noticed a birthmark on the inside of my darling’s thigh. Yet on other occasions, I swear it is not there!
There is only one answer to this conundrum, and I do not wish to accept it, for to do so would surely make a mockery of my love.
Not for the first time, I do not know what I should do.
He wasn’t the only one! Had I seen that very birthmark? I felt light-headed as the implications of what Fabian was saying started to hit home.
I swallowed and read on.
9 August 1833
I am finally home! It has taken nearly two years of running and hiding and, even now, I am not sure I have outrun the Emir’s reach. I cannot escape the feeling that I am being hunted and I am constantly filled with unease.
To my dismay, my family have not welcomed me home with open arms. They have expressed their displeasure with my choice of wife. They talk of reputation and do not wish to accept her. Yet how can they not see her beauty, and how exquisite she is?
As for her twin. Well, I have neither spoken of, nor introduced her, and she remains hidden, for the scandal would be too much. I plan to build a place where she can live. It will remain on the grounds, yet be isolated from the old house.
31 October 1833
Yasmin continues to vex me. I dare not let her loose, for her presence would raise too many questions. But she tires of the restrictions, and has demonstrated a remarkable gift for escaping the folly. I often find her wandering the grounds and it is astonishing that she has not yet been discovered.
Something dropped out of my stomach. Yasmin? Yasmin was the Persian spelling for Jasmine.
The papers began to shake in my hands.
20 December 1833
I have begun to suspect that the theft of the ruby was not the only reason Yasmin was imprisoned. When I spoke to Ariana of my suspicions, she broke down in tears and begged me not to harm her. To my dismay, she admitted that her sister had been accused of witchcraft, and I confess that the hairs on my neck stood upright when she uttered those words.
24 December 1833
The ruby has gone but it is too late! I have finally learned the truth. So much is clear now–so many things that I could not explain. How could I not have seen it before? That damned witch! She will be the death of me!
ooOoo
“Sarge?”
I woke with a start to find Cameron leaning over me.
I’d fallen asleep at the table, my dreams filled with images of ghosts and witches and a magnificent ruby hung around the neck of a black-haired, green-eyed sorceress.
“Wh-what is it, Cameron?”
“I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“It’s the Guv. He got a call several hours ago and disappeared with Alfie. Now I can’t get hold of either of them.”
“Do you know where they went?”
“To meet you.”
“What? Where?”
“He didn’t say, but we’ve been tracking their phones, and I think they might be at Kimberley Hall–at the folly.”
ooOoo
The D.I.’s car was on the driveway when I got there. I looked up at the house, but everything was dark; nobody was home.
As I carefully made my way to the folly I could see where footprints had disturbed the evening dew.
I heard voices as I crept slowly down that spiral staircase.
“Ah, Vanessa–come to join the party? I was just wondering when you would get here.”
Jet black hair, green eyes and a smile that turned my stomach. The D.I. and Alfie were secured to those two tables, just like the other bodies had been; the bodies of Fabian and Ariana. Alfie looked terrified and Jarvis, well, there was no easy way to put it. He was dead.
“Were you?”
She’d got that bloody Pesh-kabz in her hand, and it looked like she’d been using it on my boss because it was coated in blood.
“Oh, yes. I’ve had my eye on you for some time.”
“You’ve been watching me? Why?”
“Because of what you are.”
“And what am I?”
“You’re like me, Vanessa.”
“I bloody well hope not. And what are you, anyway?”
She laughed. “Haven’t you worked it out, yet?” Then the timbre of her voice changed. “Cup of tea?” she asked in that familiar, condescending tone which sent my hackles skyward. It shook me, I’ll tell you. It was like being punched in the gut.
“I’ll have to arrest you, you know.” I was playing for time. We both knew very well that I wouldn’t be arresting her. One of us wasn’t walking out of here. I needed to keep her talking while I worked out what to do.
“You should be thanking me, Van. Thanking me for everything I’ve done for you.”
“And what have you done?”
“I got rid of Annika for you,” she said slyly.
“What?” Another punch. I felt winded.
“She was in our way, Vanessa. She wasn’t easy to seduce, but I can be quite persistent. Quite a loyal creature, really.”
I tried to stay calm. Had to appear unmoved; on my guard. But inside I was reeling. She wasn’t sane!
“And him!” She pointed at the unmoving Jarvis. “He was in your way, too, wasn’t he?” She giggled. “But not anymore.”
I glanced at Alfie, the horror showing in his eyes.
“Ah, yes. Shame about the boy. He shouldn’t have been here. My message didn’t include him. Never mind.”
She still had the initiative. I needed to get her off balance to stand even the ghost of a chance.
“So, I’m guessing that’s not a garnet, then?”
“What? Oh, this?” She touched the stone around her neck irreverently. “Oh, no. It’s real, as I’m sure you’ve worked out from the diary. It’s a source of great power.” She paused. “But only a few can wield it.”
“You mean, only witches like you can wield it?”
She laughed. “Oh, you got there in the end, didn’t you?”
“So… you are a witch then–Yasmin.”
“Yasmin? Ah, I see. Everyone always blames poor old Yasmin, don’t they?” She smiled at me, but it wasn’t a lucid smile. “Oh no, Vanessa, I’m not Yasmin, though it amuses me to borrow her name sometimes,” she cackled. “You’ll need to do better than that.”
Not Yasmin?
I thought back. Thought back to the things she had shown me, the little titbits she’d deliberately left me to find: the bodies, the diary, the ruby, the dagger. Oh…
“You–you’re Ariana! You–it was you all along. That’s your talent, isn’t it? You seduced Fabian just like you seduced me.” And Annika. Poor Annika.
She laughed. “Poor old Fabian. What a sap he was. One look and he fell in love with me. He even stole the ruby for me. Took it from my own twin sister, and she was the one who stole it for me in the first place.”
“And Yasmin? What about her.”
“Ha, yes. Even my own sister loved me. I needed that stone; got her to steal it and the silly cow got caught, didn’t she? She was never the same after that. The Emir cut out her tongue, you know? And she became rather tiresome when we got to England. She would keep wandering off. Fortunately, people usually mistook her for me, but it did rather complicate things, and we couldn’t have that, could we? Even after Fabian built this folly to contain her. She was quite adept at escaping. Yes, she had to go, but Fabian wouldn’t have it–he couldn’t help loving us both, you see. So he had to go too. Such a shame. He was a useful distraction.”
She looked almost sorrowful. “She still haunts these woods, you know? Poor bitch.”
She eyed me thoughtfully. “I thought you might be my companion. I could show you so many things, Vanessa. Things about who you really are, and what you can be. You have so much potential, you know.”
“I’m doing just fine.”
“You really have no idea,” she said. And then she sighed sadly. “It’s been so very lonely.”
She was very beautiful, this deranged creature who stood before me, and I almost felt sorry for her. But then I remembered how clever, how manipulative she was.
She giggled. “I’m going to plant some new trees in the orchard. Are you going to help me? I’ve dug the holes already. All we have to do…” she gestured to the two men on the tables. “…is fill them back in.”
She bit her bottom lip, looking perplexed for a moment. “There’s a place there for you, too, you know–if you’re not going to be my friend. Everyone ends up in the orchard eventually.”
“I’m not sur…” and I blocked the first thrust and by God, she was fast, and I just managed to block the second but then the blade pierced my body, and again, and again and the ironic thought passed through my mind that now she was the one penetrating me, but I finally managed to get hold of the necklace and tear it from her throat before she realised what I’d been aiming for. And all of a sudden, I could feel the energy course through me, and oh my Lord, there was rage, too. So much rage, and I let it take hold and she didn’t stand a chance after that as she started to morph and as she aged, I snapped her brittle old bones, snapped them like dry twigs, and then ripped those frail limbs from her body because somehow I knew that was the only way to destroy her…
*
Fuck! I must have passed out, and I needed to hide that bloody stone. I’d told them to give me thirty minutes and I guessed that was up because I could hear sirens in the distance, but there was blood everywhere and I think an awful lot of it was probably mine.
That damned witch! She will be the death of me, yes, prescient words, Fabian, but I didn’t want to live up to them if you’ll pardon the pun. Damned if I was going to die because of your recklessness, because of your folly…
*
I drifted in and out of consciousness. When they finally got here, they drove as fast as they could, and the surgeon obviously sewed me back together because apparently I’ll still hold soup.
The whole thing caused quite a bit of fuss. They’d found three police officers, one of them obviously dead, one half off his rocker, and the third just about hanging on to the fickle thread of life with most of her blood soaking into the rugs. Plus, of course, one old lady literally torn to pieces, and every time they asked for an explanation, I told them I was too tired and needed to sleep.
They did their damndest to keep it out of the press, of course, but they’ll need a lot of luck because whilst I was recuperating in the hospital they dug up the orchard and solved most of the missing person cases in the area from the last two hundred years.
Alfie came to see me.
“You look like shit, Boss.” His habitual grin was missing, and I guessed it would be a while before it reappeared.
“Piss off,” I told him. But he’d somehow managed to bring me flowers, so I forgave him.
“Grapevine says they’re making you an Inspector.”
I grunted. Didn’t really care anymore.
“The things I heard–that woman–I saw what happened. At least I–I think I did.”
It had been the only way. I’d understood that. She didn’t want to go, though. Not until I ripped the necklace from her throat. Then all her power just dissipated.
“Never underestimate rage, Alfie.”
His eyebrows rose. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
I laughed. Then wished I hadn’t because it hurt too much.
“Funny thing,” he said. “They didn’t find any sign of that ruby.”
I wondered if he was reading my mind. I flapped my hand at him, indicating I didn’t want to be bothered by such trivia.
But I knew exactly where that iridescent, captivating stone was. And when the time was right, I would retrieve it.
I’d only held it in my hand for only a few moments. But in that short time, I had felt the power it exuded. It had filled me with an energy–a force–that was so potent it frightened me.
And thrilled me. It awakened something inside that had long lain dormant. A birthright I had no inkling of. She’d had no chance after that.
And it was mine now.
Alfie was looking at me awkwardly.
“I wanted to thank you. For saving my life, I mean.”
For destroying that malevolent old harridan before she got around to him. Before she did to him what he’d seen her do to that unlucky bastard Jarvis.
“De nada, Alfie.”
“Yeah, I guess somebody must have made off with that stone. I–I didn’t really see anything.”
I raised a smile. “Thanks, mate. Now fuck off and let me rest, will you?”
I hoped Yasmin would find peace now, would find some rest now that her sister had finally gone.
The last thought I had as I drifted off to sleep was that I really ought to be a bit more careful about who I took into my bed.
