126579.fb2
Blackbird led the way down the corridor towards the suite that held the Queen's Remembrancer. She stopped at a door half-glazed with frosted glass. "Here it is."
She turned the knob and eased the door open, peeking around the jamb, and then opened it more fully to allow us both into the room.
There was a white-framed hospital bed, head against one wall. A heart monitor sat silent on the far side, a jagged green line tracing the pulse of the man on the bed. He looked sallow, eyes closed, the lines on his face etched into the skin. Beside the bed, a thin young woman with tied back auburn hair looked as if she'd been startled awake by our entrance. She pushed loose strands of hair back from her face in an unconscious gesture. Another woman, sitting with her back to us, much older than the first, turned to us, her worried expression turning to mistrust when she realised we were not medical staff.
She stood up. "Can I help you?" She glanced from Blackbird to me.
Her hair was grey, but her fair skin and the way she brushed her hair from her cheek spoke of the close relationship between her and the younger woman. They had the same thin-boned frame that left the tendons stark on the backs of their hands, the same carved cheekbones leaving no doubt that they were mother and daughter. She had the determined look of a woman who would do something, if only she knew what to do. "We're looking for Claire," said Blackbird.
"She's just stepped out for a moment. She went to meet someone."
"She was expecting us," Blackbird confirmed. "Do you mind if we wait for her?"
The hardening of her mouth and the slight stiffening of the shoulders said she did.
"There's a rest room across the hall," she said. "You can wait there."
"Has there been any change?" Blackbird asked.
"My husband is seriously ill." She emphasised the word "husband", confirming her place at his side and our place away from it.
Blackbird started to move towards the bed, but she stepped in front of her. "I think you had better wait outside," she said firmly.
Voices from the corridor distracted them both and there was movement outside. I stepped sideways, out of the way of the door, as vague outlines appeared on the other side of the glass.
Claire's voice was clear, speaking to a companion.
"…doesn't work like that. They'll come when they're ready and not before," a male voice replied in low tones as she pushed the door open, still looking back at the person in the corridor.
"They're not that sort of people-" She came to a halt at the sight of us standing in the room.
"What's the matter?" The male voice in the corridor was joined by a face over Claire's shoulder. The ruffled sandy hair over grey eyes regarded us with suspicion. "Who the hell are you?"
Claire pushed into the room, followed by the man.
"How did you get in here?" he asked, looking at Blackbird and me, then glancing back towards the corridor. "Elizabeth, are you OK?" he asked the woman standing in front of the bed. She nodded.
"They said they were friends of yours," she said to Claire.
"How did you…?" Claire trailed off, glancing back at the man in the doorway. Then she stepped sideways, taking his sleeve and drawing him into the room so she could push the door closed behind him.
Blackbird and I moved away from the door to give them some room. It was getting crowded.
"Claire? Who are these people?" Elizabeth wanted an explanation.
"And how did they get in here?" the man asked.
Claire took a deep breath. "These are the people I told you about, the ones we were to meet downstairs. "
"There are two men at the end of the corridor that are supposed to be turning visitors away," he said. "What? They just walked past them? "
"It's not their fault," said Claire.
"Of course it's their fault," he blustered. "They'll get their ears bent for this, I can tell you."
"We came to see if we could help," Blackbird said quietly.
"The doctors are already doing everything possible," Elizabeth told her. "There's nothing anyone can do except wait."
The younger woman, who had been watching this exchange, took the limp hand of the man on the bed in hers, watching her mother.
"Perhaps I could take a look at him?" Blackbird suggested.
"As I said," Elizabeth spoke more firmly, "the doctors are doing everything possible."
"Perhaps if Veronica were to take a look?" Claire suggested. "She might see something the doctors have missed?"
"The tests were very thorough, Claire." Elizabeth glanced towards the bed. "It's down to him now. "
"Not necessarily," said Blackbird.
"I think Mrs Checkland would like you to leave now," the man said.
"Very well," said Blackbird. "Claire, we need the nails. It's what we came for. Can you get them for us? "
"Please help him," Claire said. "You can see how he is. I can't leave him like this."
"You must," Blackbird said. "You must, because if you don't, there will be more of this and worse besides. You know it and we know it. Soon enough, they'll all know it unless we get the nails and you find another Remembrancer, someone alive enough to carry out the ceremony." At her words, Elizabeth's expression hardened, her lips blanching to a fine line. Her hand lifted to cover her mouth.
"Oh that was uncalled for," said the man. "How insensitive can you get?"
"It's the truth," Blackbird stated. "Let me see, how does it go? His breathing is shallow, but there's nothing wrong with his lungs. His heartbeat is weak, and yet there is no trace of cardiac problems. He has no indication of disease; in fact his body temperature is low, not high as you would expect with an infection. He appears to be asleep, but he's not."
Elizabeth nodded. "They did a brain scan. They said it could be a shallow coma; he could wake up any time. "
"He won't wake up," Blackbird told her. "I'm sorry for your husband, Mrs. Checkland, but he won't wake up because he isn't asleep. He's lost."
"What do you mean, 'lost'?" said the man.
"Can you help him?" Claire asked, cutting across the question.
"There may be a price to pay," Blackbird told her.
"We have money," Elizabeth said. "We can afford the best." The sliver of hope was enough to push back the tears from her eyes.
"I wasn't talking about money. There are higher prices than money can afford."
"What are you suggesting?" Elizabeth said.
"Let me see if I can help him first. Then we can discuss what it may cost you."
"Does anyone else here see that she's talking nonsense?" protested the man. "She's just exploiting your worst fears and taking advantage of your vulnerability at a bad time. It's the oldest con-trick in the book." I edged closer to the door, intending to seal it if he tried to raise the alarm at our presence. Claire noticed my movement and held up her hand to me, her mute expression asking me to pause a moment.
"Sam, I asked you here to help. I know you think you're protecting us, but Veronica is possibly the only person who can help us. Don't ask me how I know this because I could never tell you, but I do know it. There have been plenty of times when you've been on assignment that you couldn't talk about and you've told me I just had to trust you. Now I'm asking you to trust me. "
"But this is ridiculous," he protested.
"Is it? You have this place wrapped up tight yet they walked in without a soul seeing them. How do you explain that? "
"I'm about to ask that question myself."
"Please don't. I'll do my best to explain later, but you have to accept there are things I can't tell you. You're used to secrets in your job. It shouldn't be too hard to accept that I have them too."
Something in her words stung him. His face registered shock and surprise.
"If you'll allow them to help Jerry," she continued, "then I'll try and explain later. In the meantime I need you to accept this. In fact I need you to do your best to conceal the fact that these people were ever here at all. Sam, I need your help. You have to trust me on this. "
"This is crazy, you must see that. "
"Please, Sam?"
For a moment, he was debating within himself, then his shoulders fell. "OK," he lifted his hands in a gesture of uselessness. "I just hope you know what you're doing."
"Elizabeth?" she asked, turning to the woman standing between us and the bed.
"What are you intending to do?" she asked.
"Initially I just want to see how bad it is," Blackbird told her. "If I can't help him then I'll tell you. I won't lie to you."
"It won't hurt him, will it?"
"Not this part. Bringing him back, though, may not be as easy." She stood aside. "You can take a look."
Blackbird walked around the side of the bed, looking across at Sam, standing with his arms folded in challenge.
She paused. "What do they call you, Sam-who-keepssecrets?" Blackbird asked him.
"Veldon. Sam Veldon." He looked at Claire's crestfallen expression. "What?"
Blackbird smiled. "Are you a policeman?"
"No," he said, the lie in his tone apparent immediately to me as it must have been to Blackbird. "Something similar?" she asked. "What's it to you?" he challenged. "Will you have to write a report of this? "
"That depends what you do," he said.
"Claire said you know how to keep secrets. Is she right?"
"I have kept secrets, yes."
"You must promise me," she said to him quietly and evenly, "you will tell no one outside this room what transpires here, by whatever means. Are you willing to make that promise?"
"I don't have to promise you anything." His stance was rigid, arms crossed, feet square. "Then I must ask you to leave," she said.
"On whose say-so?" he challenged.
"She's right, Sam. You have to promise," Claire insisted. "This must never be spoken of."
"What are you?" he asked Blackbird. "Some kind of witch?"
The intake of breath through my teeth drew everyone's attention, rather than Blackbird, so they missed seeing Blackbirds eyes narrow and her chin come up at the use of that word. The temperature in the room dropped and I could feel the magic prickling across my skin as she directed her anger back at Sam.
"Use that word again, Sam Veldon, and you will regret it for the rest of your short little life." She was moving slowly around the bed, stalking towards him, each tread increasing the pent-up tension building in the room. Claire bustled past me and pulled the door open, bustling him out of the room and pushing him out into the corridor. "No," she insisted. "It's for your own good. Go and wait in the rest-room; have a cup of coffee, start smoking again, anything. Just don't say anything. At all. Do you understand? Nothing."
He looked into her face, frustration written across his features and then made a noise between a grunt and a sigh, turned suddenly and stalked away, leaving her standing in the doorway. She retreated and closed the door again.
"I'm sorry, Veronica, he can be so stubborn. He won't tell anyone, though. It's not in his nature."
Blackbird appeared unconcerned now that the object of her anger had left, dismissing it with a wave of her hand as the sudden cold dispersed.
"What's his given name?" she asked, looking at the figure on the bed.
Claire shot another warning glance to Elizabeth.
Blackbird spoke gently to Claire. "If I'm going to help him, I will need his name."
She looked uncomfortable and then said, "I know," earning a puzzled look from Elizabeth.
"It's Jerome David Checkland. Jerry for short," Elizabeth said.
Blackbird moved back around the bed, bypassing Elizabeth and focusing instead on the young woman beside the bed.
"And you are his daughter, yes?" she asked.
The young woman nodded. "Deborah Checkland," she confirmed.
"May I? I need to hold his hand."
Blackbird moved to sit on the edge of the bed and Deborah released her father's hand. Blackbird lifted it from the covers, cradling it in her own. She closed her eyes and the room warmed, taking on the heaviness that comes on long languid days. For a moment, the air over the bed shimmered like heat haze.
"Jerry?" Her voice sounded muffled, suppressed by the heavy air. "Jerome David Checkland, can you hear me?" The silence deepened, so the background noise of the hospital faded, replaced by a summer day's laden stillness. The figure on the bed lost some of his pinched expression. His face relaxed and the lines smoothed on his forehead.
"Jerome David Checkland, I summon you to me. Be called."
The heaviness deepened and then relaxed. Blackbird opened her eyes again.
"Well, that would have been too easy, wouldn't it?" she told us.
"What's wrong with him?" asked Deborah.
"He's trying to return, but he is either being prevented or he doesn't know the way. I suspect he is being held against his will. If he is to break free then he will need our help. "
"What can we do?" asked Elizabeth.
"I can bring him here, but only for a few moments. If we are to release him then we must persuade the one who holds him to let go, and they have every reason to keep him." She stood again.
"What will persuade them?" Elizabeth said.
"We need to offer them something sweeter, something to tempt them."
"Like what?"
"Like your daughter."
Deborah looked at Blackbird, and then at her mother, who was standing with her mouth open.
"No!" Elizabeth said. "I am already losing my husband. I will not lose my daughter as well. Deborah doesn't need to be involved in this," Elizabeth said firmly, walking around to join her and finding Blackbird positioned between them.
"On the contrary," Blackbird replied. "She may be just the lever we need."
"I'll do whatever needs to be done," said Deborah.
"Wait, child, until you know what the price may be," Blackbird told her.
Deborah stood up and it became suddenly apparent how tall she was. She stood a head-height above Blackbird. "I am not a child and I won't be treated like one. I'm twenty-two and quite capable of making my own decisions, thank you."
"Stay out of this, Deborah," said her mother. "He's my father," she told them.
"Unfortunately, she has the right of it," said Blackbird, "and I called you child, not because you are childish but because you are his child and his bloodline. Blood calls to blood, and the ties of marriage mean that you are not of his bloodline, are you, Elizabeth?"
"No, well, obviously not," Elizabeth admitted, stepping forward to take Deborah's arm. She shrugged free of it, turning away to stand alone with her back to the wall. Elizabeth looked hurt by the snub but stayed by the bed.
"I am not suggesting we trade one for the other. Your daughter's presence will tempt her away from your husband. Blood calls to blood, as I told you. At the moment when that becomes apparent, I will have the opportunity to distract her and we should be able to pull them both back without getting caught. "
"Who do you mean 'her'?" Claire asked.
"Niall knows of whom I speak." I had been standing in the corner unnoticed, but now they all focused on me. "Niall has stood where your husband now stands. "
"Have you?" Claire asked.
I realised, then, what Blackbird meant when she said Jerry was lost. I knew where he was. He was standing in the cold glade, bare feet prickled by pine needles, surrounded by a ring of thorns. He was listening to a voice as dry as dust, trapped there by a woman dressed all in grey, arms held open in a chilling embrace.
"She won't let him go," I told them. "She'll leech the warmth from his bones until nothing remains."
"I'll do it," said Deborah.
"You will not!" Elizabeth snapped.
"It's my choice. Isn't it?" she said to Blackbird.
"Understand what you risk," Blackbird said to her. "If she touches you she can bind you there and we will have lost both of you."
Elizabeth moved to stand next to her daughter. "I couldn't bear to lose both of you. I simply couldn't. "
"There's no one else, is there?" said Deborah. "If I can't bring him back, then no one can. He would do the same for me, whatever the risk. You know he would." Elizabeth shook her head, staring up into her daughter's face as if she couldn't believe the words were coming from her mouth. Then she turned away, still shaking her head. Claire stepped forwards, drawing Elizabeth away from the bed.
"It's better than sitting here watching him waste away," Deborah said to her mother's back.
"When I call him back," Blackbird explained to Deborah, "the one holding him will know it. She won't release him without a fight, so she will come to claim him back. She won't be able to materialise fully so she should be weak. When she appears, you distract her, make her see you. She will understand the tie of blood, and hopefully that will be enough for her to try and take you both. When she does, the ties on your father will be weak enough to break. If we can close the circle while her hold on him is weakened then we can break her hold on him before she can get her claws into you. Once her hold is broken, there's nothing to anchor her here. She won't be able to stay. "What if she doesn't want me?"
"She's old, arrogant and greedy. Don't worry, she'll want you. Just don't let her touch you, understand?" Elizabeth stepped forward again. "Don't let her do this. Let me do it. I'm his wife. That should count for something."
"It does, but it's not the same. If you do it then there's every chance she will go for your daughter anyway. Blood calls to blood. It always has and always will. "
"I must be able to do something."
"Stick to the plan and we'll be fine. Distract your daughter at the wrong moment and you could lose your husband and your daughter forever." She turned to me. "Niall, can you pull the bed out from the wall a little?"
I nodded and took the brakes off the bed so that it would wheel forward. Blackbird pulled the flowers unceremoniously from the vase on the side table and dumped them on the floor in the corner. Then she walked in a slow circle, dribbling water from the vase onto the floor but leaving a gap at the end of the bed. "This is the gap we have to close, once he's free. Stay in the circle. Don't let her tempt you out of it. "
"Do we have to be in the circle too?" Elizabeth indicated herself, Claire and I.
"She won't notice you as long as you don't make any noise or touch any of us. You should be fine." She completed the partial circle and returned to stand next to Deborah. "Are you ready?" she asked her.
Deborah looked at her mother and then back at Blackbird. "I'm ready."
Blackbird dipped into her bag and produced a long thin spike of yellow bone. "Give me your hand." Deborah looked warily at the spike and then hesitantly offered her hand. Blackbird took it by the fleshy part at the base of the thumb and stabbed the point of the bone into the flesh of her thumb, eliciting a gasp of pain and a corresponding flinch from her mother. Blackbird screwed the bone into the thumb.
"Shit!" Deborah hissed, trying to pull back the thumb, but Blackbird held it. She waited until the pain was livid on her face and then released her. She lifted Jerry's hand and pricked his thumb with the point, squeezing the thumb until the blood welled in a ruby drop. "There, now mix your blood with his so she won't fail to see the connection."
Blood welled freely from Deborah's thumb, leaving a thin trail of drops across the cover as she reached to smear her own blood into that of her father's. This done, Blackbird took hold of Deborah's shoulders and steered her around to stand with her back to the doorway. Deborah stood there, sucking her thumb. Blackbird moved Elizabeth and Claire into the far corner of the room, away from her daughter. "Stay in the corners and keep calm and you'll get him back. Niall, the same applies to you. Don't attract her attention, understand?"
I nodded, manoeuvring back into the other corner, away from the circle.
"OK," she said, "are we all ready?" We all nodded in turn.
Blackbird took the hand of the man on the bed and used the tip of her finger to wipe the welling blood from his thumb. She held up the finger and then slowly licked the blood from the tip.
As soon as her tongue touched the blood, something changed. The lights began to flicker and buzz, filling the room with an uncertain green cast. Expectancy built in the air. I could taste copper in my mouth as if it had been me that licked the finger.
Blackbird spoke, and the words sounded thick, as if the metallic taste of blood on her tongue made the words difficult to form.
"By his blood I bind him,
By his seed I summon him,
By his flesh I find him,
She who holds him,
Accept the price of blood and pain, And let him find his way home."
After each phrase, the temperature dropped until the room was as chill as an autumn dawn. The lights blinked, emitting greenish pulses that only served to deepen the shadows in the corners of the room. That last word – "home" – hung in the air, heavy with anticipation. It weighed in the room like a still pendulum, and then stirred. The sound of an indrawn breath brought everyone's attention to the figure on the bed. His chest rose and his eyes opened.
"Jerry?" Elizabeth's voice held sudden hope and she tried to go to him, but Claire held her back. Blackbird's sudden shake of the head was filled with warning. "Beth?" His voice was hoarse after his long silence. It was as if he could hear her but not see her. His head moved and his eyes scanned across without seeing the figures around him.
At the sound of his voice, all the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Another presence had entered the room. The lights dimmed further as a tall figure paled into visibility in front of us at the end of the bed, just beyond the opening in the circle.
Swathed in grey, she stood, arms lifted wide apart. Her long hair shadowed her face, falling over the shoulders in a silver-grey mantle. The pleats in her gown fell to the floor so her dress draped the ground. Her head was bowed, as if in contemplation, her insubstantial form rippled in a breeze we did not feel. The room became still; not the heavy torpor that Blackbird had summoned but the brittle stiffness of hoarfrost under a starlit sky.
Elizabeth backed into the corner, feeling, as I did, the chill waves coming from the figure, her expression showing sudden realisation at the cold force we had summoned. My hand found its way, unwittingly to the handle of the knife under my coat. There was a light crackling sound and I saw the water on the floor around the bed had frozen, forming a ring of milky frozen droplets.
"Deborah?" Blackbird's voice was a whisper across the bed. "Let a little of your blood fall upon the floor inside the circle."
Deborah was transfixed by the woman. Slowly she drew her thumb from her mouth with a tiny sound, like a kiss. At the noise, the head of the ghostly woman lifted, scenting her. Deborah looked towards Blackbird, who nodded encouragement.
She held out her thumb and the jagged gouge welled visibly again with blood. A single fat droplet fell and spattered on the tiles.
The figure's head jerked across to focus on Deborah, who stepped back under the intensity of that gaze. The figure strengthened, coalescing, becoming more solid by the second. She allowed her arms to fall and the rustling of her gown gave her more substance. She stepped forwards towards the circle and, as she did, I saw that Blackbird had the vase held high, ready to dash it on the floor at the feet of the grey figure to seal the circle ahead of her.
At the same moment, a shadow crossed the frosted glass of the door. Like the grey figure it became more solid until the bulky shape of Sam was outlined in the glass. He pushed the door open and leaned in. "There's something up with the power. They have an emergency generator, but- What the hell?"
Deborah twisted around to warn him back but the words never reached her lips. The grey figure swept around the bed and grabbed her hair, jerking upwards so she cried out. Without thinking, I pulled the Dead Knife from my belt and launched myself forward, and stabbed it into the grey woman's back.
There was a yell as Deborah was thrown backwards into the wall, bouncing off with a force that shook the room. Her feet skidded on the thin-crusted ice and she sprawled onto the floor. The grey figure whirled around, the force of it jerking the knife from my grasp and sending it skittering loose across the floor.
"You!" The tall grey woman turned her attention to me, apparently unharmed by the knife. She reached towards me and I backed away, trying to evade her grasping fingers as she reached to catch hold of my jacket. She advanced, backing me into the corner. I slid down the wall trying to evade her. In the shadows of her hair I could see the feral gleam of her eyes and the white of her teeth as she realised she had me cornered.
"Nowhere to run, little brother." Her voice was soft, her tone sure. She reached slowly down to my face as if to caress my cheek with her clawed nails.
There was a crash from behind her. For a moment her smile stayed and then faltered. She whipped around to see the shards of the vase, the water from it sealing the circle behind her. Immediately, she started to fade. She knotted her hands in front of her face and let out an anguished cry, the scream of a predator denied the prey. It hung in the room as her form lost substance and dissolved. Sprawled in the corner, I watched the very last glimpse of her fade away. The room held its breath, waiting to see if she would return. The lights flickered and buzzed and the room blinked back to hospital brightness. "Beth?"
The man on the bed was trying to sit up, weak but conscious and aware of those around him.
Elizabeth went to rush forward and was held back once more by Claire, who looked to Blackbird for the all-clear. Blackbird nodded and she released her. She rushed around the bed to where Deborah was lifting herself stiffly from the floor. As she pulled herself to her feet, her mother reached her. "Are you hurt?"
"I don't think so. Nothing's broken." Her voice sounded shaky and thin.
"Deborah?" The man's voice was scratchy from disuse. "What are you doing under the bed? And what have you done to your hair?"
"My hair?" Unconsciously, her hand went to the back of her head where her hair had been grabbed. It was drained of all colour, white as cotton and brittle as hay. As her hand pushed through it, the white fell away like ash, leaving only ragged tufts close to her head. She looked at the grey smudges on her fingers where her hair was powdering. Her hand began to shake. Elizabeth pulled her close, whispering, "It doesn't matter. You're safe, now." Deborah stared at the fine grey smudges on her hands. Elizabeth addressed Blackbird. "She is safe now, isn't she?"
Blackbird nodded, releasing a long breath.
In the doorway, Sam stepped fully into the room. "What happened? Where…?" He looked around the room, trying to make sense of what he'd seen. Blackbird walked around the splintered pottery and helped me up from the floor. "Did she touch you?" she asked. I shook my head, accepting her help.
"I thought I told you not to attract her attention."
"She was here, in this room. You said she would be weak."
"Yes, I did say that, didn't I? It looks like the barrier's even closer to collapse than we thought."
"Did anyone else see a woman in here?" Sam asked. Blackbird turned slowly towards him and then looked around the room with exaggerated care.
"I think you'll find, Sam-who-keeps-secrets, that no one saw anything."
He looked at Elizabeth, who was hugging her daughter while she tried to stop trembling. She shook her head. He looked at me and I shrugged. He turned to Claire.
"Don't ask me, Sam. You won't like the answer." She looked at him levelly, daring him to push it. "What the hell happened in here?" he demanded. "The electricity was all over the place, she's lost half a head of hair, there's ice on the floor; look, it's still melting. What happened?"
"I broke a vase," said Blackbird. "You'd better get a dustpan and brush before someone hurts themselves." I walked over to where Elizabeth was hugging Deborah and collected the knife from the floor, being careful to keep my body between the knife and Sam so he wouldn't see the blade darken at my touch, and I concealed it in my belt once more.
"Is she going to be OK?" I asked Elizabeth.
"Thanks to you. If you hadn't, well, I hate to think what might have happened."
"What's the matter with you people? Can't you see this is all some sort of scam?" he demanded. "Make up your mind, Sam," said Blackbird, "Either it's a scam and nothing happened or there was something and you missed it. Which is it to be?"
"You think you're clever, don't you?" He pointed his finger at Blackbird. Claire tried to get between them but he resisted her. "You think you can pull a fast one, but I know you're hiding something. I can smell it. "
"You're too smart for me," Blackbird confirmed. "You're right, we are hiding something. But even if it ran up behind you and bit you in the behind, you wouldn't recognise it for what it is. Go home, Sam."
"Don't tell me what to do."
"Sam, please?" Claire was trying to calm him down, but it only made him more angry.
"I thought you wanted my help, Claire. I thought you wanted me here. Instead you're conspiring with this charlatan. What am I supposed to think?"
"You're not supposed to think anything," she told him, "and I'm sorry now I even asked you here. Knowing the kind of work you do I thought you would understand, but you don't, do you? It's OK for you to have secrets but you can't bear it when anyone else does. It didn't work before, Sam, and I thought that was because you always put your work before me. But that's not it, is it? It's not your work. It's you."
He stood there, shaking his head. "I thought I knew you."
"No, Sam. You never tried to know me. Do as she says. Go home."
He looked from one of us to the next, searching for some clue, ending finally back with Claire.
"If I leave, I'm not coming back."
"That's right, Sam. You're not."
"Fine. If that's the way you want it." He turned back to the door, wrenched it open and stormed out, slamming it behind him so hard it made the glass rattle in the frame. In the silence that followed we could hear his footsteps fading down the corridor.
Claire turned back to us, her stern expression fading, become hurt and vulnerable with the shock of what she'd done.
Elizabeth stood. "Claire, I'm so sorry. This is all because of us."
"No. It was over a long time ago between us. I just didn't have the guts to admit it." Her eyes watered, but she brushed away the tears with the back of her hand and straightened her jacket, turning to Jerry who was still looking gaunt and pale on the bed. She smiled weakly.
"Will Jerry be all right now? Will that woman come back?" She addressed the question to Blackbird. "Thanks to Deborah, Jerry is safe for the moment. Get a good meal inside him and a night's rest and he'll be fine. He'll need his strength for the ceremony on Tuesday."
"I don't need sleep," he said. "I feel like I've slept for a week already."
"I'm not sure the doctor will discharge him by then," said Elizabeth. "They'll probably want to do some more tests."
"He doesn't need tests. There's nothing wrong with him that food and rest won't remedy. But without the ceremony to reinforce the barrier, the woman who was here will be able to come and go as she pleases and there will be little any of us can do to prevent her. The way she sees it, she was denied what was rightfully hers and without the barrier, she will surely return to claim her prize. You saw how she came right into the room? That means the barrier is close to collapse. "
"What can we do?" Elizabeth asked.
"We need the sixty-first nail. With that we can restore the Quick Knife to the ceremony and reinforce the barrier. If Jerry doesn't perform the ceremony this year, with the re-forged knife, then the barrier will fail." She looked at each of them in turn.
"And now you know what happens if it does."