‘Forget the drink,’ Blackbeard said to the barman in the hoarse, gruff tone you’d expect a serial killer to have. I couldn’t hear any particular accent but he might have been trying to disguise his voice. ‘I’ve got to go.’ Without waiting for an answer, he pulled his dead eyes away from me and strode towards the door.
I glanced at the stairs one last time. Winter still hadn’t appeared. Blast it all – this was the one occasion in his life when he had decided to take his time. If he was down here in my place, he’d know what to do. And he’d have no fear about doing it.
As Blackbeard hefted open the main door and I felt the cold air on the back of my neck, I leaned across the bar. ‘Call up to my room. Get my partner down here pronto.’
The barman looked confused; it probably didn’t help that Tarquin’s tinny voice could still be heard from the phone’s receiver. ‘Ivy? What’s going on? Ivy! Are you there? Do you remember what happened the last time when you couldn’t be arsed to listen to me? The Ipsissimus wants…’ I hung up and pushed the phone across to the barman with a meaningful glance before running out after Blackbeard. I still didn’t know what I was going to do but I couldn’t just let him walk away.
It was even colder outside than I expected. Out here on the barren moors there was little shelter. I cast around, searching desperately for my quarry. He couldn’t just disappear into the night; I wasn’t going to let him.
There was a crunch of heavy footsteps on gravel then Blackbeard’s voice came at me from the darkness. I still couldn’t see him – for such a large man, he was good at concealing himself. At least he was still here. Right now I’d take every small mercy I could grasp hold of.
‘I thought you’d follow me,’ he said. ‘I don’t know who you are or how you know about me – but I do know that you can’t stop me.’
I swallowed. My mouth was bone dry. I’d only just recovered from my last near-death experience; I had zero desire to throw myself into that kind of scenario again. Desperate to stall him until Winter showed up, I found my voice. ‘You’re killing witches,’ I said. ‘An entire coven. From Dorset. Why?’
His voice drifted through the darkness. ‘The more pertinent question is how do you know that?’
‘Seriously? That’s the most important question? Not who are you, or what’s your motive, or what the hell do you think you can gain? Or are you just a deluded psychopath? You think the biggest question is how I know about you? Pah!’ I scoffed. ‘There’s no limit to what I know.’ I racked my brains. There had to be something I could do here, some information I could use against him. ‘I know that the coven murder wasn’t as smooth as you’d have liked,’ I said. ‘That one of them came round at the last minute and fought you. That made you angry.’
There was silence. Damn it, had he already somehow made his escape? There was nothing around here apart from a quiet country road and mud-filled moors. He could head off in virtually any direction and I wouldn’t have a clue where he’d gone, at least until Winter got here and performed a tracking spell. Right now, there was nothing happening which was worth the risk of me being overpowered by necromantic magic.
‘Hello?’ I called out, my voice carrying across the silent car park. ‘Are you still there? Or have I scared you off?’ My eyes darted from side to side. Damn, it was dark out here. ‘Mr Serial Killer?’
I felt the hot breath against the back of neck and the cold steel tip nick my skin. ‘It’d take a lot more than a blonde woman with dodgy dress sense to scare me,’ Blackbeard murmured.
I didn’t dare move a muscle. He reached up with his free hand and brushed my hair away from my cheek. His other hand was still gripping the blade – I could feel it pressed against my flesh. One swift movement and he’d slice through my carotid artery. It would be adios muchachos. We were too far from any hospital; no matter what Winter did, this time I wouldn’t be coming back from the brink.
‘You don’t want to do this,’ I whispered. It was probably about the stupidest thing I’d ever said. Something about being a mere centimetre away from death was hampering my eloquence. Telling a man who was responsible for at least seven murders that he didn’t want to round that up to an even eight didn’t make the slightest bit of sense.
‘Why not, Blondie?’ Blackbeard asked. ‘Because lover boy is a witch and he’ll come after me in revenge?’ He laughed softly. ‘From what I’ve gathered, he’s already after me. Your death won’t change that.’
Arse. Weren’t evil villains supposed to be numbskulls with no brain cells to rub together? Why did I get the smart one? I breathed out. I felt strangely calm; every second that I wasn’t creating a messy pool of blood was a positive.
Blackbeard moved the blade, scraping it gently against my neck in a caressing motion. ‘I should just slit your throat,’ he said. ‘The fact that you open your legs for a witch should damn you. But I’m not a bastard and I’m not a cold-blooded murderer, either. If you’re not a magic freak then you get to live. I can’t say the same for lover boy, though. He’s already crossed the line. He should be afraid.’
It was the threat to Winter that did it for me. I leapt away and spun round, breathing heavily and glaring at Blackbeard. He didn’t look even remotely intimidated. He’d learn.
‘You’ve screwed up,’ I said. There was no need to fake the venom in my voice. The dead eyes that glittered back at me told me everything I needed to know about this prick. ‘I’m as much a witch as he is – and I’m more powerful than you could ever dream of.’
He laughed, a cold, grating noise like the sound of fingernails scraping down a blackboard. ‘If you were a witch, you’d have already tried your magic against me. You should be pleased, Blondie. You’re not a witch – it’s the only reason you’re still living.’
There was a shout from the doorway of the pub. Winter. Finally. Blackbeard’s eyes narrowed then he darted to the side. I raised my hands, ready to fling whatever I had at him and damn the consequences.
‘Ivy! No!’
The panic in Winter’s voice was enough to make me pause. I dropped my hands just as the sound of a revving engine lit the air. A single headlight flicked on, blinding me. ‘Winter, it’s him!’ I screamed. ‘We have to stop him!’
‘I’ve got this,’ he called, his voice even and calm.
Several people spilled out from the pub behind Winter. ‘What’s going on? Is there a fight?’
Blackbeard’s huge motorbike took off, speeding towards me. As I flung myself to one side, Winter raised his hands to complete a double rune. I hit the ground and rolled, twisting round to watch. Winter’s expression was filled with concentration. Not for the first time, genuine awe filled me at his ability to work under pressure. Even from this distance, I could see the spark in his sapphire-blue eyes and the deft way he flicked his fingers to complete the rune. Tough luck, Blackbeard, I thought sardonically. Your time is up.
The motorbike skidded, sending a spray of gravel towards the onlookers. Then it mounted the verge, hit the tarmacked road and sped off into the distance, its red taillight visible only for a few moments until it – and Blackbeard – disappeared round the corner.
I pulled myself up to my feet. Catching a quick glimpse of Winter’s frown, I shook out my hair and ran for his car. ‘Rafe!’ I yelled. ‘Car keys!’
The cloud passed and Winter re-focused. He reached into his pocket, his face falling. ‘They’re still upstairs,’ he ground out. He turned and ran inside. Ignoring the rigid tension that made every step jar, I ran after him.
‘Hey, are you alright?’ the barman asked. ‘You’re bleeding.’
I touched my neck where Blackbeard had cut me. My fingers came away wet and sticky. I grimaced. ‘It’s just a flesh wound. I’ll live.’ But others might not, I hissed under my breath, causing the barman and several others to pull back.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked.