incident, where three young women were found dead near Tunbridge Wells two and a half years ago. All three had broken necks and had been drained of their blood.
Any witnesses are being urged by the Met. Police to either visit a local police station or call a special hotline on 05603 826111. All identities remain anonymous.
For further images, turn to page 9. For opinions, turn to page 23.
By Phillip Bashford.
I lifted the corner of the page, wanting to turn to the pictures, but Declan laid a hand on the print, holding it down so firmly that as I tried to lift it, it tore down the middle. I let go and he folded it up, leaving the sport page face-up. I tasted salt on my lips and realized I was crying.
It was sickening. But I was crying because Ruby had found the scene. She wasn’t as strong as me.
I looked up and saw Kaspar standing behind me, holding a glass of blood in his hand. I rounded on him. ‘Why did you do it?’
His brow lowered and small creases appeared around the corners of his eyes as he narrowed them, surveying me. ‘You wouldn’t understand,’ he murmured, his lips barely moving.
‘Wouldn’t I?’ I challenged, taking a step closer.
‘No.’ His lips parted even further and he looked as though he wanted to say something else, but chose not to. The room was silent, other than the sound of my heavy, irregular breathing.
‘Those men had families!’
‘So do we,’ he muttered.
I shook my head. ‘You’re sick,’ I spat, placing two hands on the shirt stretched over his chest. I shoved, pouring every emotion into the thought of hurting him. To my complete surprise he took a step back. It wasn’t a stumble: I hadn’t forced him to move. He just let me push him back without a word. ‘Sick,’ I repeated.
I pushed past him and fled the room, tears flowing unchecked now. The thought of those men, lying in a pool of their own blood kept bouncing around my mind, making my stomach turn. I ran upstairs to the bathroom and it was my turn to be sick.
SEVEN
Kaspar
‘Feisty,’ Felix muttered. He switched to his mind, musing on one thought. Maybe it would have been easier to just kill her?
No, it wouldn’t have been easier. I let the thought fill my head, before throwing up walls around my mind, wanting the others out. I needed to think, privately.
Something about the look on the girl’s face had disturbed me; made me step back when she pushed me. It was a feeling I thought I remembered, but couldn’t grasp.
‘He means it would have been better for her if she didn’t have to deal with us,’ Declan clarified. I felt him pushing against my mental barriers and I lowered them slightly. Your reasons for taking her were selfish, Kaspar, despite what you might tell the King.
And so what if they were? Then your selfishness has got the Kingdom in trouble. He opened the paper back up, turning to an article about the rising costs of defence. Blocking his mind to everyone but me, he pointed to the headline. Michael Lee: taking the hard line on defence. He will want his daughter back. And you know he has been looking for an excuse to drive us out since they won the election. This is exactly the ammunition he needs. He wouldn’t dare do anything. He’s too scared. I drained the rest of the blood, enjoying the warmth that came with freshness. Declan’s exasperation came across in waves, but he didn’t say any more on it. He knew that a lecture from father was enough for one day.
‘I talked with her. She is scared and angry, but she’s curious too,’ Fabian said, participating in a conversation I hadn’t been listening to.
‘You answered her questions?’ Lyla asked with a poor attempt at offhandedness.
Fabian nodded and Declan peered from over his newspaper again. ‘That is only because she is still clinging to hope. Once she realizes she is stuck here, that will go.’ He returned to the paper, apparently satisfied with his doom-and-gloom prediction. ‘And when I’m right, I will happily say, “I told you so”,’ he added, rustling the paper. Cain glanced in my direction and I knew my eyes must have dropped through to black.
Yes, I didn’t kill her! I roared to myself as way of reply to their disapproving expressions. But not because I wanted her as a toy, though I would happily let them continue thinking that. I didn’t know why I had taken her. I didn’t know why I had saved her – why I had done it personally, and not let Fabian, always the nice guy, play saviour.
No, it wouldn’t have been easier to kill her, I thought, continuing on from Felix’s earlier statement. Because I suspect this particular human would have weighed on my conscience.
EIGHT
Violet
I didn’t know where my legs were taking me. I lost myself in the maze of corridors, my awe increasing with every turn. It wasn’t a welcoming place – there were few windows and most of the light came from gas lamps fashioned to look like torches or the occasional spotlight, which would highlight an alcove containing an expensive-looking painting or vase – but it was certainly grand. There was wood panelling everywhere and the floor was so clean I could see an outline of my reflection on the polish. It was cold too and if I lingered for too long on one spot, it felt as though I was standing on a pile of snow in only my socks. The few windows I did come across I fiddled with, trying to open them, but every single one was locked or too stiff to lift; the one I did manage to open was several floors up and positioned on a completely smooth wall, high enough to rule out jumping.
I found another set of stairs and climbed them. The upper floors seemed to be deserted, adding to the eeriness. I found empty room after empty room and there were only a handful of windows on the whole floor, it seemed – but from those few I could just about see over the tree-tops to the sea, a thin blue strip sandwiched between the green of the trees and the silvery lining of the sky.
Tucked away in what must be the back of the mansion, I came across a large wooden door. Scratches lined the frame and someone or something had gouged chunks out of the wood, exposing the paler rings below. The brass doorknob was blotched and smeared, like it had been used over and over. Unlike the ones downstairs, it didn’t warm up as I wrapped my fingers around the metal.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I glanced each way down the corridor, as what sounded like a whisper floated along the walls. Far away, a door slammed shut and the gas lamp flickered and with a pop, went out.
Startled, I ripped my hand from the brass and turned and fled. I didn’t stop, even when I realized I must have taken a wrong turn. I wasn’t superstitious, but something about that corridor had chilled me to the bone and I didn’t want to be anywhere near it.
I was getting more and more lost when the wood panelling ended and I found myself in a whitewashed corridor, lit with bright, artificial light – a stark contrast to the rest of the mansion. I doubled over, catching my breath.
‘Excuse me, miss, but are you okay?’ I jerked my head up, startled at the new voice. ‘Sorry, miss, didn’t mean to scare you,’ the voice said, thick with a cockney accent. It came from a young girl, not much older than I was by the looks of her. She was dressed in a plain black dress and a maid’s cap. Her face was round and plump, her mousy-blonde hair framing rosy cheeks. She would be quite stunning, if it was not for the lines of hard work that adorned her face.
‘Don’t worry, I’m fine,’ I replied, trying to smile and failing.
‘You must be the human the Varns took from London. Violet, isn’t it?’ I nodded. ‘I’m Annie,’ she said, smiling, revealing two small