BONES. ROODMAS. DARK POWERS

BONES

For what seemed like an eternity Richard and Matt stood where they were, staring at the still figure lying at the top of the stairs. Blood was spreading around Dravid’s head. But there was no sign of an attacker. The museum was as empty and silent as it had been when they first came in. And there was something else. The air was icy and seemed to have thickened. It had a white, smoky quality, like a bad photograph.

Richard was the first to recover.“Wait here!” he said, then bounded forward towards the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Matt called after him.

“The keys!”

He took the steps two at a time, not wanting to get any closer to Dravid but knowing there was no other way. The blood had reached the edge of the first step and was already trickling down. Richard knelt down beside the body, trying not to look at the horrible wound. Then suddenly Dravid opened his eyes. Miraculously he was still alive.

“Five…” The single word was all he could manage.

“Don’t say anything. I’ll get help.” Richard didn’t know what else to say. He was lying. The professor was far beyond help.

Dravid extended a trembling hand, which clasped a ring of keys. Richard took them gently. For a moment the two of them looked into each other’s eyes. Dravid tried to speak again but it was too much for him. He coughed painfully. Then his head fell back and his eyes closed.

Holding the keys, Richard stood up. He could see Matt below him, some distance away, and knew what he was thinking. Right now there was a killer inside the museum. Someone– or something – had attacked Professor Dravid and they would surely be next. But what were they up against? Why couldn’t they see anything? Moving slowly now, Richard went back down the stairs, his every sense alert. The two of them were so small in this enormous place. He felt horribly exposed.

“Did you get them?” Matt asked.

“Yes.” Richard held up the keys. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What about Professor Dravid?”

“He’s dead. I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do.”

“But what killed him?”

“I don’t know.” Richard gazed upwards, his eyes sweeping across the vaulted ceiling. “But let’s not stay to find out.”

He turned and at that moment there was a sudden whirl in the air. Matt threw a protective arm across his face and staggered into Richard.

“What’s wrong?” Richard demanded.

“There was something…” Matt looked around him but there was nothing there. “Something flew near my head,” he insisted.

“Flew?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see what it was?”

“No. But I sensed it. It came so close… I felt it go past.”

“I can’t see anything.”

But then it dived towards them again, sweeping down out of the mist, and this time there could be no mistaking it, even if it took Matt precious seconds to work it out. Triangular and white, the creature was neither living nor dead, coming at them like something out of a hideous dream. It had eye sockets but no eyes, wings but no feathers, a bulging ribcage with nothing inside. Moving faster than ever, almost a blur, it shot down. Its claws were stretched out and its needle-sharp teeth were bared in an evil grimace. Matt fell back. He felt one of the wings shudder past his face and knew that if he had waited a second longer he would have been decapitated. Now he understood what had happened to Professor Dravid.

Richard reached down and helped him up.“Did you see it?” he muttered.

“Of course I did.”

“You saw what it was?”

“Yes!”

“What?”

“I don’t know.” Matt had recognized it but he couldn’t put it into words.

“It’s a trick,” Richard said. “It has to be a trick. It wasn’t real.”

They had been attacked by something that couldn’t fly, that couldn’t even exist. It was a creature that hadn’t been seen on the planet for many millions of years. A pterodactyl. Except that it wasn’t quite a pterodactyl. It was the fossilized skeleton of a pterodactyl, wired together and put on display at the Natural History Museum. It had been brought to life and now it was somewhere above them.

“Look out!”

Matt shouted the warning as the pterodactyl swooped down a third time, plummeting out of the gloomy heights of the hall and hurtling towards them. He had no doubt that the claws would rip his flesh away if he allowed them to make contact. The creature was as vicious as it had been when it had flown over the prehistoric world. It was being guided, being used as an impossible weapon. Its head and claws missed Matt by centimetres and he thought he had escaped. But as it went past, one of its wing tips brushed his face and he felt a searing pain as the bone cut into him. He gasped and put a hand to his cheek. There was blood on his palm. The pterodactyl performed an aerial somersault and soared back the way it had come. There had been no noise, no warning. Nothing. The museum was utterly silent.

“Matt…” Richard began. There was panic in his eyes.

“I’m OK,” Matt said, his hand still pressed against his cheek.

“You’ve been cut.”

“I don’t think it’s deep.”

Richard craned his neck, staring up at the ceiling.“We’ve got to go.”

Matt grimaced.“I wasn’t thinking of staying.”

He had barely spoken the words before the pterodactyl was back. This time Richard was the target. The outstretched wing slashed through the air. It was as sharp as a sword. Richard cursed.

“Richard…” For a dreadful moment Matt thought he’d been hit.

“It’s OK. It missed me. It’s gone.”

“Yes. But what about the others?”

“What…?”

Professor Dravid had called it the most remarkable exhibition of dinosaur fossils ever seen in London. The pterodactyl was only one of them. There were dozens more all around them. Richard and Matt were standing in the middle of an X-ray version of Jurassic Park.

Even as Richard realized the true nature of the danger, there was an explosion as one of the display cases, just a few metres away from them, burst apart. There had been a skeleton inside it, held up by a steel frame, but now it broke free and came lumbering out. It was hard to see anything clearly in the mist and the darkness but Matt could just about make out something that resembled a crocodile, long and narrow, with short, squat legs holding it just above the floor. It had thrown itself forward, smashing through the glass in a sudden, silent frenzy. The one thing it couldn’t do was roar. It had no lungs. But its feet – bones without flesh – made a bizarre sound as they clacked against the mosaic floor. It was charging at them, its mouth gaping, its black teeth snapping at the air. Its tail thrashed behind it, scattering the fragments of what had once been its home.

The pterodactyl dived for a fifth time, its pointed beak aimed at Matt’s head. With a cry he threw himself on to the floor, then rolled over and over again, avoiding the crocodile creature that had accelerated towards him, its jaws snapping. How could it even see, Matt wondered, with eye sockets that were completely empty? But it didn’t hesitate. It turned round and came at him again. Matt was on his back. In seconds the creature would be on top of him.

Then Richard acted. He had grabbed a chair and, holding it like a baseball bat, he swung it at the crocodile, using all his strength. The heavy wood and upholstery slammed into the creature, knocking it off course and causing one side of its ribcage to collapse. It lay on the ground, twitching and rattling, still trying to get back on to its feet. Its mouth opened and snapped shut. Its head thrashed from side to side.

“Move!” Richard shouted.

A second showcase blew itself apart. Glass crashed down. One by one the dinosaur skeletons were coming to life. Bone rattled against marble. Matt got to his feet, wondering how many exhibits there were in the museum. And what about the one they had seen when they came in?

The diplodocus.

Even as Matt turned towards the huge creature, he saw the bones begin to tremble and knew that it too was coming to life. The diplodocus was twenty metres long. Its dreadful tail was coiling and uncoiling, animated by whatever energy was flowing through it. One of its legs moved, each of the joints shuddering. Its head swivelled round, searching for its prey.

“The door!” Richard yelled, then cried out as something crashed into him. It was a giant lizard skeleton, walking on its two hind legs, its arms outstretched. It was made up of at least a hundred bones suspended from a long, curving spine, with vicious teeth jutting forward, snapping at his throat. Richard fell backwards, his arms flailing. Matt saw the keys leave his hands and arc into the darkness. The lizard leapt into the air. Richard hurled himself sideways. The lizard crashed down. If he had waited one more second it would have landed on top of him. “The door!” He screamed the words again. “See if you can find a way out.”

The mist was getting thicker and Matt could no longer see from one end of the hall to the other. There were further explosions, one after the other, as more exhibit cases were destroyed from within and half-visible shapes appeared, flying, strutting or crawling towards them. Richard was searching blindly for the keys. But perhaps the doors would open another way. Surely there must be a fire exit, or some way out in case of emergencies.

Matt ran the full length of the hall and reached the front door. Sliding to a halt, he grabbed the handle and pulled. The door was locked. Frantically he tried a second door. That was locked too. Looking out through the glass, he could see offices and flats across the main road. The traffic was moving as usual. Ordinary life… but it could have been a thousand miles away. Both sets of doors had been locked for the evening. There was no emergency lever. They were trapped.

“Richard!” Matt called out. There was no sign of the journalist.

“Stay quiet!” Richard’s voice came out of the mist. “They can’t see you. Stay where you are and don’t make a sound.”

Was it true? Another lizard thing– perhaps an iguanodon – was stumbling towards him, towering over him. Matt froze. The dinosaur skeleton had stopped right in front of him. He could see through its eye sockets, all the way into its skull. Its mouth was open, revealing ugly white triangular teeth, each one coming to a vicious point. It wasn’t breathing – it couldn’t – but even so, Matt could smell its breath. It stank of sewage and decay. In the far distance he heard the clattering of feet, the rattling of bones. Richard was silent. The dinosaur craned forward. It seemed to be scenting him, or perhaps sensing the pulse in his neck. Now it was only centimetres away. Matt wanted to run. He wanted to scream. He was certain the creature was about to attack. Was he just going to stand there while it ripped out his throat?

“Matt? Where are you? Are you all right?” Richard’s voice echoed from the other side of the hall and the lizard creature twisted away and lumbered off in that direction. So Richard had been right. The dinosaurs were blind. They needed sound and movement to find their victims.

“I’m OK!” Matt shouted back. He didn’t dare add more.

“Can you get out?”

“No! I need the keys!”

The keys were lying on the floor beside the stairs. Richard peered through the mist and finally saw them and lunged for them. At the same time a squat, solid-looking creature charged towards him, a single horn protruding from its misshapen skull. Somewhere in the back of his mind Richard remembered the creature’s name. It was a triceratops. Fortunately it was slower than the others and it was moving clumsily, slipping on the marble floor. Richard snatched up the keys before it could reach him. Overhead, a second pterodactyl had joined the first. The two of them were performing a ghostly dance, wheelingover one another, high in the air.

Matt was still by the door. Richard could just make him out behind the wall of mist, but for a moment he disappeared as more ghostly shapes drifted between them. It was impossible to be sure how many of the creatures had been brought to life, but no matter how many of them there were, none was more dangerous than the diplodocus, which remained at the very centre, looming over the others. There was no way Richard could get past it. But he had to move. If he stayed here much longer, something would find him. It might fly down from above or lunge at him from behind. A sudden snap of teeth. The slash of a claw. Death was everywhere and he knew it would come for him very soon.

And then the diplodocus swung its tail. It moved almost lazily. The great mass of bones whipped through the air and Richard gasped as it crashed into one of the columns. Broken marble and masonry rained down in a billowing cloud of dust. It was only now that he understood the full horror of his situation. Although they were only bone, the dinosaurs were as strong as they had been when they were alive. If they wanted to, they could bring the whole museum crashing down.

“Richard!” Matt called out and the diplodocus turned, searching for him. The pterodactyls peeled apart and joined the hunt.

“Take the keys!” Richard cried. “Just get out of here!”

He raised his arm and, with all his strength, threw the key ring at Matt. The keys flew over the diplodocus and hit the ground on the other side, skidding the rest of the way. Matt leant down and grabbed them.

“Come on!” he shouted.

“Get out!”

“I’m not leaving without you!”

“Just open the door!”

Matt knew Richard was right. Maybe opening the museum would in some way short-circuit the magic that had brought the dinosaurs back from extinction. Maybe he would be able to call for help. There were six keys on the ring. He picked them up and forced the first into the lock. It wouldn’t move. He jerked it out and tried the second, then the third. None of them worked. It was almost impossible to concentrate on what he was doing. His hands were shaking. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to watch out behind. He managed to insert the fourth key. But before he had time to try it, the tail of the diplodocus brushed against his shoulder, enough to send him flying. It felt as if he had been hit by a truck. Bruised and dazed, he staggered to his feet, lurched back to the door and turned the key. At once a bell began to ring and a red light flashed somewhere behind the writhing mist. He had set off the alarm! At the same moment the door swung open. He was free.

But where was Richard?

The journalist hadn’t moved. He had heard the alarm and knew that the door must be open – but he was still trying to work out how to get past the huge diplodocus. The way forward was blocked. Could he escape upstairs? A second later he cried out as his ankle was gripped by what felt like a coil of barbed wire. Helooked down and saw a tiny crablike thing, only fifteen centimetres high. It had caught hold of him with teeth like drawing pins. Richard swore and shook it free, then kicked at its head with all his strength, smiling as the bone disintegrated. The smile was wiped away as the creature’s mother, ten times bigger, scuttled towards him.

He made his decision and began to run. Sure enough, the diplodocus heard the sound and its great neck twisted round. Other skeletons lumbered out of the shadows, encircling him. But the door was open. The way ahead was clear.

“You can make it!” Matt shouted.

The diplodocus was still standing between the two of them but with a shudder of excitement Matt realized what Richard was planning to do. As he watched, Richard ducked underneath the tail of the diplodocus and ran between its hind legs and beneath its belly. The dinosaur was too big, too cumbersome, to stop him, and the other creatures couldn’t get anywhere near him. A quick exit between the monster’s front legs and he would be at the door. He would be safe!

Enraged, the diplodocus reared up. Its powerful head pounded against the upper balcony.

A gust of cold wind touched the back of Matt’s neck. He heard footsteps approaching.

Richard had come to a halt beneath the diplodocus. He was staring at Matt, his face twisted in shock and disbelief.

The balcony had been shattered by the impact. The great arch split open and with a deafening crash the whole massive pile of stone and mortar, glass and steel, plummeted down. Unable to bear the weight, the diplodocus itself collapsed, its legs buckling underneath it.

Matt was about to run forward, back into the museum, when a pair of hands reached out and seized him by the neck. He cried out and twisted round.

Richard was almost invisible behind the dust and falling stone. The curving ribcage of the dinosaur had become a cage of another sort for him. It was as if he had been swallowed alive. He was trapped inside it.

Matt couldn’t move. Mrs Deverill was glaring at him, her eyes aflame. Noah was holding on to him, his hands tight around Matt’s throat. Matt lashed out, trying to break free. He felt his knee drive into Noah’s stomach but at the same time Mrs Deverill had produced a damp cloth and pressed it against hisface. The cloth smelled sweet and sickly. He choked, unable to breathe.

Richard saw Matt taken. Matt saw the journalist, his face streaked with blood, on his knees in the ghastly prison. Richard raised an arm, trying to brush away the curtain of dust and rubble that was smothering him. The curtain thickened and he was obliterated. A steel girder slammed down into the pile. Matt heard Richard cry out one last time.

Unable to fight any more, Matt allowed the darkness to take him. The traffic rushed past. He heard the car engines, saw a traffic light turn from green to red. Everything was suddenly far away.

The world twisted, turned upside down, and he remembered nothing more.

ROODMAS

The clouds had rolled in over Yorkshire and the entire countryside seemed flat and colourless. Even the birds in the trees were strangely silent. It had rained all night and was still raining now, the water spluttering out of the rusty drainpipes, trickling across the windows, falling into puddles that reflected a grey and hostile sky.

Matt woke up and shivered.

He was back at Hive Hall, lying on a rusty, sagging bed. He had been moved to a room next door to Noah on the first floor of the barn. There was no heating and he had only one thin blanket. He looked at his watch. It was seven o’clock in the morning. He sat up very slowly. His neck ached, his shoulder was so bruised that he could barely move his arm, and he could feel a scar on his face where the wing of the pterodactyl had caught him. His clothes were torn, dirty and damp. He stretched his arms and rotated his shoulders, trying to work some warmth into his muscles. It was Saturday, April the thirtieth. Professor Dravid had given the day a name: Roodmas. Some sort of witches’ festival. This was what everything had been leading to. In twenty-four hours it would all be over.

Matt got up and went to the window. It looked out over the farmyard, where a couple of pigs shuffled about in their sty. Otherwise, there was nobody in sight. This was his second day of captivity. He had only been let out of the room to use the toilet, with Noah standing guard outside the door. It was also Noah who brought him his meals on paper plates with plastic knives and forks. There had been no sign of Mrs Deverill, but he had seen lights going on and off in the farmhouse during the night and knew she was close.

Richard had been killed. That thought hurt him more than anything. It seemed to Matt that anyone who had shown him any kindness had died, and now he was finally on his own. But he was determined to fight back. If Mrs Deverill thought she could just drag him into the wood and stick a knife in him, she had a surprise coming her way.

He had already started. He was getting out.

Matt listened carefully for any sound in the barn. There was nothing, apart from the grunting of the pigs. It would be at least an hour before Noah brought his breakfast. He pulled back the mattress and removed a piece of iron about ten centimetres long and flattened at one end. Other than the bed, there was no furniture in the room, nothing he could use to break out. But the bed itself had provided him with a tool. The metal bar had supported one of the legs. It had taken Matt most of the first day to work it free and another two hours to squeeze one end flat– using his own weight and the bed legs – so that it now resembled a crude chisel. His first intention had been to prise out the bars on the window but he had soon discovered they were too strong. Instead he had turned his attention to the floor.

The bedroom floor was made up of parallel wooden planks, each one fixed in place with a dozen nails. Working during the night, Matt had managed to free nine of the nails on one plank. Three more and he would be able to lift it out. If he could make a hole big enough, he would be able to squeeze through and drop down to the level below. That was his plan.

He pulled back the old colourless rug that covered the floor and set to work. The makeshift chisel was a clumsy tool and it was almost impossible to get it underneath the heads of the nails. It had slipped several times and Matt’s knuckles had crashed into the floor until his skin was broken and bleeding. He had to be careful not to make any noise. That was the worst of it. Working quietly meant working slowly and he was aware of time running out. He gritted his teeth and tried to concentrate on what he was doing. Firstone nail and then another came out. Almost an hour had passed since he had woken up, but at last the plank came free. He prised it out and looked through the narrow gap he had made.

He saw at once that his plan was hopeless. He was too high up. If he tried to drop down to ground level, he’d twist an ankle or even break a leg. He felt a wave of despair rise up inside him. Why did nothing ever seem to go his way? He fought it back. He wasn’t going to give up now. Maybe there was another way.

His power.

The blind medium, Susan Ashwood, had told him what he already knew himself.“I felt your power… I have never felt such strength before.” That was what she had said just before he had left her house. And he remembered the way Professor Dravid had looked at him at the museum. For a moment he had wondered if the professor was even, in some way, afraid of him.

Matt was different. He had known that all his life. He had seen the death of his parents the night before it had happened. He had dreamt all the details, right down to the bridge and the blown-out tyre. He had sensed there was a security guard at the warehouse seconds before the man had actually appeared. He had smashed a jug at the detention centre. He had called Richard without even opening his mouth. And then there had been the dreams that were somehow more than dreams. Four children… Three boys and a girl calling to him.

With him, that made five.

He sat down on the bed and concentrated on the door. If he could break a jug, why couldn’t he turn a lock? It was just a question of finding the power inside him and activating it. He remembered the last time he had tried this, the morning when he had woken up in Richard’s flat. It hadn’t worked that time – but perhaps he hadn’t really been trying. This was a matter of life and death. Surely that would help.

He purposefully slowed down his breathing, staring straight ahead, trying to forget everything else. He focused on the keyhole, trying to visualize the metal bolts inside. He could move them. He could open the door with a key that existed only in his imagination. It was easy. He had the power.

He reached out with his hands, trying to make the energy flow through them.“Turn!” he whispered. “Turn!”

The handle turned.

The door opened.

Matt’s spirits soared – but only for a second. He had been cruelly deceived. Noah was standing on the other side. The farm worker had unlocked the door to bring Matt his breakfast. He was holding a tray with a mug of tea and a single slice of fried bread. What looked like a sickle hung from his belt. It had a wooden handle and a hooked blade that had been recently sharpened. The edge was raw silver and vicious.

“Breakfast,” Noah muttered.

“Greasy and disgusting,” said Matt.

“You don’t want to eat it?”

“I wasn’t talking about the breakfast. I was talking about you.”

There was a gap in the floor. Matt had been aware of it from the moment Noah came in. But the question was, would Noah notice it? He had to keep Noah talking. Somehow he had to keep his attention diverted.

Noah set the tray down on the bed.

“I’d like a bath,” Matt said.

“No bath.”

“How about a shower? Or maybe you don’t know what that is. From the smell of you, I’d say you’ve probably never had one either.”

The taunt worked. Noah was gazing at him, his attention diverted from the rest of the room. For a moment he stood there, breathing heavily. He took the sickle out of his belt and held it up to his lips. Then he ran his tongue down the blade.“I’ll enjoy watching you being killed,” he breathed. “You’ll scream like a pig. You’ll scream and you’ll cry, and I’ll be there!” He tucked the sickle back and walked over to the door. “No more food today,” he announced. “You can die hungry.” He slammed the door and lockedit again.

Matt waited until he was sure Noah had really left, then he gulped down his breakfast. The tea was cold, the fried bread soggy. But he didn’t care. Hot or cold, the food would give him strength and that was one thing he needed. He was secretly glad that Noah wasn’t going to bring him lunch. That gave him more time. It was obvious to him that he wasn’t going to open the door by magic – or any other means. There was only one wayout of here and that was through the hole he had already made. It just had to be bigger, and now he could work uninterrupted all day.

When Matt next looked at his watch it was just after three o’clock in the afternoon. His knees were sore. His back was stiff. His fingers were covered in blisters and one of his thumbs was gashed. But two more floorboards were free and only seven nails remained before the hole would be large enough for his purpose. He couldn’t jump down, or swing himself down at arm’s length. But he had another plan – and he would have only one chance to make it work.

Six o’clock arrived and still the fourth plank refused to budge. Seven nails stood between him and success. Now he worked more feverishly, caring less about the noise. What would he do if this didn’t turn out the way he hoped? He smiled grimly to himself. The chisel was hardly the most effective of weapons but it would have to do. If he could at least give Noah something to remember him by, he would go more cheerfully. Picturing that moment, he stabbed down with the flattened bar of iron. Another nail came free.

It was already dark when Noah returned. There was the familiar rattle of the key and the creak of the opening door. He stood on the threshold with the sickle tucked into his belt. There was no electricity in the room. He took out a torch and flicked it on.

“Time to go.” Noah sang out the words. “They’re all waiting for you.”

He was answered by complete silence.

“What’s the matter?” he hissed. “Are you playing games?”

From the far side of the room, where the bed stood, there came a painful groan.

“What is it? Are you sick?”

Matt groaned again and coughed– a hard, rattling cough. Anxiously, Noah held the torch at arm’s length.

“If this is some sort of trick,” he threatened, “I’ll make you wish you’d never been born. I’ll-”

He took two paces into the room and stepped on to the rug.

The rug was covering the hole that Matt had spent the whole day making. Noah dropped the torch and disappeared without a sound. The rug went with him, sucked downwards like an animal trap. At once Matt sprang off the bed. The torch was lying on the floor and he snatched it up, then hurried out of the room, along the corridor and downstairs. The sight that greeted him at the bottom was not a pretty one. He had hoped the farmhand would knock himself out when he hit the ground. But somehow Noah had fallen on the sickle. It had gone through his stomach and out the other side. His face was distorted in an expression of pain and surprise. He was quite dead.

Matt ran out into the darkness. It was raining and he felt needles of water slicing into his face. The road seemed to have been churned up into puddles and mud that threatened to drag him down. Twice he stumbled and fell, setting the bruise on his shoulder on fire. But he didn’t even hesitate. He ran headlong into the night, unaware of anything but the sound of his feet hitting the road, the drumming of his blood in his ears and the gasping of his breath as it emerged in fierce white clouds from his mouth.

He ran until every step made him wince and his legs shouted at him to let him rest. His mind was numb. He was no more than a machine. Rainwater streaked across his face and trickled down the back of his neck. At last he came to the end of his strength. He had to stop. He saw a bank of grass and collapsed on to it. He had no idea how far he had come. A mile? It could have been ten.

The headlights of a car appeared in the distance. Matt lifted his head and, moving like an old man, began to get to his feet. He knew it was dangerous but he had no choice. He had to stop the car and ask for a lift. Perhaps the driver would hand him to the police. But it didn’t matter. It was Roodmas. Tomorrow he would be safe.

Staggering forward, he raised his arms. The car slowed down and stopped. Its headlamps lit up the rain, making it look like spilled ink. It was a sports car. A black Jaguar.

The door opened and the driver got out. Matt tried to move towards him, lost his balance and tumbled into a pair of outstretched arms.

“Good heavens!” Sir Michael Marsh said.

It was the government scientist he had visited with Richard. He tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come.

“What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?” Sir Michael demanded. Then: “No. Don’t try to speak now. Let me get you into the car, out of this rain.”

Matt allowed himself to be carried to the car and slumped gratefully into the front seat. Sir Michael shook off the rain and got in next to him. The engine of the car was still running, the windscreen wipers turning. But the car didn’t move. Sir Michael looked completely perplexed.

“It’s Matthew Freeman, isn’t it?” he said. “What on earth are you doing in this dreadful state? Have you had an accident?”

“No… I…”

“You look as if you’ve just escaped from a pack of bears.”

“I’m very cold.”

“Then we must try to get you into the warm at once. Don’t you worry. It’s very lucky I ran into you. Everything’s going to be all right now.”

He put the car into gear and they moved off. Sir Michael turned on the heater and Matt felt a cushion of hot air surround his legs. He was safe! Sir Michael Marsh would listen to his story. He had the power to see to it that Mrs Deverill and the other villagers were defeated. He would make sure that no more harm would come to him. The car sped on through the night. Matt relaxed in the soft leather seat. All he wanted to do was sleep. He had never been so tired.

But he couldn’t. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. What was it? He played back the words Sir Michael had spoken just a few minutes ago.

“ It’s Matthew Freeman, isn’t it? ”

He knew his surname.

When Richard had taken him to Sir Michael’s house in York he had introduced him simply as Matt. Only Mrs Deverill knew his second name. Sir Michael couldn’t have known it.

Unless…

Matt scrambled for the door handle and tried to open it, but it was locked. He turned to Sir Michael just as a fist with a gold signet ring on one finger crashed into the side of his head, throwing him against the window and stunning him. The old man was unbelievably strong. Now Matt remembered seeing the car before– at Hive Hall.

“Please don’t try to move,” Sir Michael said. “The doors are locked and there’s nowhere you can go. I don’t enjoy hitting children and I don’t want to do it again, but I will if you try anything.”

There was nothing Matt could try. Every last ounce of his strength had deserted him.

“We’ll be there very soon. It won’t take long. And you needn’t be concerned. It will all be over very quickly and it won’t hurt as much as you think.”

The car left the road. The wheels bumped over a muddy, stony track. They plunged into the pine forest. Ahead of them the lights of Omega One shimmered in the rain. Matthew tried to throw himself at Sir Michael Marsh but the old man easily pushed him back.

They reached the gates of the power station and stopped. The night was suddenly cut apart by an immense guillotine blade of lightning. The villagers were there, with Mrs Deverill standing in front of them, Asmodeus curled around her leg. They were all waiting for him.

“No!” Matt shouted, the single word echoing all around.

Sir Michael got out of the car.“Take him!” he ordered.

The door was pulled open. Grey, dripping hands reached in and clamped down on him. Matt lashed out but it was too late. He was dragged out of the car and lifted into the air. A huge spotlight cut through the rain, blinding him. There was a crowd of people… the entire village. This was the moment they had been waiting for and now they had him.

Squirming and shouting, Matt was carried above their shoulders and into the heart of Omega One.

DARK POWERS

It was like being in a nightmarish technological circus.

The reactor chamber was a great circle with silver walls and a domed ceiling at least thirty metres high. Instead of sawdust, the floor was covered with black and white squares, and the roof was made of steel rather than canvas, with red and blue gantries criss-crossing high above the ground. There was an observation window in front of what must have been a control room and a wide balcony that ran the whole way round. Seating for an audience?

Across the centre of the chamber two railway tracks ran parallel with each other and there was a massive tower– all platforms, railings, ladders and dials – mounted on wheels so that it could move backwards and forwards. The tower dominated the chamber. For the moment, it was still. A single wide corridor led out of the ring. If it had been a circus, this would have been the path along which the animals and the clown’s cars would have entered.

The arena was lit by brilliant floodlights attached to brackets. Everything was spotlessly clean and even the air had a metallic, sterile taste to it as hidden ventilators filtered it with a constant hum.

This was the heart of Omega One. Matt knew that under the floor, protected by ten metres of reinforced concrete and steel, a dragon lay sleeping. Its every breath trembled with pent-up anger. When it awoke, its roar would have the force of an exploding sun. Such was the power contained in the fragile cage of the nuclear reactor.

Watched by the silent villagers, Matt examined his surroundings. For all its technology, the power station was not so different from any modern factory. What made it so fantastic was that, in stark contrast to the machinery, it had been filled with the trappings of an almost forgotten age. The twenty-first century forced into an unholy marriage with the Dark Ages. Inside the nuclear power station the ground had been prepared for a witches’ sabbath – for the celebration of black mass.

Despite the electric lights, the chamber was decorated with thousands of flickering candles, all of them black, their wicks spluttering. Smoke twisted up and was whisked away into the ventilation system. The candles surrounded a circle that had been painted on the chessboard floor with a series of words, written in capital letters, going all the way round. HEL + HELOYM + SOTHER… They were foreign words that meant nothing to Matt and he gave up trying to read them. Inside the circle there were various symbols – arrows, eyes, five-pointed stars and spirals – that could have been the doodles of some demented child, except that they had been marked out in gold paint, seemingly with care.

His eyes were drawn to a slab of black marble in the very centre of the circle. The stone was the size of a coffin, with a single design engraved in gold at the foot:

A wooden cross hung from above. But it was upside down. Directly beneath it, on the stone, lay a knife, its blade a twisted tongue of dull silver, its handle fashioned from the horn of a goat.

Matt shuddered. He knew what all the preparations were for. This was where his life was meant to end. The knife was for him.

The villagers closed in around him. More of them looked down on him from the window of the observation box. Mrs Deverill and her sister were standing next to each other. Matt recognized the butcher, the chemist, the woman with the pram… Even the children had joined in the ring, their faces pale, their eyes hungry. Nobody spoke. Nor did they force him on to the slab. They knew he had no choice but to surrender. He had given them a run for their money. But he had lost and now it was time to pay.

“Matt…”

Somebody had called out to him. Matt looked past the villagers and saw a man standing outside the circle, his hands tied behind him to a metal railing. Matt ran over to him, everything else forgotten for a moment. It was the last thing he had expected. Richard Cole was still alive. His clothes were ragged, his face smeared with blood. He was helpless, a prisoner. But somehow he had survived the destruction of the museum and had been brought here too.

“Tell me I’m dreaming,” Richard gasped as Matt reached him.

“I’m afraid not,” Matt said. He was so surprised, he didn’t know what to say. “I thought you were dead.”

“Not quite.” Richard managed a ghost of a smile. “It looks like Sir Michael Marsh is part of all this.”

“I know. He brought me here.”

“Never trust anyone who works for the government.” Then Richard leant forward and whispered, “My left hand is almost free. Hang in there!” And Matt felt a surge of hope.

“So here we all are together!” The voice came from the one open door. The villagers turned towards Sir Michael Marsh as he entered the arena. “Shall we take our places? The end of the world is about to begin.”

Two of the villagers had crept up behind Matt, and before he could react they had pulled him away. He struggled, but it was hopeless. The two men were huge and handled him as if he were a sack of potatoes. They dragged him over to the sacrificial slab, threw him on to his back and tied thick leather bands around his wrists and ankles. When they stepped back, he couldn’t move. So this was where it ended. This was what it had all been for.

Richard was shouting.“Leave him alone! Why hurt him? He’s just a kid. Let him go…”

Sir Michael held up a hand for silence.“Matthew is not ‘just a kid’,” he replied. “He is a very special child. A child we have been watching for almost half his life.”

Mrs Deverill pushed her way forward. She was dressed in the same clothes she had worn in London, together with the lizard brooch, her eyes filled with hatred.“I want to be the one who cuts his throat,” she rasped.

“You will do as you’re told,” Sir Michael replied. “I have to say, Jayne, you’ve disappointed me. You very nearly let him get away. A second time!”

“We should have locked him up from the start!”

“You’re the ones who should be locked up,” Richard cried. “You’re all mad…”

“We’re not mad.” Sir Michael turned to him. “You know nothing. You live in your own cosy, mediocre world. You’re completely blind to the greater things that are happening around you, like so many of your kind. But that will all change.

“I have dedicated my entire life to this moment. The preparations alone have taken more than twenty years, working night and day. Did Professor Dravid tell you about us? Did he tell you about the Old Ones?” Sir Michael paused but Richard said nothing. “I will assume that he did, and you probably thought that he was mad too.

“Let me assure you, the Old Ones exist. They were the first great force of evil. At one time they ruled the world until they were defeated – by a trick – and banished. Ever since then they have been waiting to return. That is what you are about to witness. Your friend Matthew is tied down on the very mouth of Raven’s Gate.” Sir Michael spread his hands. “That is where we are now. And the gate is about to open.”

The villagers shivered with pleasure. Even Mrs Deverill forced a thin smile.

“The forces that created Raven’s Gate knew what they were doing,” Sir Michael continued. “The gate is unbreakable. Unopenable. Unmovable. Or so it seemed for centuries. Our ancestors tried as long ago as the Middle Ages. For hundreds of years from generation to generation they passed on their accumulated knowledge, their spells and rituals. But nothing worked until now. We are the chosen generation.

“Because we live in the twenty-first century. We have new technology. And there is a power that we can harness. The same power existed the day the world was created, but it only became available to us a short time ago. Nuclear power. The power of the atom.”

He walked over to Matt, who strained upwards, trying to break the leather bands. He forced his shoulders off the sacrificial block– but there was nothing he could do. As Sir Michael approached, he slumped back.

“Do you really think it’s so crazy to draw parallels between the power of the nuclear bomb and the power of black magic?” Sir Michael asked. “Do you really believe that a weapon capable of destroying cities and killing millions of people in a few seconds is so far removed from the Devil’swork? To me it was obvious. I saw that the two different powers could be brought together and that, together, they could do what nothing had ever been able to do before.

“When Omega One was built I used my influence to ensure that it was built here, on the very spot where the ring of stones – Raven’s Gate – had stood. The ancient stone circle would be contained right here, in this reactor room, if it hadn’t been destroyed. Beneath us, the reactor has almost reached critical mass. It is as if a gigantic bomb has been buried in the heart of the gate, waiting to blow it apart and allow the Old Ones through.

“I built Omega One. I was also in charge of closing it down once the government had finished with it. I managed to dissuade them from actually razing it to the ground, and as soon as everyone had gone away, I set to work, quietly rebuilding it again. It took me more than twenty years, working with the villagers, the children of the children of the warlocks and witches who have inhabited Lesser Malling for centuries.”

“But how did you get the uranium?” Richard shouted. “It’s impossible! You told us so yourself. You’d never get the uranium.”

“There was a time when it would have been impossible,” Sir Michael agreed. “And it was still extremely difficult. But the world has changed. The collapse of the Soviet Union. Events in Serbia and Yugoslavia. Wars in the Middle East. There are mercenaries and terrorists crawling all over the planet, and finding ones we could do business with was only a matter of time. They too serve the Old Ones in their own way. We’re all on the same side.

“For six months now we have kept the station going, feeding the reactor, priming it for tonight. Believe me when I tell you, the reactor works. Soon I will give the order for the last control rods to be lifted. This will raise the heat to critical levels. And the gate will melt and open.”

“You’ll all be killed!” Richard said.

“Only you will be killed. Because only you are outside the circle.”

“That’s what you think…”

“That’s what I know.” Sir Michael pointed to the symbols painted on the floor. “For centuries magicians have painted circles like this for protection. And they will protect us right now. If the radiation leaks, we won’t be touched by it. The heat, no matter how fantastic, won’t burn us.Only you will die.”

“What about Matt?” Richard demanded.

“Professor Dravid didn’t tell you?” Sir Michael smiled. “The three ingredients of the black sabbath. Ritual, fire and blood. We have inherited the rituals. We have created the fire. Now Matthew will supply us with the blood.”

He picked up the knife and ran a finger along the blade.

“Blood,” he continued, “is the most powerful form of energy on the planet. It is the very life force itself. Sacrifice has always been part of magical ritual because it represents a release of that power. There, once again, is the connection. The medieval witch splits throats. The twenty-first century witch splits atoms. Tonight we shall do both.”

“But it doesn’t have to be him!” Richard insisted. “Why Matt?”

“Because of who he is.”

“But he’s nobody… He’s just a child!”

“That’s what he thinks. But it has to be his blood. This is the moment that he was born for.”

“That’s enough!” Mrs Deverill hissed. “Let’s get on with it.”

Sir Michael looked at his watch.“You’re right. It’s time.”

Matt couldn’t move. The slab was cold against his back. The leather bands held him tight.

Inside the observation room a switch was activated. Far beneath the ground, electromagnets gripped the control rods and began to pull them upwards, centimetre by centimetre. The villagers joined hands, eyes closed. Slowly, the nuclear rods were sucked out of the nuclear pile. Sir Michael walked to the middle of the circle and stood above Matt, the knife in his hands.

It was twelve o’clock on the night of Roodmas. It was time to open the gate.

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