Lee,’ I muttered and with that went silent. Gazing out the window I could see yet more police cars pass by. My stomach flipped as I saw a policeman glance over at us. His eyes locked with mine for a brief moment, before he turned away, as if he hadn’t seen me at all.
We were leaving the city behind now, already out of the congestion zone. As we started hitting the open roads, I felt the car speed up and I glanced at the speed dial. It was hitting one hundred. I felt a familiar thrill in my stomach, but for once, it wasn’t welcome. My head was pounding and throbs of pain were still shooting down my side. I pressed my hands to my ribs and it eased a little, but not much.
I curled up on the seat, drawing my knees up to my chest, leaning my head against the cool window. My eyes were drooping and my body was begging for the release of sleep, but I didn’t want to think about what would happen if I allowed myself to drop off. Holding back the tears, I mechanically began analyzing my situation with as much detachment as I could muster.
I had just witnessed the mass murder of thirty men in the centre of London. I had been kidnapped by six fast and strong guys who did not seem to want to kill me – yet. I did not know where the hell I was going, who the hell these people were, and what the hell was going to happen or how long it would take for someone to notice I was missing.
I began to contemplate jumping from the door, but just as a plan had started to form there was a click and the central locking turned on. A dry sob escaped my lips.
Joining the deserted M25, we left the city I loved behind. The scenery gradually changed from city to suburban and eventually to sprawling fields, dotted with the occasional town or village. The signs we passed read Kent and I began to wonder whether they might be heading to the port at Dover to get to France. A glimmer of hope began to ignite in my heart. There was no way they would get through the port. But that hope dwindled as we veered not south, but north, towards Rochester.
Another sob escaped and I saw Kaspar glaring into the rear-view mirror. His brother, Cain, placed a hand on my shoulder and I stared at him, wide-eyed. He didn’t look like a killer. He looked like a kid.
He smiled. In my mind, I heard a man shrieking.
I shrugged him off and turned into the seat, my hair forming a curtain, shielding me from view. I let my forehead rest against the window. Tears began to fall, unchecked, streaming down the glass and tracing patterns in my breath on the window. Wrapping my arms around my shoulders, I delved into my mind.
I knew what I had left behind. The question was: What was I going to find ahead?
THREE
Violet
An hour stuck in a car with three deranged killers was not my idea of fun. I couldn’t sleep, for fear of what might happen. I couldn’t talk because Mr Charming-went-out-the-window constantly reminded me that I was at his mercy and should therefore keep my mouth shut. I couldn’t even look out the window, because it was too dark, so instead I had to listen to an animated conversation about someone called Amber von Hefner’s tits. Lovely.
The sun was beginning to rise, and I glanced at my watch: an early birthday present from my father. My father. What would he and my mother do when they found out what had happened to me? What about Lily, my little sister? She was just thirteen; she should not have to deal with this.
But more crucial thoughts ran through my head: What would these strange killers do? Hold me to ransom? ‘Silence’ me? It didn’t even bear thinking about.
Looking back at my watch I realized it was half-past four in the morning and approaching sunrise, the first glimmers of light appearing. The fields were falling away, giving way to thick, dense forest. The road was becoming more winding, and fewer and fewer cars were passing by, as all the time we climbed up and up.
The road swept sharply around to the left as we passed through a large gatehouse. Huge, intricate iron-wrought gates were swung open, the Gothic arched windows guarded by gargoyles.
As we passed, I could have sworn I saw several faces peering from the windows, but before I could take a second glance we were again enclosed by the forest. The road continued to weave as the trees began thinning out, sunshine sporadically breaking through the needles of the many pines. A little further on, they gave way to leafy blooms and as the trees fell away, I gasped, hardly able to hold in my astonishment.
Before us, surrounded by a vast expanse of lawn, was a magnificent mansion, so large the forest seemed to quail at its presence. It was a strange mix of architecture: tall Gothic spires jutted up from the pale stone, hundreds upon hundreds of arched windows lining the three floors, whilst an elegant balcony protruded from the centre, resting on four pillars above the entrance. In the distance I could see rows of garages and stables; early morning light danced off lily pads floating on a lake at the foot of the grounds. The whole area was enclosed by trees of every shape and size before they gave way to the pines that made up the forest. Sheltering the mansion behind was a steep hill, also coated in forest.
We swept around the sandy drive, rounding a fountain and stopping outside the impressive entrance.
‘So where’s the drawbridge?’ I breathed to myself. But instead of a drawbridge, wide steps led up to a set of marble double doors, which in turn were covered by the stone balcony.
My door was flung open and somebody grabbed me by the shoulders, yanking me off the seat.
‘Get off me!’ I snapped. He kept pulling, but I wriggled free and got out myself, despite the gravel that made my toes curl as I crossed it. He shrugged, walking off. Kaspar flicked the car keys at a boy, about my age. My eyes followed him, dressed in a black suit lined with emerald, as he jumped into one of the cars and started it, heading towards the garages.
I tore my eyes away as Kaspar grabbed my wrist and darted up the steps, the other five following behind. The double doors swung inward and my jaw dropped as we entered. A grand staircase circled the wall, made entirely of white marble. It led up to a large balcony and a passage, lit up by torch-like lamps fixed high up on the wall. Directly in front of me were a set of double doors, identical to the ones we had just passed through, but we were headed for a smaller door to my left. We passed a butler, who bowed.
‘Your Highnesses. Lords. Sir … and Madam,’ he added, clearly surprised at my appearance. I eyed him, unsure if what I had heard him just say was correct. He composed himself. ‘A guest, Your Highness?’
Kaspar chuckled darkly. ‘No, just fun.’
‘Very good, Your Highness.’
Your Highness? Kaspar had mentioned before about being a Prince. But Britain had royalty already, unless he was some distant relative of the Queen. But I would know about that if he was. Everyone would know about a royal like him.
Kaspar made a vague sound of acknowledgement, before chuckling again. Suddenly, his attention left me and with one hard push, I found myself stumbling through the smaller door into a lavishly decorated living room. The walls were wood-panelled and the carpet a worn deep red; the same torches used in the entrance clung to brackets on the wall between huge oil portraits framed with silver. But the room held all the same modern trappings as any other: a plasma television was mounted on the wall and below it was an array of games consoles; remotes were scattered across a glass coffee table, which the boy with the dark hair and glasses slung his jacket over as he flopped down onto one of the leather sofas.
Kaspar
