Blood Harvest - By S. J. Bolton Page 0,132

opening and stopped. No point rushing into darkness. Still in the doorway, he began to sweep the torch beam around, finding the scallop shell, the first of the alcoves, the second, the – the gate on the sixth and last one was open. The one he hadn’t been able to search earlier – someone was inside it now.

‘Ebba,’ he called. ‘Is that your name? Ebba, I only want to talk. I need you to help me find Joe.’

No answer. He was passing the third alcove, drawing closer.

‘All I want is Joe, Ebba. Can you tell me where he is?’

Past the fourth alcove, approaching the fifth. The gate was still open on the sixth.

He slowed his pace as he drew closer. He remembered four sarcophagi in the sixth alcove, a narrow passageway and a small wooden door in the far wall.

Bracing himself for a sudden attack, he stepped inside the gate. The alcove was empty. Ebba must have left through the door at the rear. Harry stepped towards it. It was hardly more than eighteen inches wide and it opened outwards.

The room beyond was a narrow, tall chamber with an arched brick ceiling. Brick-built shelving lay on either side, each shelf carrying stone coffins. The air was dry and earthy, and a cold breeze was coming through another door at the far end. Ebba had left in a hurry, and through the smallest of gaps he could see the night sky.

He glanced at his watch as he strode past the coffins. Six forty a.m. He pushed the door and stepped out into a tiny courtyard, surrounded by high iron railings. He recognized them at once, although he’d never been on this side of them before. He’d left the church through the Renshaw family mausoleum.

Well, now he knew how Ebba was getting in and out of the church without being seen. But where was she? He crossed the courtyard, his feet crunching on gravel, and pushed the iron gate.

It might be six forty and the world might be waking up, but the sky above him was as black as it had been the entire night. He waited, his heart pounding in his chest. No sound, not even wind.

Then the grasses were being rustled and the bushes shaken. Someone was coming towards him. Harry stepped into the shadow of a tall laurel bush. He could see her, a slight figure, creeping towards him, looking all around, as if scared that something would spring out. Harry stepped forward, grabbed the figure by the shoulders and spun it round to face him.

‘Tom!’ he said, as all the breath went out of his body. ‘What on earth are you doing out here?’

Tom looked back at him, wide-eyed and slightly sullen, the way kids did when they didn’t want to answer a question. Especially a stupid one. He was looking for his brother, of course, what else would he be doing?

‘Do your mum and dad know you’re here?’ Harry asked.

Tom shook his head. ‘They were both asleep. I didn’t want to wake them up.’

‘OK, but we need to get back.’ He put a hand on Tom’s shoulder and urged him up the hill. If Alice and Gareth woke to find another child missing they might just lose any remaining sanity they were clinging to.

They found the path and Harry finally felt relaxed enough to speak. ‘Tom,’ he said, ‘I think I just saw that girl you talk about. The one Millie calls Ebba.’

Tom stopped walking and looked up at him. ‘You saw her?’

‘Yes. Don’t stop moving.’ Harry pushed Tom gently and they both carried on up the hill. ‘She was in the church just now.’

‘She’s scary, isn’t she?’ said Tom in a low voice.

‘Well, I didn’t get a proper look.’ They were close to the churchyard wall now. ‘Tom, do you have any idea who she is, where she lives?’ Harry asked. ‘She can’t live out in the hills, she must belong somewhere.’ She had a key to the Renshaw tomb. Could she possibly …?

‘She usually runs away when I see her,’ said Tom. ‘I’m pretty certain she talks to Joe, though.’

‘Do you think Joe’s with her now? Do you think she took him?’

Tom gave a small nod. ‘I said that to the police,’ he said, ‘but they said anyone who looks as strange as she does would have been spotted in Blackburn, especially in King George’s Hall. They think Joe was taken by a grown-up.’

‘All the same, I wish we could find her. Tom, did you

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