enough to shine his torch inside. He’d be lucky to get any kind of rescue team out here to help her now, but...
His stomach dropped. She was gone. The rafter she’d perched on was vacant but for a huge Penzance seagull, idly preening. Bracing himself to discover her shattered remains, he directed the torch beam to the floor.
Nothing. His precarious grip on the window ledge failed him, and he half-fell back onto the frosty ground. Righting himself, he reflected that many things inside him had changed. He was puzzled by the old girl’s disappearance but not dismayed. And even a few months ago, his first reflex would have been a frantic call to Lee. As it was, the signal between them lay deep and undisturbed. Gideon knew his man—at the first sign of trouble, he’d have taken Tamsyn and carried her out of harm’s reach. That left Gideon free to do his job and ensure the harm reached no bloody further. The waste ground lay in a broad, tempting sweep all the way back down to Tolver Road. Pocketing his mobile, he began to run.
A shadow crossed his path, once then again and again. At each pass, an eerie cry rang out. Gideon spared an upward glance. There’d been horror-story news reports all that summer of rogue seagulls landing in babies’ pushchairs, trying to snatch small dogs off the pavements. Had the gull from the warehouse decided to follow him? He paused for a moment on the brow of the hill, sweeping the beam of his torch into the sky.
A witch on a broomstick strafed him. The seagull’s cry resounded from the heavens once more, cracking into wild, ecstatic laughter. The insane vision stayed with him for a fraction of a second, then a cloud passed over the face of the gibbous moon, and she was gone.
Gideon stood motionless, trying to catch his breath. There was a kind of kite or remote-controlled model shaped like a witch on her broom. He’d seen it on YouTube. Tamsyn thought it was the funniest thing she’d ever seen, and Lee had insisted he watch the clip. The model was pretty convincing. People had pointed and shouted, and there’d been a few cries of real fear. Probably that was what he’d just seen. He didn’t know who the hell would be buzzing him up on Gwidder Hill at this hour, but...
But he didn’t know anything, did he? Not really. His whole night since leaving Lee had been a kind of dream. He’d run from one strange meeting, one mythological encounter, to the next. And these things, these monsters, hadn’t even called him by his right name. He was Gideon Frayne, Gideon—not Guardian. His head spun again and he grabbed at a fence post to stay upright. All his certainties were faltering. What if his connection to Lee wasn’t quiet at all? What if it was gone?
Fear ate him whole. He tapped up Lee’s number from the phone’s memory, sweat-damped fingertips barely able to manipulate the screen. Still clinging to the fence post with one hand, he listened to the call ring out and out, and finally click to voicemail.
Chapter Six
He left a message, barely aware of what he was saying. Get out of the town centre. Take Tamsie back to the police station. I’ll be there soon. Then, after a dry-throated three-second wait— Lee, for God’s sake. Why aren’t you answering?
There was only one way to find that out. Gideon had almost worn out the rubber track on the police-gym treadmill, had jogged over untold miles of Bodmin moorland, in his efforts not just to get back to his usual form after his injury but to surpass that old standard. He’d discovered and accepted his mortality in his Trelowarren hospital bed, but had decided then and there that he was going to be the best damn mortal the Cornish police force had ever seen. He’d known that one day he would need to run, without fatigue or pause for breath. To run and run...
He covered the barren ground in less than a minute. Back on Tolver Road, he had to ease his pace: frightened revellers, parents with kids, lanterns and banners
His stomach dropped. She was gone. The rafter she’d perched on was vacant but for a huge Penzance seagull, idly preening. Bracing himself to discover her shattered remains, he directed the torch beam to the floor.
Nothing. His precarious grip on the window ledge failed him, and he half-fell back onto the frosty ground. Righting himself, he reflected that many things inside him had changed. He was puzzled by the old girl’s disappearance but not dismayed. And even a few months ago, his first reflex would have been a frantic call to Lee. As it was, the signal between them lay deep and undisturbed. Gideon knew his man—at the first sign of trouble, he’d have taken Tamsyn and carried her out of harm’s reach. That left Gideon free to do his job and ensure the harm reached no bloody further. The waste ground lay in a broad, tempting sweep all the way back down to Tolver Road. Pocketing his mobile, he began to run.
A shadow crossed his path, once then again and again. At each pass, an eerie cry rang out. Gideon spared an upward glance. There’d been horror-story news reports all that summer of rogue seagulls landing in babies’ pushchairs, trying to snatch small dogs off the pavements. Had the gull from the warehouse decided to follow him? He paused for a moment on the brow of the hill, sweeping the beam of his torch into the sky.
A witch on a broomstick strafed him. The seagull’s cry resounded from the heavens once more, cracking into wild, ecstatic laughter. The insane vision stayed with him for a fraction of a second, then a cloud passed over the face of the gibbous moon, and she was gone.
Gideon stood motionless, trying to catch his breath. There was a kind of kite or remote-controlled model shaped like a witch on her broom. He’d seen it on YouTube. Tamsyn thought it was the funniest thing she’d ever seen, and Lee had insisted he watch the clip. The model was pretty convincing. People had pointed and shouted, and there’d been a few cries of real fear. Probably that was what he’d just seen. He didn’t know who the hell would be buzzing him up on Gwidder Hill at this hour, but...
But he didn’t know anything, did he? Not really. His whole night since leaving Lee had been a kind of dream. He’d run from one strange meeting, one mythological encounter, to the next. And these things, these monsters, hadn’t even called him by his right name. He was Gideon Frayne, Gideon—not Guardian. His head spun again and he grabbed at a fence post to stay upright. All his certainties were faltering. What if his connection to Lee wasn’t quiet at all? What if it was gone?
Fear ate him whole. He tapped up Lee’s number from the phone’s memory, sweat-damped fingertips barely able to manipulate the screen. Still clinging to the fence post with one hand, he listened to the call ring out and out, and finally click to voicemail.
Chapter Six
He left a message, barely aware of what he was saying. Get out of the town centre. Take Tamsie back to the police station. I’ll be there soon. Then, after a dry-throated three-second wait— Lee, for God’s sake. Why aren’t you answering?
There was only one way to find that out. Gideon had almost worn out the rubber track on the police-gym treadmill, had jogged over untold miles of Bodmin moorland, in his efforts not just to get back to his usual form after his injury but to surpass that old standard. He’d discovered and accepted his mortality in his Trelowarren hospital bed, but had decided then and there that he was going to be the best damn mortal the Cornish police force had ever seen. He’d known that one day he would need to run, without fatigue or pause for breath. To run and run...
He covered the barren ground in less than a minute. Back on Tolver Road, he had to ease his pace: frightened revellers, parents with kids, lanterns and banners
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