Friends of the Dusk

Phil Rickman

• Publisher: Corvus
• Year: 2015
• eBook ISBN: 9781782396963
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Crime & Mystery Literature
• Index: Literature

The discovery of centuries old human bones; a haunted 12th century house; a medieval legend spawning a modern cult... Merrily must piece together a most insidious mystery. 'No-one in the business deals with the spooky stuff better.' - Crime Review UK 'She dragged herself back up, holding her scraped hands inside the sleeves of her parka like paws. As she came to her knees, a sound like laughter was chopped up by the wind, and the woman was back...' A legend of the undead, still seductive, still deadly. A storm unearths a medieval corpse in the old city of Hereford, and the past returns to menace diocesan exorcist Merrily Watkins.

Contents

Part One

1 Touch the darkness

2 A date with Hurricane Lorna

3 Hallowe’en. Normal, irrational anxieties

4 Win-win

5 … or treat

6 Nightlife

7 Not one of ours

8 Lawful and justified

9 Overpowering

10 Trashy world

11 Purple haze

12 Cutting edge

13 Big voice

14 Bridgework

15 A sense of betrayal

16 Claw

17 Get over it

Part Two

18 A war

19 Hicksville

20 Work in progress

21 Bad guy

22 Believe it happened

23 Seedbed

24 Appropriate adult

25 Agony

26 Good-looking kid situation

27 Cunning

28 Smashed faces

29 Rambling in the night

Part Three

30 Dark Net stuff

31 Unsaid

32 Foetal

33 Homework

34 Full broadcast quality

35 Cold case

36 More

37 Coffin wood

Part Four

38 FOTD

39 The Summoner

40 Going out normal

41 The Hereford Issue

42 Swallow the pill

43 Get rid

44 Walks by night

45 Courting the goddess

46 Bloodline

47 At peace

48 Kingsize

49 Before he was mad

50 What can haunt you

51 Just the one

52 The song with the big cigar

53 Only the start

Part Five

54 A peg

55 Grim visitor

56 Blame

57 A fence

58 Timeless beauty

59 Pulse

60 What to believe

61 The cloaked

62 A flogging

63 Darker glasses

64 The Second Death

65 Boyfriend

66 Hereford Gothic

67 Invitation

68 The door

Notes and closing credits

Part One

I was much disturbed by the unhealthy and near-hysterical publicity given by the national press to the question of exorcisms in the Church of England. I was also disturbed by the number of requests for help and advice about the exorcizing of places or persons which I was receiving…

The general attitude in the Church of England seemed to be to regard exorcism as an exercise in white magic or a survival of medieval superstition.

The findings of a commission convened by the Right
Reverend Robert Mortimer, Bishop of Exeter.
‘Exorcism’ (SPCK, 1972)

Castle Green is the hidden gem of Hereford. To find it, behind the streetscape and beyond the Cathedral, it has to be stalked…

David Whitehead,
The Castle Green at Hereford, a Landscape of Ritual,
Royalty and Recreation.
(Logaston Press, 2007)

1

Touch the darkness

WAS IT REALLY a good thing visiting the old woman ahead of a much-foreboded late-October storm?

Was it, in fact, a good thing to be visiting her at all?

The room at The Glades, a Victorian greystone home for the elderly, had expanded into a whole suite after the deaths – eerily timely – of Anthea White’s immediate neighbours on the second landing. Two new doorways had been made in the partition walls. Miss White had paid for all this from a recent bequest. She could have bought herself a nice, period cottage down in Hay, but she claimed The Glades suited her lifestyle.

The new living room had floor-to-ceiling bookcases and a view of the bell tower of Hardwicke Church. Miss White was curled into her wide, multi-cushioned swivel chair, a black widow spider biding its time. Were people who’d recently had hip surgery supposed to sit like that?

‘Oh, now, you’ll never believe this, Watkins…’ The old girl leaning forward. ‘… Cardelow’s woman was apparently refusing to dust the books.’

‘Actually,’ Merrily said from the piano stool – no piano, just the stool, ‘I think I would believe it. Especially if you were sitting there watching her. Even with her back turned, the malevolence would be palpable.’

Miss White smiled modestly. Mrs Cardelow, proprietor of The Glades, had brought them tea and cakes herself, asking Merrily if she’d mind bringing back the tray when she came down. Save my legs, Mrs Cardelow had said wearily. And possibly a little of my sanity.

‘Cardelow’s daughter was married the other weekend, did I tell you?’ Miss White said in her tiny, kitteny voice. ‘Some awful junior canon at the Cathedral.’

‘Really? What’s his name?’

‘Didn’t ask. Couldn’t be arsed, but I expect you’ll know him by his receding chin. All change, I hear, at the dicky heart of the Hereford Diocese.’

‘Just a new bishop.’

‘Is he charismatic, like the delicious Hunter?’

‘I hope not, with all my heart; I haven’t met him yet. Next week, apparently.’

Merrily became aware of an oak side table to the left of Miss White’s chair, a white mat on top holding something covered with a black velvet cloth, like a very small catafalque. Miss White peered at Merrily, eyes darker than the caked mascara.

‘Why are you here, Watkins?’

A trapped, tawny leaf flapped irritably outside the window. Merrily shrugged.

‘Just passing.’

‘Bollocks!’

‘I was on the way back from Hay, where I visit the Thorogoods occasionally, and I, erm… thought I’d drop in and, you know, see if you were still breathing?’

Miss White scowled.

‘Don’t trivialize breathing. I enjoy my breathing, in all its infinite varieties. Along with occasional astral tourism, it’s all I have left.’

Merrily smiled. OK, she’d called in because Betty Thorogood had said the word in the bookshop was that Miss White was not well. At her age, often a euphemism for may not see the weekend. She’d been surprised at how hard this had hit her. Exchanging banter with Miss White had become almost like a spiritual exercise, a test of faith. Reaching out a hand to touch the darkness just to prove you could still draw it back.

She glanced at the nearest shelves where a whole row of books had the name Crowley on the spine.

‘And it’s Hallowe’en next week, of course. Your official birthday, Anthea.’

Moments of quiet. The leaf escaped from the window and fluttered away like a timid soul. Miss White was leaning lazily back into her nest of cushions. She might be dying, but it didn’t look imminent.

‘And are things going well for you?’

‘Things are fine. My daughter, Jane, she’s due back from her gap-year archaeological dig in a week or so. Sooner than expected, but I’m quite glad.’

‘And Robinson?’

‘Lol is also finally coming home. Been touring all summer, for the first time in years, then he was asked to do some studio work. Good for his self-esteem.’

Miss White pondered this.

‘He’s never been frightened of me. Odd, that.’

‘Unlike me, huh?’

‘I love the way you come here simply because you are frightened.’

‘Oh, come—’

Merrily leaned back then had to steady herself on the piano stool. Miss White raised her eyes

‘Come on, then, little clergyperson. Out with it. Don’t be annoying.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Thinking of packing it in, are we?’

‘What?’

‘Snipping off the dog collar? Depositing the cassock in the Oxfam bank in the vain hope it might reach some impoverished African priestess?’

The old woman seemed to be rearing in her chair, without moving; she could play tricks with your head. Wasn’t bloody dying at all, was she? Merrily coughed.

‘Makes you ask that?’

Miss White was smiling sweetly again, bending to the tray on the Victorian Gothic table between them to pour more tea. Then she stopped, looking up.

‘Oh, but I never thought…’

Putting down the teapot and leaning back to the side table, she pulled away the black velvet cloth to reveal a small, rectangular cardboard box, with gold sides. On the top, it said:

Ordo Templi Orientis
Thoth Tarot Cards

Merrily had seen the pack before. Exquisitely painted by Lady Frieda Harris, designed by A. Crowley.

‘Would you like me to read for you, Watkins?’

The window rattled, and the first raindrops plopped on the glass. The impending high winds were supposed to be the residue of some Atlantic hurricane with a pretty name.

‘No, I would not,’ Merrily said.

2

A date with Hurricane Lorna

DRIVING BACK TO Hereford from Annie’s place, his mood as crazy as the night, Bliss got pulled over by the cops four miles short of the city.

Bugger.

Brakes on as the traffic car’s headlights turn...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Contents
• Copyright