CHAPTER 1
Saturday, 16 April
PRESAGE
The doorway to the chapel shivered; the wood splintered, and witha mighty crash, the door blew inwards. Her friends had told her torun. They were expendable. She was not.
When the screaming began, she was already running in terrorthrough the cobweb-festooned archway and down the danktorch-lit staircase. At the edge of the catacombs, she paused andlistened, her ears primed to catch every tiny sound.
Above her in the church, she could hear the terrified squealsand shrieks of her companions. She wanted to scream too from thehorror of their pursuit but knew instinctively that her only hopeof escape depended on her silence. Taking a shallow breath of thelifeless air, she looked into the shadowy catacombs with a sense ofdread.
The ceiling quivered and groaned, and small stones showereddown upon her head, shaken loose by some ponderous weightmoving above her. The stinging sensation jerked her from stupor,and wrenching a firebrand from its holder on the wall, she fledinto the necropolis. The walls began to vibrate with a low, uglysound and the floor humped and rolled beneath her feet, but shekept running.
Skulls poured from the walls, blocking her path, and skeletonsfell from recesses, reaching for her with outstretched arms. A boneknocked the torch from her hand, and she was alone in the dark.Losing her footing, she fell head first into the waiting bone pile.
Emma Cameron woke up screaming. A cold wind blew in herface, and she was drenched with a film of perspiration. Gatheringher senses, she looked up at the open window banging on itshinges. Switching on the bedside light, she got up and closed thewindow.
She turned back towards the bed and glanced at the clock.It was half past five. She'd better get a move on. Jim Lynch, herpartner in the market-stall business, would be picking her up atsix. Grabbing her bathrobe from the back of the door, she madeher way to the shower.
The hot water made her feel better but did nothing to dispelthe terror of her dream. The nightmare had filled her with dread,and returning to her bedroom, she sensed an aura of menace stilllingering in the room. She peered nervously in the dressing-tablemirror. Her emerald eyes were swollen, surrounded with shadows,and her heart-shaped face was drawn and pale. "You look likeshit," she said to her reflection and dabbed make-up on her cheeksto hide the freckles that looked more like age spots than Celticheritage and thirty years of sun exposure. She brushed back herlong red hair and tied it in a ponytail and then put on a T-shirtand a pair of jeans.
When she got downstairs, the cats were crying and scratchingat the door, so she let them out and watched uneasily as they fledinto the misty hollows of the garden. Were they running from hernightmare too?
She felt a strange reluctance to go back inside. Her house feltalien, as if another power had taken up residence there without herknowledge. Telling herself she was imagining things, she went backto the kitchen to make a strong cup of tea to calm her nerves andsat listlessly down at the table.
Her father had died nine months ago, leaving her The Goblinsin his will. Emma had mixed feelings about moving back into herchildhood home; the eighteenth-century thatched cottage hadalways held a hint of terror for her as a child, but being on theverge of homelessness after her divorce, it had come as a godsend.
The house had been unoccupied since her father's death, andthe two-acre garden had been neglected and overgrown. When shehad moved in at the end of September, she asked her neighboursDave and Maggie Forbes if they knew of anyone to help her getthe place in order. They suggested their friend Jim Lynch, and sheused the small sum of money she had received with the house tohire Jim and pay for the repairs. He had fixed the plumbing andrestored the greenhouses and grounds in under a month, but thesupplies were so expensive, even in the DIY stores, that they hadalmost drained her cash. Needing an income and seeing Jim alsowas out of work, she had suggested that they utilise the glasshousesand go into the market-garden business together. He had jumpedat the chance, and things had started well, but the government'snew austerity measures took a lot of money out of people's pockets,and their business had suffered as a consequence.
A few minutes later, she heard Jim's van pull up outside.
"Mornin', Em," he said cheerfully as he came into the kitchen.
Jim Lynch was a tall blond man in his late thirties with anathletic physique; bull neck; broad shoulders; long, ruddy face; andimpish, tawny eyes. His hair was tied in a single braid that reachedhalfway down his back.
"What's up?" he asked with concern upon seeing her haggardface.
"I had a terrible dream and woke up screaming," she replied,gently pressing the right side of her face with her fingers. "And myjaw's bloody painful."
"What's that from?"
"I must have been grinding my teeth all night."
"You sure you don't want to go back to bed? I can 'andle themarket on my own."
"No!" she answered quickly. She...
