A Gift of Butterflies: The Butterflies Trilogy, #1

By David Toft

Mark Aldridge and Susie Philips have a gift. Anyone who antagonizes them dies. How not to antagonize each other is a skill they must master very quickly, if both are to survive.

To ensure that the right people antagonize them is the mission of agent, Maurice Bruner and his team. Can they target the gift without upsetting its hosts? If they can't, they are dead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597050074

Book preview

Prologue

The knock on the High Priest’s office door was apologetic, not demanding. That was how it should be. He tossed his pen aside and glanced at the wall-clock above the massive stone fireplace. The minute hand clicked to the vertical. She was precisely on time. They always were.

He’d seen the girl around the campus numerous times, and her erotic charms had impressed him on every occasion. She had requested this audience. That didn’t surprise him either. The celebration of the equinox was to take place that evening, and there always seemed to be at least one novice who would do anything for a place in the circle on such a day.

Come. He pictured her long, raven-black hair, looked down at his hands, and moved them in slow circles, his mind coiling that hair around them and pulling her onto him.

The door swung inward. His mouth curled into a smile.

She’d tied her hair back into a severe bun. His smile faltered. Her clothes too, were wrong—sloppy crew-neck sweatshirt and shapeless running pants. It was always plunging necklines and mini-skirts. She’d made no effort at all. He felt a flush of anger but forced his smile back into place. The body beneath the shapeless garments would be the same, and her sensuous, full lips just craved...

Come in, my dear.

She bowed her head. I thank the High Priest for granting me audience.

That was better, but his anger still smouldered. He’d let her buy her place in the circle, but her pain would balance his pleasure. So what can I do for you, my dear? He beckoned her across the room but did not invite her to sit.

She raised her head as she advanced across the ornate Persian carpet. Her eyes held his. She didn’t look as if she’d come to beg favours. A touch of disquiet tickled the back of his neck. Well?

Shahanshah came to me. He spoke to me. Her gaze didn’t falter.

His did. This couldn’t be true. Shahanshah, King of Kings, Ahriman himself, speaking to a novice. He’d been High Priest for twenty years, and he’d never been blessed as this mere girl claimed to have been. She must be mistaken. She wouldn’t lie, not about this; no one would dare. He stood, rounded the desk and faced her. She was a foot shorter than he was. He placed a finger under the chin, lifted her face to look into his, and stared into her eyes, their faces only inches apart. He concentrated on the pupils of her eyes until his vision began to blur and the pupils merged into one. Swirling, red smoke and flickering flames appeared, then behind these, the head of a goat: long, curled horns, piercing green eyes. He blinked and pulled his head back. Something was there, but not Ahriman, not the Master himself. He was sure of it.

The girl’s lips parted, begging a kiss. She wanted him to know the truth of it. He slipped his hand behind her head and pulled her mouth onto his. The tip of his tongue circled the tip of hers, and he tasted flesh, rotting flesh.

He pulled his head away. She was smiling up at him. He needed time to think. Not the Master, he was sure of that now, but one of his demons, and a powerful one. Please sit down, my dear... I’m sorry... Megan. He returned to his seat at the other side of the desk, using the few seconds it took to reach the high-back chair to regain his composure. This didn’t mean that it hadn’t been Ahriman who spoke to her. He could simply have left one of his lieutenants behind.

Now, think carefully; what exactly did Shahanshah say to you? His exact words.

She cocked her head, watching him, not as if she was picking her words carefully, but as if she were preparing to register his reaction to them.

He said: four will come, two and two. You must gift them what I have gifted you, and they will carry death into the world.

The High Priest relaxed. He could still have his fun. Ahriman might not be with her now, but he had visited her, and gifted her one of his lieutenants. This gift she would pass on to those of the Master’s choosing. Her pain would be food and wine to the demon whose temporary home she had become. He chuckled. She would be granted access to the circle without even grovelling. She would be honoured at the invitation; then she would be dead. She must also remain a virgin, but that still left him plenty of scope. Come here, he said, grinning and adjusting his robe to ease the discomfort of his growing anticipation.

She bowed her head and obeyed. They always did.

One

The front wheel of the Volvo rode up onto the kerb outside the Grapes, giving them both a jolt as it settled. Susie stared through the windscreen out into the fading daylight. Her hands, white-knuckled, gripped the rim of the steering wheel as she tried to quiet her breathing.

Beside her, Lynne sobbed.

Susie glanced at her friend. Tears still streaked her cheeks.

What was it? Lynne gasped, her words barely audible. Why—why was I so scared?

Susie took her hand. I don’t know. It wasn’t even dark.

But—you felt it, too. You were as scared as I was.

I still am. She bit her lip. I’ve never been so scared in my life.

Wh—what’ll we do? asked Lynne. We have to tell someone, right away.

Let me check out the pub. If there’s no one we know in there, some of the boys have an apartment just over the road. I’ll try there.

I’ll come with you.

No. Susie squeezed Lynne’s fingers, struggling to find words of comfort, but the dregs of her own fear prevented any forming. Just stay here. You’ll be okay.

Lynne’s lips twitched, but failed to form a smile. Don’t be long.

I won’t. Susie pulled on the handbrake and stepped onto the road. Her legs felt unsteady. She held onto the top of the Volvo’s door and took a deep breath. The evening air was cold. She filled her lungs again and stepped away from the car with her hand outstretched, fearing that she might need to regain its support.

The small side-bar of the pub was empty. Susie could see every table without stepping fully through the door. Conversation and laughter drifted into the room from the front bar. She knew that students never used that one.

Shit. She turned back onto the street.

To her right the headlights of evening rush hour cars heading out of town along High Road flashed by unseeing and uncaring. To her left the street of terraced houses sloped gently downward into darkness. On the opposite side of the road, the entrance to the alleyway that gave access to the boys’ apartment looked eerily dark and unwelcoming.

She looked down at the car. Lynne was holding her face in cupped hands. Susie hesitated, craving the reassurance that her friend’s company would bring. Lynne’s shoulders were shaking. She’d started to cry again. Before she could change her mind, Susie strode around the back of the Volvo toward the alleyway.

She stopped at the entrance. The light from the streetlamps behind her made the alleyway look even darker. There was a single, wall-mounted lamp halfway along. The shadows cast by its orange glow made the narrow walkway look much more threatening than total darkness would have.

Fear started to tug at the back of her mind again. She wasn’t sure whether it was new fear or her subconscious revisiting the old. The hairs at the back of her neck tingled. A cackling laugh sounded from somewhere to her right. She gasped and turned toward the sound.

A couple had rounded the corner from High Road. They were coming toward her. The woman’s arm was around the waist of her partner. Her head rested on his shoulder. Their progress was more a series of staggers than a walk. The woman laughed again.

Susie turned back to the alley. If she went now, the couple would be at its entrance when she reached the stairs to the flat. They would hear her screams, if she screamed, if she had time to scream. Why had she thought that? She clenched her fingers into fists, pressed her lips together, and walked, head high and arms stiff at her sides. She wanted to run, but resisted the urge.

She passed two, metal, open-runged stairways. At the third, she turned and wrapped her fingers around the cold steel of its handrail.

There was another high-pitched laugh. It seemed to come from right behind her.

She stumbled over the first step, regained her balance, and ran up the rest. Her shoes clanged on the treads. At the top she stopped. There was only one direction to go. Metal safety rails blocked her progress left and forward. To her right a thin, diffused light shone through the frosted glass of a half-glazed door. Her mind screamed at her to barge straight in; instead, she knocked. There was someone behind her—she was sure there was. Grabbing the door handle, she depressed it and pushed. The door didn’t move. She knocked again, more loudly, and half turned her head, but fear forced her eyes back to the dim light. She expected to feel a hand on her shoulder, or fingers around her throat. Her body tensed. She closed her eyes and muttered a prayer.

FOR THE THIRD TIME in less than ten minutes, Mark Aldridge stabbed his finger down onto the keypad of the TV’s remote control. Across the room, the screen flickered and another shrill-voiced children’s animation flashed into focus. Mark’s finger stabbed down again, muting the sound.

He pushed himself up from his armchair and crossed a strip of threadbare carpet to the room’s only window. The night was drawing in, and daylight was already fading beyond its smudged, rectangular panes. On the road below a steady stream of traffic headed south out of town toward the strings of commuter villages that spread like tentacles into the Lincolnshire countryside. Half of the cars already had headlights blazing into the encroaching autumn evening.

It was the first half-term break of Mark’s second year at Dunsmore College of Education, and he was bored. During the longer breaks, most of his fellow students stayed on in the town and found work locally. This particular half-term was little more than an extended weekend, and all of Mark’s friends, including his two flatmates, had headed back to their hometown families and friends.

He glanced down at his watch. The minute hand seemed hardly to have moved since the last time he’d checked. He watched it labour past 5:30. The sound of laughter drifted up to him from the street. Drinkers leaving the Grapes, he thought, and felt his resolve start to weaken. A car door slammed closed, and once again, there was only the steady hum of the passing traffic.

The front entrance to the Grapes was out of sight to his right. He had promised himself that he would resist the urge to enter from the side until 8:30 at the earliest; 8:30 seemed to be an eternity away.

He turned from the window, and his gaze dropped to his blue denim jacket. It lay crumpled on the floor next to the armchair from which he had risen. Resolve broken, he was bending to retrieve it when there was a knock at the door. He considered ignoring it; everyone he would want to see was out of town. It could only be a cold-sell or the Jehovah’s Witnesses. There was only one entrance to the apartment. He’d give them two minutes to give up and go away. Whoever it was knocked again, the sound more urgent this time, demanding attention. He shrugged and rounded the armchair and a stack of dirty dishes to answer it.

The door, at the far end of the narrow, uncarpeted corridor, was half-glazed, but the frosted glass of its upper section allowed only a diffused hint as to who was waiting on the other side. Mark released the catch and pulled it open.

Well, hi. His brow creased. He recognised the face, but the girl’s name escaped him. He should know it. He’d fancied her for months. She was in his Educational Psychology class. He had spent many a tutorial in concentrated study of her long legs, perfect upper body and long, blonde hair, as the theories of Piaget droned on as an unenlightening background.

Susie. The memory relaxed him. Come in. He flashed a smile.

She didn’t return it.

She looked scared. Her mouth was set, and there was no colour in her cheeks.

His smile faltered, but did not disappear. Come in. He opened the door wider.

No, she snapped. ...Sorry... Lynne’s still in the car. It’s parked outside the Grapes. We thought you’d be... Her gaze dropped to the floor.

A fair assumption. Mark grinned. Another five minutes and I probably would have been.

Susie’s eyes rose to meet his, and the corners of her mouth twitched into an almost smile. You’re the last person we thought of. Everyone else is home for the weekend, but we’ve got to tell someone.

Mark let the slight, intended or otherwise, pass without comment. I’ll grab my jacket and come down, he said. I could use a drink, and you sure as hell look as though you need one.

Susie’s yellow Volvo Estate was parked at a careless angle outside the side entrance of the pub. Its front nearside wheel had mounted the kerb. Lynne emerged from the passenger side as Mark and Susie approached. She was rubbing at her face with a wad of tissues.

Mark held the door to the bar open and waved the girls into the room ahead of him. It was deserted. No students meant no customers. Through the small, square serving hatch to his left, he could see into the larger, brighter front bar. That one was crowded with locals stopping off for a drink on their ways home from work. He returned the landlord’s wave of recognition. When you’re ready, Jim—no rush, he called and turned to the girls. What’ll you have?

Half a lager, please, Susie said.

You sure? You look like you could use something stronger.

Lager will be fine, thanks.

Lynne?

The same, thanks.

Lynne was shorter than Susie, and rounder, with black, bobbed hair.

She’s been crying, Mark thought. Grab a table. I’ll bring them over. He turned back to the serving hatch. Jim placed a pint of Marston’s Pedigree Bitter onto the drip mat in front of him. There had been no need for the formality of an order. And two halves of Carlsberg please, Jim. He pulled a crumpled note from the back pocket of his jeans.

The girls had seated themselves against the rear wall of the bar. Mark carried their drinks over to them, then returned to retrieve his own. He had only just lowered himself onto the low stool opposite Susie when she began to talk.

We decided on a drive out to college, she said, not looking at him but down at her untouched drink. It was such a fine afternoon. We planned to share a bottle of wine in the amphitheatre, then head out to one of the village pubs to eat.

Mark took a long drink.

I parked before the top of the drive, by the trees, thought we’d walk down through the wood instead of taking the long way round.

Mark looked at Lynne. She was not looking at her friend and hardly appeared to be listening. Her gaze was fixed and unblinking. She looked as though the tears that had tracked down her cheeks earlier were about to return.

Susie’s voice quieted. Mark looked back to her.

We’d only gone a few feet into the trees when I... we, got this funny feeling, like when you’re small and you’re sure that someone’s watching you but there’s nobody there. It got worse with every step until I couldn’t stand it any longer. Susie raised her eyes and turned to look at Lynne. She placed her fingers over her friend’s hand.

Lynne did not turn to face her. Susie gave her fingers a squeeze and turned to Mark.

We both panicked at the same time and just legged it back to the car. There was a screaming inside my head. I had the car keys in my hand, but the engine was already running. She paused. I’m sure that it was. Yes, it was. It couldn’t have been, but it was. She squeezed Lynne’s hand again, harder this time.

Lynne turned toward her and nodded. It was.

I didn’t drive fast. Susie took a sip of her lager. I was shaking too much to drive fast. Then there was something behind us. I mean in the car with us, in the back seat behind us. I couldn’t look, not even in the mirror, but I knew. She put down her glass. I also knew that if I did see whatever it was then I was done for. Her gaze darted around the room, as if she was afraid that someone had entered unnoticed. ...Not dead, not even hurt, but mad. I knew as certainly as I know that I’m sitting here that if I caught even a glimpse of whatever was in that back seat then my sanity would be gone forever. It was there until we reached the gates at the end of the lane, then it just disappeared. Her eyes locked onto Mark’s, begging him to take her seriously.

He felt uncomfortable under her scrutiny. He looked at Lynne instead, wondering for a second whether she had felt the same fear, knowing that she had.

The door behind him crashed open. He heard Lynne gasp as his heart leapt. He steadied his glass in his hand. Some of his beer slopped onto the table. He turned toward the commotion.

Gordon, his flatmate, dropped a bright-orange rucksack onto the first table inside the door and looked at them across the length of the room. He was short and stocky with a round face and wavy, black hair. He pushed a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles back onto the bridge of his nose and grinned. So this is what you get up to as soon as my back’s turned. His accent was broad Geordie.

Mark returned his friend’s grin. Grab yourself a pint and come and hear this, he called across the room. The girls need International Rescue, and you’re the perfect shape for Thunderbird Two.

Gordon ordered his drink.

Mark turned to Susie. Well now that the Geordie Crusader’s arrived I reckon that we should drive out to college and have a look.

No, Lynne squealed.

Why not, there’ll be four of us.

It’s dark; we won’t be able to see anything, Lynne pleaded.

I’m sure Jim’ll lend us a couple of torches. Mark glanced at Susie for support.

We should, Susie said, unconvincingly. The lads’ll be with us, and if it starts to happen again we can just run for it, and we can still get something to eat in one of the village pubs afterward.

Good, Mark said.

Gordon joined them, his pint glass already half empty. Why not, he said when Mark had finished retelling Susie’s tale. The only alternative’s staying here and getting pissed.

Agreed then. Mark stood and turned toward the bar.

Susie looked at Lynne. Come on, she said. It’ll be okay.

Jim, Mark said as he walked away from the table. Any chance we could borrow a couple of torches for an hour?

NIGHT HAD CONQUERED day when Susie swung the large estate in a wide arc around the car park at the end of the driveway that led steeply down to Dunsmore College of Education. The place looked different out of term time, with no orange neon illuminating the wide swathe of tarmac or the trees that lined both sides of it.

A three-quarter moon provided some light, but that flicked off and on as fast-moving patches of cloud obscured, then revealed it.

In the seat beside Susie, Lynne stared straight ahead in silence.

Behind the girls, Mark and Gordon looked out into the darkness. Mark was beginning to wish that they had stayed in the pub. You’d hardly recognise the place without the lights, he said. Looks kind of spooky.

Don’t start that, Susie snapped. I’m wound up enough already.

Mark turned his attention from the side window of the car to the girls. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.

Susie, he decided, was probably the best-looking girl in their whole year, perhaps in the whole of the college. There was one in the third year... Denise. He remembered her name and smiled. No—his grin broadened—she wasn’t in Susie’s league.

He had fancied Susie ever since the first time he had seen her ahead of him in the queue in the refectory, and his initial judgement had been reinforced every time that their paths had crossed in lectures, in the bar, in the common room, and in every corridor in between.

Every other male in college probably thought the same. That, he had told himself on numerous occasions, was why he had never bothered trying. There was also the fact that she was from the well-spoken, well-moneyed, middle-class south of England and he from the heavily accented, well-deprived, working-class north.

Try and park as close as you can to where you did before, he said, still looking at the curtain of long, blonde hair that hid Susie’s face from his scrutiny. It shone silver in the moonlight. He lowered his gaze. Between the two front seats of the Volvo, he could see Susie’s long, slim legs stretching away under the steering wheel to the pedals.

He switched his attention to Lynne. She was pretty, rather than beautiful. He felt a tightening in his groin. If the evening developed as he was now starting to hope that it would, he would be more than happy with either. In his mind, the attractions of the Grapes faded. Sod the class barriers, he said.

What? Susie asked. Her hand was resting on the knob of the gear stick. Mark had never noticed before just how long and slender her fingers were.

He shrugged and smiled. Nothing.

Susie completed their lap of the car park, eased the car back onto the lane along which they had entered the grounds, and pulled to a halt on the wide grass verge that separated it from the first of the trees.

The Volvo’s headlights cut parallel slashes of light back toward the main road into town. She switched off the ignition, and the lights died. This is the place, she said, without turning.

They stood together beside the car, looking at the wall of trees but not attempting to approach it. Susie stabbed a finger at the button of her key ring, and the Volvo’s central locking engaged with five staccato clicks. They sounded unnaturally loud in the surrounding silence. All four of their heads turned toward the sound. Well, Mark said, the engine’s off, the doors are locked, and the keys are in Susie’s hand. Let’s go.

Mark and Gordon had charge of the torches. The target of the girls’ first visit had been the amphitheatre, a round area of tightly cropped grass, surrounded by a steep, lawn bank, then by a ring of tall conifers. It was in the amphitheatre that students studied through the days and partied through the nights of spring and summer terms.

Lynne turned from the car and peered into the dark void between the nearest of the trees. We could just head straight for the pub, she said, turning firstly to Susie, then to Mark.

I’m easy. Gordon shrugged.

It’s too dark, and I’m hungry, Lynne persisted.

Mark glanced at her. How the hell can she be thinking about food?

Her eyes flashed a desperate appeal for support.

She isn’t. She’d grasp at any excuse not to go back into the