The Ice King (The Witch Ways 0.5)(12)

Inside the old building Lachlan felt the chill of the stones. The church was lit by yellow lights in cheap-looking elaborate sconces. The organist was repeating a phrase of the psalm and the choirmaster sounded half despairing as he addressed his singers.

“Can you hear it? Reaching up to that last third before the step-and-step down to the minor key…?” at the back a young boy yawned and two of the older choristers had their heads bowed, chatting. There was no sign of the black dog.

Uncertain what else to do, and aware that he had been brought here, Lachlan took up a pew. He was once again, he knew, that boy perched on the five bar gate at the Goose Fair and as the thought struck him so his mind’s eye flew a pennant, a black wolf on a white ground. Lachlan knew, he must wait to see what would happen.

The man stepped out from behind the pillar and walked towards Lachlan. He was tall and broad shouldered, his hair slicked back and was wearing a heavy black woollen coat. He moved with confidence and purpose, sliding into the pew beside Lachlan. For a moment they listened to the choir until the psalm collapsed on itself and the organ ground to a halt. The choirmaster gave up at last and dismissed everyone. As the choir bustled out through the vestry and the organist put his music away Lachlan waited. The man in black leaned back into the pew, lifted his gaze to the lights. As he did so the choirmaster clicked several rows off, leaving just one, golden, glowing, enough to illuminate the man in black’s face.

It was squared, strong and masculine, the jawline stubbled with bristle, the eyes now staring at Lachlan Laidlaw, a green like a pine forest at midnight, the intelligence keen, the smile broad.

“You people are very tiresome. You have moved away from here…” he reached to touch Lachlan’s chest, Lachlan felt an icy cold fingerprint press itself into his skin beneath. “And now you exist too much in here…” the icicle fingers tapped at Lachlan’s temple. “But for all that, you cannot alter what is.” the man in black gave Lachlan a direct stare.

“Your dog is a splendid beast.” Lachlan spoke up out of his unease, trying to seem everyday and matter of fact and keep the waver out of his voice. The man in black laughed, a low, sad sound.

“Ha. Yes. My beast.” he gazed up into the golden light shed by the sconce above. “You understand, Lachlan Laidlaw, that there are no choices here. There is only what is?” Lachlan had felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise at the mention of his name. He nodded.

“There is an enemy in the Far North who outlives his time. This king brings conflict of every sort for you. ”

“Conflict?”

The man in black turned and looked at him full in the face. “Hearts will clash, bones will break.” he spoke in a matter of fact manner.

“Why is he my enemy?” Lachlan didn’t know anyone in the North, far or otherwise, the only people he knew who lived vaguely Northward were his mother and his aunt in Cumbria.

“Because you are his enemy, fated to take his time. You will take on the mantle that he was meant to have shrugged off. Fate owns you Lachlan.” the man in black made a little movement with his fingers, smiled his wide smile. “So she moves you like her little chess piece into the game.”

“I don’t understand.” Lachlan’s heart was pounding so hard he was certain that the man in black could feel it knocking against the wooden pew.

“Yes. You do. You have looked outwards all your life and this, Lachlan, is what you have been looking for. You must travel North.”

The thoughts lingered at the edge of Lachlan’s head. Aurora borealis. Recognise him?

“I don’t have any resources. It will take me some time.”

The man in black smiled once more.

“There is no time.”

Lachlan’s mind roared like a storm and his heart felt cold without the benefit of the man in black’s hands so that it was some few moments before he realised that the man in black was gone and he was alone and the church was in darkness.

A matter of days later saw Lachlan engaged in a small poltergeist project at one of the colleges. He was writing up a long night of reporting nothing more supernatural than a saucer falling from a dresser as a truck rolled by.

“You still up there Lach? Only you’ve a visitor…shall I show him up?” Todber called from the bottom of the stairs. Lachlan was glad of the distraction.

The last person that Lachlan expected to see was Professor Folds.

“Lachlan, good to see you.” Professor Folds was warm, effusive, his handshake firm. “How are you?” he cast a glance around the room, noted the research papers on the desk.

“Very well Professor and you? Mrs Folds?”

“Excellent. It is, in point of fact, Mrs Folds who has sent me here Lachlan.” the Professor was eager, bursting to speak.

“Would you care for a whisky?” Lachlan offered. Professor Folds waved the idea away.

“Perhaps, in a moment or two, it depends upon your answer.”

“To what question?” Lachlan felt icy fingers at his chest and a broad smile broke across his mind’s eye.

“Mrs Folds is, as you know, the chair of many historical societies and charities here in Oxbridge.”

Lachlan nodded. Mrs Folds was an intelligent and interesting woman. Professor Folds continued.

“The anthropological society has embarked upon a new project, something quite daring and out of the ordinary Lachlan. Something that Mrs Folds thought you were ideally suited to undertake…”