Giant Days Read online

  “What. The. Actual. Hell?” Vectra stormed toward the group by the steps, rage burning so hot that it was almost a surprise that the water hadn’t evaporated on impact.

  “Sorry,” said Ed Gemmell, looking sheepishly at his glass. “Didn’t fancy the rest of it. It was only water . . .”

  “Only water?” It appeared Vectra wasn’t the sort of person to accept an apology. Her fingers dug so deeply into the material of Ed Gemmell’s hoodie that when she yanked him closer, it was clear she’d grabbed a few chest hairs. “You ruined my makeup.”

  “That’s enough!” Esther edged into the gap between the two of them, and Ed Gemmell stumbled back so fast that if Susan hadn’t caught him, he’d have hit the ground. “He paid thirteen pounds to come and see you tonight—”

  “Please note that I did not.” Susan didn’t want Vectra to get the wrong impression.

  “—and the first thing you do is have a go at him?”

  “He wrecked—”

  “You and I both know it’s waterproof.”

  Vectra met Esther’s challenge with a dismissive sneer. “Whatever, Grooty. If you’re here to watch us play, better get back inside. Someone dropped out, and we’ve been bumped up the list to go next.”

  Susan wasn’t convinced this was a bumping up so much as a dropping down—support bands came on before headliners—but there was no time to argue the point as Esther moved things along.

  “As I was saying to this gentleman, we were just leaving.”

  “Frightened of finding out what real metal sounds like when you finally hear it played live?” But even as Vectra’s lip curled in disgust, her eyes dropped down to the top Esther was wearing. “Wait . . . is that a Bleeding Orifices tour T-shirt?”

  “It is.” Esther propped her hands on her hips to better display the weeping skull. “I bought it in Berlin during their secret summer tour, where only super fans were e-mailed the location of the gig twenty-four hours beforehand. Fans like me.”

  Vectra’s jaw had dropped with every word and now hung there as if the ventriloquist working her had fallen asleep on the job.

  “You can have it if you want?” Esther slipped it off over her head, revealing a cropped singlet underneath. She held the T-shirt out to Vectra, who touched it with the kind of reverence befitting an unholy relic.

  “What . . . why? If you don’t want it, you could sell it on eBay for over a hundred quid.”

  “I think you’re missing the point,” Susan said, stepping up so she was shoulder to shoulder with Esther. “It’s not that this sexy saucer of milk doesn’t want the T-shirt—it’s that she likes making people happy. If someone with a shriveled little pellet of a heart like me can love her for it, what does that say about you?”

  Ed Gemmell didn’t say anything, but he held out his hand and mimed a mic drop.

  “Come on, gothy,” Susan said, nodding to where the bouncer had opened the side gate for them. “Time to go save Daisy from the grips of an evil yogic cult.”

  “What?!”

  “I’ll fill you in on the way . . .”

  But as the three of them turned their backs on Vectra, she let out an astonished gasp.

  “Grooty! Your back . . . that tattoo . . . is that . . . did you . . . are you a member of the Black Metal Society?”

  Esther glanced back and gave her a secretive smile and a devil-horn salute. “Not anymore. Some of us are too metal to be tamed . . .”

  Two paces down the road, Ed Gemmell cleared his throat. “Esther . . . didn’t you say your tattoo stood for ‘Barry Manilow Sings’?”

  12

  A VAN, A PLAN, AND TWO MANS

  “So what’s this about Daisy being abducted by a cult?” Ed Gemmell asked as they walked down the road from the Obscure Breed of Sheep.

  “And if that’s the case, why aren’t we marching straight there?” Esther said. Her confrontation with Vectra had left her with an excess of adrenaline, and Susan and Ed Gemmell were having to trot to keep up the pace she’d set.

  “And do what, exactly?” Susan said mildly.

  “Bust her out and burn the place to the ground!” On seeing the look Ed Gemmell was giving her, she added, “Metaphorically.”

  For all that Susan was pleased to have Esther back on her side and out of the thrall of that toxic pixie witch, it was going to take more than an overabundance of enthusiasm to take down the Brethren.

  Slowing her pace so that walking and talking became viable, Susan filled the others in.

  “So Daisy’s been absent of late, and whenever we’ve seen her, she’s been pretty weird. That much we already know.”

  “Right.”

  “Right.” Ed Gemmell frowned. “Last time I saw her, it was like she’d been hypnotized.”

  “Either that—or drugged.”

  Susan unfolded the paper bag she’d found when rummaging in Daisy’s wastebasket for more clues about the Brethren of Zoise. The flower motif was stamped on the outside of the bag, but it wasn’t that in which Susan was interested. “Open that and give it a sniff.”

  It was immediately clear that both Esther and Ed Gemmell were familiar with the scent of hash.

  “When I had my energy-drink episode, Daisy gave me some cookies, and I passed out for forty-eight hours. When I ate them, I was buzzing too much to know what they were, but afterward, when I asked for the recipe, Daisy turned extremely cagey.” Susan paused to flip off a car that sounded its horn when she stepped into the pedestrian crossing.

  “Like she knew?” Esther was aghast.

  “I don’t think so, but she doubled down on the cageiness when I suggested I come with her to yoga.”

  “You volunteered to do exercise?” Esther stopped in the middle of the crossing, oblivious to the futile honking of the driver waiting for her to cross. “Were you on drugs?”

  “I was suspicious.” Susan dragged her to safety. “As I should have been. Look at this.”

  She held out her phone to show them the photo of the notes she’d found on Daisy’s desk. Esther’s hand went to her mouth.

  “Drugs and psycho writing—are you sure it’s the yoga and not that she’s fallen in with some rebel archaeologists set on opening a cursed tomb?”

  “Always with the curses.” Susan rolled her eyes. “I’m sure it’s the yoga. Those archaeologists are hardly a bad crowd. Have you met her friend Reggie?”

  “You know, Archaeology Dude?” Ed Gemmell interjected. “Big guy, goatee, punny T-shirts. He was out for Daisy’s birthday. Nice chap. No social skills.” There was a very self-aware pause. “Which I think says a lot, coming from me.”

  Esther looped her arm in his and pulled him close. “We love you, anyway.”

  As Ed Gemmell turned crimson, Susan carried on. “There’s more to it than that. See this symbol?”

  “The flower?”

  “Something far more sinister . . .” Susan said darkly. “These petals are the Eyes of Zoise.”

  “So what are we going to do?” Ed Gemmell asked. They’d reached the gates leading to Catterick Hall, and dusk had darkened to night. “Considering it’s just a stoner yoga group, they seem remarkably organized.”

  “We’re going to do exactly what Esther said: bust Daisy out and (metaphorically) burn the place to the ground.” Susan grinned wickedly as she took her phone out and scrolled down to McGraw’s number. “And for that, we need a very big box, a van, and a plan.”

  “And a man?” Esther nudged her in the ribs, and Susan allowed herself a rueful smile.

  “Yeah, all right. We’ll get us one of those.”

  “I mean, I’m right here . . .” Ed Gemmell muttered.

  Man(s) and van secured, they moved on to the plan.

  Hey, Grace. Good to have you back.

  Who dis?

  Susan (Ptolemy)

  Sorry. Hi. Yeah. All my contacts got deleted while I was up at the house.

  What house?

  THE OUTSIDE SHALL NOT SEE THE INSIDE.

  OK . . .

>   Sorry. Just read that back. Not sure what came over me.

  Too much Zoise yoga, presumably?

  NO ONE CAN DEFEAT ZOISE.

  Good to know. About that . . . who, exactly, is Zoise?

  ZOISE IS ALL AND NOTHING. LOVE AND HATE. ACTION AND INACTION.

  Is Zoise contradiction and consistency? Hot and cold? Knife and fork?

  “Knife and fork aren’t opposites,” Esther said, reading over her friend’s shoulder as the two of them sat scheming on Susan’s bed.

  “Stow it, gothball.”

  God. I’m really sorry about this. Every time I see the word Zoise: TRUST NOT THE UNTESTED, TEST NOT THE TRUSTED.

  “Screw it.” Susan put her phone down and cracked her knuckles. “There are better ways to get answers.”

  Reaching for her laptop, she set to work—and Esther went to get ready.

  It was possible that Esther had invested in her role a little more than was strictly necessary. On opening the door to Susan’s knock, Esther was met with a nonplussed sweep of her outfit and a sardonic, “You know we’re not actually going to do any yoga, don’t you?”

  Esther was wearing three-quarter-length leggings and a lotus flower–printed tunic she’d accessorized with a yinyang pendant and a hemp hairband, which pushed a long black plait off her face. Never in her life had Esther looked quite so wholesome, and she could envision the scorn this would prompt from Vectra. So much time spent contorting herself to meet someone else’s impossibly evasive standards, when she already had two friends who loved her just the way she was.

  In trying to prove herself to Vectra, Esther had lost sight of herself. This was who she was. Someone who could change how she looked without worrying it would change how she felt.

  Just because it looked like she enjoyed yoga didn’t mean that she actually did.

  “I’m sorry about what I said before,” Esther said quietly while the two of them waited in the car park, both resting their weight against one of the bike racks. She’d wanted to say this sooner, but there hadn’t been a chance.

  “I know,” Susan said, leaning against her slightly. It wasn’t a hug, but from Susan, it was close enough. “But I grudgingly admire the way you’re able to blurt out whatever it is you’re thinking—even if I don’t like what those thoughts are. So don’t let your penitence change you. OK?”

  That was the difference between Susan and Vectra: Susan didn’t need to like something to respect it. And Esther kind of loved her for it.

  “Ach! Get off me, you she-demon.” Susan struggled ineffectually as Esther smothered her in an enormous hug.

  There came the sound of an engine from down the lane. When the headlights swept across the forecourt, lighting Susan’s face, she was looking at Esther with something approaching affection. Pushing away from the bike rack, she approached the van, casting a glance back over her shoulder to wave Esther forward.

  “Come on, gothy. Let’s go save our friend from these amoral fiends.”

  There wasn’t really enough room for four people in the front of the van, and Susan found herself straddling the central console, Esther’s legs hooked over one thigh. Her other leg pressed tightly up against that of the driver.

  She held out her phone for McGraw to read the address Daisy had sent her all those weeks ago.

  “It’s near where you picked up this van.”

  “Of course.” There was a smile buried deep in his voice as McGraw keyed in the address on his sat nav.

  “Thanks for doing this.” Awkwardness had rusted Susan’s social skills sufficiently enough that even forcing out that platitude had been painful.

  “Anything for a friend.”

  “Yeah, Daisy’s a special one.”

  “I wasn’t solely referring to Daisy.”

  For a moment, Susan’s eyes flickered up to meet those of McGraw.

  “Everyone ready?” he asked, leaning across to Ed Gemmell, who was looking exactly as uncomfortable as he was delighted, sandwiched between Esther and the passenger door. Both Ed and Esther gave McGraw a thumbs-up. His gaze returned to Susan, who replied with a single curt nod.

  McGraw’s leg shifted as he pressed the accelerator, jeans brushing denim against denim for a moment, his arm reaching out to shift from first to second. Susan swallowed. She should have chosen to sit in the back.

  As McGraw navigated the streets of Sheffield, the other three ran through the plan. Using her intrepid computer skills, Susan had hacked into the university system to reveal what they were up against: Jasper Tooley and Elise Fournier—a deadly combination of charisma and competence. Final-year students with perfectly respectable academic records who’d chosen to go rogue. Deep-diving into e-mail accounts she shouldn’t have access to, Susan had unearthed a slightly wobbly video someone had accidentally taken during something called the “Ceremony of Sharing.” Their phone had been placed in a bowl that Elise had carried around the circle and taken upstairs to the kitchen, where there was interminably long footage of her faffing about mixing herbal infusions and baking, presumably while Jasper did nefarious things in the basement.

  It wasn’t much to go on, but it was enough.

  When the van pulled up a little way along from number 21, the avengers assembled outside the vehicle for a debrief.

  “Phones on silent.” Susan watched them all switch off the sound. “Yogi Bear?”

  “Check.” Esther.

  “Deliverance?”

  “Check.” Ed Gemmell.

  “Dry Old Stick?” No response. “McGraw. That’s you.” Still no response. “Fine. How about . . . Vengeful Kindling?”

  McGraw twitched a smile. “Copy that, Ragnarök and Roll.”

  They were ready.

  A lifetime of practice had Esther well prepared for lurking in the shadows, watching as McGraw and Ed Gemmell, posing as Danube Delivery drivers, rang the doorbell to number 21. The whole operation hinged on someone answering the door. There was no Plan B.

  The door opened, and Esther’s heart gave an extra little pump at the sight of the boy who’d opened it. Ginger, freckly . . . he’d fill out a Superdry polo shirt nicely, that one. As it was, his outfit was hidden by a black robe.

  “Hello there, we’ve a delivery for Jasper Tooley,” McGraw said.

  Target acquired, Esther fired off to Susan before scurrying out from the shadows and aiming for the house.

  “Hi! I’m so sorry I’m late. My friend said there was this amazing yoga group?” She approached Jasper and deployed her most charming smile.

  “Your friend?” Jasper paused on the front step, blocking Esther’s access.

  “Yeah—shall I just go in? You look kind of busy . . .”

  McGraw had the back doors of the van open and chose that moment to call to Jasper, “It’s quite a sizeable delivery. Not sure we can get it through the front there. Do you have another entrance?”

  “I—er—” Jasper looked from Esther to the van and back, his adorable freckled face screwed up in indecision. “Sure. I guess, go through to the kitchen. Elise can help you,” he told Esther.

  Although they had downloaded a floor plan from Right-move from when Zoise HQ had been on the market three years earlier, Esther took a second to match the blueprint in her brain to her surroundings. Stairs to the right, sitting room to the left—kitchen straight ahead, where she would find . . .

  “Er, hello?” A young woman, petite and perfectly turned out in Lululemon leggings and a flowing T-shirt dress, set a tray of cookies down on the kitchen table and fixed Esther with an appraising look. “Have we met?”

  “I don’t think so,” Esther said, adopting an entirely unnecessary American accent. “How y’all doing? I’m Fenella.”

  She held her hand out and beamed enthusiastically as the young woman took it.

  “I’m Elise.”

  “What a cute name!” Esther ambushed her with a hug. Elise smelled like the cookies she’d been baking. “Now, can y’all tell me where I’m supposed to be going?”

&
nbsp; “Where’s Jasper? He usually introduces the new initiates.”

  “You mean that handsome young man who let me in?” Her accent had melded into something from the Deep South. Or rather, Esther’s approximation of such an accent. Fanning herself seemed entirely in keeping when she said, “My, my, what a fine specimen. There were some gentlemen here with a delivery—he told me to come on in.”

  “Yes. Right, well . . .” Esther’s arrival had flustered her, and it took a moment for Elise to remember what she’d been in the middle of doing. On the table was a tray of expensive-looking cups—stoneware gray with colorful enamel rims. No handles. “If you could take this tray of tea and cookies down with you, I’m sure Jasper will be along shortly.”

  “Aren’t you comin’?”

  “No.” Elise dusted crumbs off her leggings. “I’ve things to do. The session started ten minutes ago. I’m sure Jasper can catch you up, but if you could leave your mobile phone in the bowl . . . ?” She gestured to a bowl in the center of the table—a cheerful Buddha smiling down on a bounty of mobile phones. “Here at the Brethren of Zoise we find a complete disengagement from the material world really helps you get into the zone.”

  No way was Esther about to hand over her phone.

  She glanced down at the tray of steaming mugs and the plate of warm cookies.

  That could work.

  When the doorbell rang, Daisy had already taken several steps along her meditative path. The herbal tea had seeped through her system, slowing her pulse, lulling her body into a slow and steady thrum of relaxed anticipation.

  Slow is the air in my lungs, the beat of my heart, the blood in my veins.

  Arteries, Susan would have corrected her. That’s what’s taking the oxygenated blood from your heart.

  Daisy shook her head to clear it, but there was too much disturbance in the room. People milling about by the bottom of the stairs—or, rather, those still capable of milling. There was a tangled heap of robes and smoke in a corner, where some of the other Brethren had transcended from the waking plane to commune with their dreams.

  Daisy gave up and opened her eyes to see Jasper rapping on the glass doors at the back of the studio that led out onto the garden.