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Back The Trickster Save as PDF
Chapters (74)
  1. The Trickster
  2. Copyright
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. Preface to the 20th anniversary edition
  6. Introduction
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. Keep Reading
  70. FURNACE
  71. Acknowledgements
  72. About the Author
  73. ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
  74. About the Publisher

The voice was becoming less like Alexander’s, and the figure before him was starting to change. Henderson wanted to cover his eyes and ears but his body could not move. He was paralysed and rooted to the floor, his bony knees only just supporting him on the wooden boards. He knelt feet away from the thing and watched as it rotted and peeled before him, stinking and writhing with worms. Pieces of flesh fell on the floor with wet sickly thuds and the worms that had burst through those beloved eyes dropped down to work on them.

Henderson found his voice and began to scream. He screamed from a place in his chest that made the delicate vessels of his throat rupture. When they burst into his cabin the screaming had stopped. James Henderson lay unconscious in an empty corner of the room, his chin wet with saliva delicately laced with his coughed-up blood, his thin limbs tangled together like tossed bones.

23

It had taken twelve years to mature the Dalwhinnie malt whisky. Somewhere in Scotland, the man who had watched it being bottled would have clucked his tongue in disgust if he’d seen Katie put the glass to her lips and swallow its contents without thinking.

She let the alcohol burn its way down the back of her throat and put the glass down beside the bottle on the kitchen table. She didn’t really want a drink. It was all she could think of to do when the RCs left her with the black cloud of doubt and fear they’d brought into the house. And she needed a space, a beat, before she spoke to the man she loved, sitting still and quiet through there by the fire. The snow had started to fall gently again. She watched dumbly as the big flakes caught the light from the kitchen window on their way to the ground. Bart would be out there catching the flakes in his coat as usual. Everything as normal. Except that everything was not normal.

Sam Hunting Wolf. Katie Hunting Wolf. Billy and Jess Hunting Wolf. So it was no big deal, a name change. But he hadn’t told her. She wondered now if she had spent these last ten years in a dream, an adolescent cloud of happiness, where nothing mattered except this family and their love. It was a kind of selfishness, that shutting out of the past. It excluded everything except the life she and Sam had made together. The children they had made together. It said that nothing else that had gone before mattered. Now, perhaps she was wrong.