Read A Dance in Blood Velvet for Free Online

Sam?” The cat, sitting on the hearthrug, stared at him with large yellow eyes. “I never minded, but this is different. My first true breakthrough. My secret.” He sighed. “But I’m being childish. Lancelyn and I share all knowledge. He didn’t have to lend me the Book!”
    Benedict had constructed his attic temple for his and Holly’s use alone. The official group - the Neophytes of Meter Theon, as they styled themselves - met at Lancelyn’s house every Friday night. Members came from all over the country, not gullible thrill-seekers, but intellectual men and women: writers, artists, even scientists. They sought higher spiritual advancement than convention could offer. The occult was one of many post-War crazes, but special because - Lancelyn asserted - a new spirituality was needed.
    Of course, every little group thought their magus held the truth, but Benedict believed Lancelyn was different. He saw through foggy nonsense to the bright clear path of wisdom.
    Once a month, Lancelyn spent the weekend fishing, leaving Benedict in charge of the meeting. Magus Adeptus for an evening. He loved those times. Always a wrench to hand the reins back to his brother. Imagine the Neophytes’ reaction if he summoned such an entity in front of them!
    I have to try again. Have to. But tell Lancelyn? Well ... not yet.
    Fear soared into excitement, and he forgave Holly her doubts. He sang as he shaved and got ready for work. Nothing more exhilarating than power. Mrs Potter the housekeeper arrived, made breakfast, fed the cat and went to the shops; Holly thawed and forgave him. They made small talk over the breakfast table. An ordinary couple.
    Ben didn’t hear the door-knocker. Entering the hallway, about to leave for work, he found Holly opening the door to a visitor: a plump woman enveloped in a full-length cloak of brown velvet with a matching floppy hat.
    It was Deirdre, one of the Neophytes. She and her lover, James, were frequent visitors to the cottage. A strong-faced, attractive Dubliner of forty-odd, Deirdre favoured the unconventional look of an artist. Her face was white between wings of faded-red hair, and she clutched a carpetbag.
    “I can’t stay long,” she was telling Holly. “I’ve a train to catch.”
    Ben greeted her, leading her into the parlour. “Come in, come in. We don’t usually see you this early. Nothing wrong, I hope?”
    Deirdre, usually full of life, was subdued. She said quietly, “You haven’t heard, have you?”
    “Heard what?”
    “It’s James,” she said on a short breath. “He’s killed himself.”
    Deirdre went grey. Ben caught her and helped her to the sofa before she fell to the floor. Holly unfastened the cloak, removed Deirdre’s hat and used it to fan her face, while Ben fetched a glass of brandy.
    James had been a member of the Order, albeit an erratic one. And Deirdre, despite the fact that he was years younger and would never have married her, had loved him.
    Holly said, “Oh, Deirdre, I’m so sorry. We had no idea.” She glanced at Ben, her expression reflecting his shock. “What happened?”
    Deirdre gulped brandy and composed herself. Sam jumped on her knee and she stroked him, oblivious to his claws catching her clothes. “I’m sorry. I refuse to cry, this is too important for tears.”
    “Take your time,” said Ben. The news wouldn’t sink in; unbelievable. Dreadful to see her upset when usually she was flamboyant and carefree.
    “He hanged himself. It’ll be in the papers tomorrow: a young barrister with everything to live for... You know the things they say.”
    “But why?” said Holly. She sat down by Deirdre, holding her hands, not far from tears herself. “He always seemed so happy and sure of himself.”
    “He didn’t want to die,” Deirdre said softly. “He was driven to it. A few days ago he told me he believed that someone had launched a magical attack against him.”
    Her words woke a degree of scepticism in Ben, but no surprise. He knew