When Darkness Falls: Six Paranormal Novels in One Boxed Set
Author: Rebecca Hamilton; Laura Howard; Shalini Boland; Patti Roberts; Suzy Turner; Sarah Dalton
Date: 2014-07-15 23:33:18+00:00
Description: Six paranormal novels from six bestselling authors who know how to weave a gripping fantasy tale. From brooding vampires, ghosts and witches, to fallen angels, shifters and fae. Be enchanted with dark romances and sweeping adventures to take you away from the everyday. HIDDEN (Marchwood Vampire Series) by Shalini BolandNow an international bestseller. Fans of Twilight and Interview with the Vampire will enjoy this paranormal adventure that spans the centuries. On her sixteenth birthday, Madison Greene inherits a huge mansion house... but the house hides a secret. Eighteen-year-old Alexandre li

When Darkness Falls

Six Paranormal Novels in One Boxed Set

By:

Shalini Boland

Sarah Dalton

Rebecca Hamilton

Laura Howard

Patti Roberts

Suzy Turner

Six paranormal novels from six bestselling authors who know how to weave a gripping fantasy tale.

From brooding vampires, ghosts and witches, to fallen angels, shifters and fae.

Be enchanted with dark romances and sweeping adventures to take you away from the everyday.

When Darkness Falls bundle copyright 2014 Shalini Boland. Individual books are fully copyrighted by their respective authors, and used with permission. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual business establishments, or persons, living or dead, are coincidental.

Cover stock image – Deposit Photos

Cover Design – Sarah Dalton

Interior layout – Shalini Boland

Hidden © 2011 by Shalini Boland

Mary Hades © 2014 by Sarah Dalton

The Forever Girl © 2012 by Rebecca Hamilton

The Forgotten Ones © 2014 by Laura Howard

Paradox – The Angels Are Here © 2012 by Patti Roberts

Raven © 2011 by Suzy Turner

Table of Contents

HIDDEN by Shalini Boland

Now an international bestseller. Fans of Twilight and Interview with the Vampire will enjoy this paranormal adventure that spans the centuries. On her sixteenth birthday, Madison Greene inherits a huge mansion house… but the house hides a secret. Eighteen-year-old Alexandre lives in 19th century Paris. Spoilt and bored, he longs for adventure, but he should be careful what he wishes for. Madison and Alexandre’s lives are about to collide… Falling in love has never been so dangerous.

Mary Hades by Sarah Dalton

Not many seventeen year old girls have a best friend who’s a ghost, but then Mary Hades isn’t your average teenager. Scarred physically and mentally from a fire, a holiday in an idyllic village may help her recover. Little does she know, evil lurks in the campsite… Seth Lockwood—a local fairground worker with a dark secret—might be the key to uncovering the village’s murky history. But Mary is drawn to him in a way that has her questioning her judgement. A spine-tingling romantic tale, to shock and entertain in equal measure.

The Forever Girl by Rebecca Hamilton

Now optioned for film, this paranormal fantasy will appeal to lovers of paranormal romance, urban fantasy, and paranormal horror. At twenty-two, practicing Wiccan Sophia Parsons is a pariah in her hometown after a string of unsolved murders with only one thing in common: her. When a spell she casts to rid herself of her curse goes wrong, her personal demons get company, and the newcomers are dangerous. Charles, a man with a paranormal curse of his own, might be able to to help, but Sophia gets more than she bargains for when she finally decides to trust him.

The Forgotten Ones by Laura Howard

Allison O'Malley's plan is to get a good job and take care of her schizophrenic mother. She has even closed herself off from a relationship with Ethan, who she's been in love with forever. But then her father shows up, telling her about a long forgotten Irish people, the Tuatha de Danaan. Truths have a way of revealing themselves. Secrets will eventually surface. And Allison must learn to set aside her plan and work with her father if there is even a small chance it could restore her mother's sanity.

Paradox – The Angels Are Here by Patti Roberts

Two mysterious strangers arrive just in time to help a little girl, Grace Connors, as she struggles to cope with the death of her father. But are the intentions of these strangers as innocent as they seem, or is there something else on their agenda? A story that will leave you asking... Who, When, Where? WHAT! My name is Juliette. Nine hundred years ago, I died. Today, I am alive... This is my story.

RAVEN by Suzy Turner

Lilly’s whole life has been based on a lie. She grew up in a loveless home with a father she barely saw and a mother who was... well, not very motherly. After her parents mysteriously disappear, Lilly is sent to Canada where she finds a new way of life filled with love and people who care for her. But that's not all she discovers. Lilly finds out she isn't who, or what, she thinks she is. For Lilly has a very special ability and it's just a matter of time before her true self starts to shine. And when it does, her life will never be the same again.

HIDDEN

Book One

Marchwood Vampire Series

~

Shalini Boland

Copyright © Shalini Boland 2011

~

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales or organisations is entirely coincidental.

~

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior permission of the author.

~
http://www.shaliniboland.co.uk

~

For Pete, Dan and Billy xxx

~

PREFACE

*

He felt the drumming of the earth, the heartbeat of all humankind in his bones and blood, in his skin and soul. It sang a song that he had known forever and in that instant everything became clear. He knew the reason for it all; the key to life and it was so obvious. How could he not have known this simple truth before now?

And then as suddenly as it had come, it left. His beating heart slowed, the song faded and the knowledge slipped away like an elusive memory refusing to come to mind. He felt a devastating loss, worse than if his dearest love had died.

A heavy melancholy descended, so profound he felt as though he should like to sleep for a thousand years. In the cold darkness, tears rolled down his face and stung his cheeks like acid. He closed his eyes and tried not to think. It hurt to think.

It hurt.

God, it hurt.

Like the skin being stripped from his body. He could not breathe and his eyes burned white hot with a searing pain.

He tried to speak but his throat constricted, closed shut. Was he in hell? Was this the fate he deserved? Please, God, no! Help me! he silently screamed. Save me! I promise … I promise anything. I will do anything. Just please … make … it … STOP.

Chapter One

*

‘... and black denim micro skirts are certainly not part of our school uniform. Nor are those boots or that trashy black eyeliner ...’

Madison let the Deputy Head’s sharp Scottish tones fade out as she gazed through the window onto the school playing fields. Some of the boys were out there playing a brutal game of rounders, taking it pathetically seriously. She wrinkled her nose at the stink of disinfectant and perfume in Haggis’ room. It made the already stifling air barely breathable.

‘Madison, are you listening to me?’ Haggis rapped her saggy knuckles on the table. ‘Or am I talking to the wall? You know, you would do well to listen, girl. You need to change your ways. I’ve seen your type a hundred times before and you never amount to anything. You have all the back-chat and think you’re the queen of the world, but you’re nothing. You look a mess and you’ve absolutely no respect for tradition.’

Something in Maddy snapped - something separate and distant from her brain. Anger spiked.

‘You’re talking crap. All you want is a school full of uniform-wearing Nazis, like you.’

‘I beg your pardon!’ Haggis’ mouth hung open for a couple of seconds and her face flushed purple. ‘How dare you talk to me like that.’

Maddy ignored her. She knew she’d gone too far, but she was sick of people talking down to her like she was nothing, like she had no feelings. All her unsaid frustrations spewed out with no thought for any consequences.

‘Don’t you want us to think for ourselves? I mean, I’m not telling you how to do your job, just making a few suggestions.’ She paused. ‘Or maybe you‘re just jealous, cos you‘re an ancient old hag.’

‘You little …’

Maddy suddenly felt a stinging blow on her cheek and put her hand to her face. She couldn’t believe it. Haggis had slapped her. The old cow had actually hit her. She felt anger, followed by a strange realisation that this could possibly work out in her favour.

Haggis stared down at her trembling hand and then looked back at Maddy in fear.

‘You hit me,’ said Maddy.

There was a moment’s silence.

‘You deserved it.’ Haggis’ fear was morphing into something else. Something harder.

‘You’ll get the sack for that,’ Maddy said. ‘You might even get put away.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Who’d believe a jumped up little trollop like you?’

‘I’m gonna go and see Gordon. Tell him what you’ve done.’

‘You tell anyone anything and I’ll make sure you and your brother are split up for good,’ Haggis said, cold flint in her voice. ‘I’ll make sure he gets sent back to that care home you hated so much.’

‘You can’t do that …’

‘Breathe a word of this and your life will be worth even less than it is now. I mean it. You don’t say anything to anybody, or that little brother of yours will be back wetting the bed for the next four years.’

Madison wanted to punch her.

‘Wait here,’ Haggis said. She reappeared a few minutes later with Mr Gordon, the headmaster.

‘Madison Greene has just threatened to ‘smack me in the face’,’ she announced and pursed her lips, waiting.

‘Lying bitch. You can’t …’ But she realised she couldn’t say anything without jeopardising her life further.

‘Quiet, Madison,’ Mr Gordon said, a weary frown embedded in his grey forehead.

‘What are you going to do about it, Mr Gordon?’ Haggis put her hands on her hips. ‘I will not be spoken to like that or threatened in such a way, especially not by the likes of her.’

‘I’ll deal with it, Miss McKinley.’ He sighed. ‘Madison, you better come into my office.’

Maddy shook her head slowly in disbelief whilst Haggis caught her eye and twisted her lips in a half smile. Mr Gordon opened the door and gestured to Madison to lead the way.

Once in his office, he pointed to a chair and she dropped herself into it. A loud whump of air rushed out of the seat pad. Madison re-crossed her arms and began chewing her fingernails. Mr Gordon sat behind his desk.

‘She’s lying,’ Madison began. ‘I never said …’

Mr Gordon held up his hand to silence her.

‘Madison, I’m sorry but you’ve been warned about this type of thing twice already this term. I’m seeing persistent disruptive behaviour from you.’ He slowly shook his head. ‘I’ve got no other option … I’m going to have to exclude you from school for one week.’

‘What?’ She couldn’t believe it. How had this happened? How had it gone from one of Haggis’ boring lectures, to her getting slapped and then suspended? She daren’t risk telling the truth; her brother couldn’t take going back to that place. Trevor was going to freak.

‘I’ll also be speaking to your foster parents.’

‘But I never threatened her. I just …’

‘Stop, Madison. You’ve been in my office too many times and I’m not putting up with it anymore. You’re lucky I don’t get the police involved. Threatening a teacher with violence is a serious offence.’

‘I didn’t threaten her though. She’s such a liar ... Oh what’s the point.’ She clenched her fist in frustration. ‘No one ever believes me anyway.’ Her cheek stung.

‘Right.’ Mr Gordon picked up a blue folder and flipped through its pages. ‘You can stay in classroom 4B until the end of school. You needn’t return until your week’s suspension is up.’

‘Great,’ she replied, standing up, raising her middle finger and slamming out of his office.

Madison didn’t bother going into classroom 4B and she couldn‘t face going home yet. Leaving the school grounds, she strode across to the nearby park and sat on the only non-vandalised swing. Over by the hedge, a small cluster of Year Nines were bunking off and sharing a bottle of cider.

She swung her bare legs backwards and forwards on the swing, its rusty chain, thirsty for a few squirts of oil. As she swung higher and higher, anger took hold. She gritted her teeth at the injustice of it all, thoughts flying through her head, things she should have said, should’ve done, an acidic feeling rising.

Not a breath of wind stirred, only the stale breeze she generated on the swing. After a while, her thoughts blurred and she tried to shake off a feeling of dread. Putting her feet down on the concrete to slow herself, she pulled out her mobile phone to check the time. Ten past three, school would be finishing soon.

She’d been at Collingstone Comprehensive for the past three years and had settled in pretty well, managing to hover somewhere between the cool kids and the troublemakers. Now, as she headed back to the school, she glared at its green iron gates and faded red bricks, as if it was somehow the building’s fault she was in trouble.

The bell shrilled, making her jump, and there was a minute of silence before doors banged open and hundreds of pupils spilled out in a mess of movement and noise. As she waited, Maddy felt distanced from it all, cut off, adrift.

*

‘Ugghhh! I could scream.’ It was a relief to finally talk to Keisha and Lois. ‘Haggis lied to Mr Gordon’s face. She actually lied.’

‘Oh, Mads, I’d have gone mental.’ Lois scowled.

‘What did you do?’ Keisha asked.

‘Nothing I could do. Just gave him the finger and walked out of his office.’

‘Good. That’s all they deserve. You should’ve texted us, we’d have bunked Geography.’

‘Thanks, but I was so wound up, I wasn’t thinking right.’

‘One whole week though, Mads,’ Lois said. ‘At least it’s summer, you can get yourself a good tan, girl.’

‘Yeah right, Lois. You know our Maddy girl don’t tan, she just gets a million freckles and burns up like a red hot chilli pepper.’

‘Thanks for that, Keisha. You’re supposed to be cheering me up, not taking the piss.’

‘Sorry, babe, just trying to take your mind off it, you know.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ Maddy smiled at her friends. She’d told her friends some of what happened, but hadn’t dared tell them about Haggis hitting her. If any gossip reached the staffroom, Haggis could make trouble for her and Ben. She couldn’t risk it. Then she spotted him up ahead. ‘Hey, Ben! Wait up!’

She jogged down the road after a group of gangly Year Sevens. Ben was among them. She‘d missed him at the gates. Putting her arm around his neck, she pulled him into a bear hug, ruffling his dark brown hair and kissing the top of his head. His school uniform was about two sizes too big and swamped his narrow frame.

‘Get off,’ he grinned.

‘Hey, Ben, your sister’s well fit,’ said one of his friends. ‘Can you give me some of that good loving too, Madison?’

‘Yeah, Maddy, you know we want some.’

Maddy smiled and pulled her brother to one side, letting them all walk on ahead, still shouting and catcalling back to her. She told him a watered-down version of what had happened.

‘Oh no, Mads. Trevor’s gonna go mad.’ Ben frowned and chewed on the corner of his thumb.

‘Don’t worry about him, Ben. I’m not.’

Maddy wasn’t looking forward to telling their foster father about her suspension from school and realised she didn’t want Ben to be around when she broke the news in case there was a scene.

‘Here’s a couple of quid, why don’t you go to the park with your mates for a bit. Come back around half five.’ She shook out the meagre contents of her purse and gave it to her brother.

‘But I’ve got a project to finish for tomorrow ...’

‘I’ll help you with it after tea. We’ll get it done no problem. Go on, I’ll see you later.’

‘Okay then.’ He said and shouted after his mates, ‘Oi, wait a minute.’

Madison watched as he ran after them, trailing his schoolbag along the pavement. Her friends finally caught her up.

‘Ben’s such a sweetheart,’ Keisha said. ‘I wish my brother was more like that.’

Maddy tried to kid herself nothing bad would happen. Here she was walking normally with her friends. Things would be fine. She tried to banish her foster parents from her mind. Tried to stop worrying about the power they had over her and Ben’s lives.

‘I gotta tell Trevor about my suspension before Gordon calls him,’ Maddy said, her low, husky voice even quieter than normal. She kicked a Coke can and sent it reeling into the road.

‘Come to my house tonight, then you won’t have to tell him nothing,’ Lois offered.

‘Yeah, but then I’d still have to see him tomorrow.’ She sat on a wall and the others stopped walking.

‘Just tell him yeah? He’ll shout at you and then it’ll be fine.’

‘Yeah.’ Maddy wasn’t convinced. Why had she spoken back to Haggis? She should’ve just kept quiet and said sorry. But, as always, her mouth took over. She’d be leaving school soon anyway and thought the most she’d get would be a detention and a bit more kudos with her mates. How could she have known Haggis would be such a total bitch?

Maddy was always on edge - terrified Trevor and Angie would get rid of her if she was too much trouble and then she’d be on her own, away from her brother. It always lay there – a cancerous worry in the pit of her stomach, a simmering fear of separation.

‘Right, I’m just gonna go home and tell him. Maybe Angie’ll be there and it won’t be as bad.’

‘If it all kicks off, come round mine okay?’ Lois repeated her offer.

‘Thanks.’ Maddy hugged her friends goodbye and turned left down the High Street.

Bangra music blared out of a cut-price clothes shop, a young couple swore at each other outside the ABC taxi firm and Dixons had another sale on, advertising cheap laptops and £100 off 32’ plasma screens. A few kids from school sat at a table outside Ali’s Caf, their bags strewn over the narrow, dusty pavement.

‘Oi, Greene!’ one of them called out. ‘Heard you flipped Gordon the finger. Nice one!’

She looked up as she walked past and vaguely recognised some lads in the year below. She raised her eyebrows in acknowledgement and walked on. Maddy waited at the lights next to a harassed woman trying to keep hold of a squirming toddler’s hand. When the green man appeared, the woman dragged her stumbling child across the road. The heavy, humid air pulsed like peppery treacle and Maddy was aware of a throbbing pain in her temples. She hoped it wouldn’t turn into a migraine.

Please let Angie be home, please let Angie be home, please let Angie be home. She chanted in her head as she headed up the weed-filled path to the small terraced house she called home. She held her breath and turned the key.

‘That you, Ben?’ Trevor’s voice came from the small kitchen at the back of the house.

‘No, it’s me. Ben’s gone to the park.’ Maddy pushed open the kitchen door. Trevor was making a cup of tea. It didn’t look like he’d been drinking, which was a relief at least.

‘Want one?’ He gestured to the kettle.

‘Yeah, go on then.’

Trevor used to work as a black cab driver, but there had been an incident involving drinking and driving. Nothing had been proved, but he’d lost his job all the same and he hadn’t managed to find another one.

‘Good day?’

‘Mmm.’ Maddy’s heart beat fast.

‘Very informative, Maddy.’

She took a breath. ‘Tre-vor.’

‘Ye-es.’

‘I’ve got some news, but it wasn’t my fault.’

‘It never is, Maddy. Spill.’

‘Well, I’ve been suspended, but Haggis, I mean Miss McKinley lied to Mr Gordon. She said I threatened to smack her in the face, but I …’

‘Jesus Christ, Maddy! Can’t we have one sodding term where there isn’t some drama or another?’

‘But, it wasn’t my f ...’

‘It wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t your fault. You’re like a broken record. I do not know why me and Angie put up with this crap.’

He towered over Maddy, who scowled back at him. A familiar bitterness settled somewhere between her throat and her chest. The reminder she was on her own, that nothing was secure. If it had been just her it would’ve been okay, she could have told them all to piss off and done her own thing. But Ben needed her and she couldn’t let him down. Trevor’s face darkened and globs of spit shot out of his mouth, landing on her cheeks.

‘Why can’t you be like your brother? He hasn’t ever given us one second of trouble, but you! You’re just a disaster area, you’re a nightmare. Angie’s gonna be destroyed over this. We’ll have the social services cross-examining us again. It’s just hassle, hassle, hassle, all the time.’ He pushed back his thinning hair. ‘Madison, this is just about the last straw.’

Maddy dropped her defiant stance. ‘I’m sorry, Trevor. Don’t split us up, please. Ben’ll be no good without me. You know what he was like when he first came ...’

‘All I know is you’re trouble and you’re too smart for your own good. You never know when to button your lip. If it’s not school, it’s boys, or fights or some bloody thing or other. I’m getting too old for it and you should’ve thought of Ben before you started threatening to smack a teacher in the face.’

‘But I didn’t …’

‘I’m home!’ Trevor and Madison both looked up to see Angie walk through the kitchen door, sunlight shining on a halo of dyed auburn frizzy hair.

She looked at their faces. ‘What’s going on?’

Maddy started to explain, but Trevor interrupted.

‘Madison’s got herself suspended from school and I’m thinking of adding ‘homeless’ to that description.’

‘Oh, Maddy, what’ve you done now?’

‘Get upstairs, while I talk to Angie.’ Trevor growled at her. Madison tramped up the narrow staircase. He hadn’t said he would definitely kick her out. There was still some hope. She lingered at the top of the stairs and strained her ears. Their voices were muffled, but Trevor soon turned the volume up.

‘I am not having her hanging around the house all day, every day while she’s suspended. And if she goes out she’s gonna get into even more trouble. We should never have taken her on in the first place.’

‘Don’t say that, Trevor. She’s had a rough time.’

‘We’ve all had a rough time. Don’t look at me like that. I’ve made up my mind.’

‘Ben’ll be distraught. He worships his sister.’

‘Ben’ll be fine. Maddy, get your arse down here now!’

‘Please calm down, Trevor. Drink your tea.’

‘Tea ain’t gonna do anything. Pass me the bottle.’

Maddy came back into the kitchen to see her foster dad flinging the steaming contents of his mug into the sink and pouring himself a slosh of whisky. The room felt like a hot stale mouth. Hope curdled to sour anger. That familiar surge of helplessness overtook her, the dread she’d hoped not to feel again for a long time. Angie put a reassuring hand on Maddy’s shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. Maddy flinched and shook it off.

‘You, my girl, are really winding me up.’ Trevor jabbed a thick finger towards her.

‘I’m not your girl,’ Maddy muttered under her breath.

‘What’s that?’

‘I said I’m not your girl.’

‘Oh.’ Trevor raised his eyebrows at Angie. ‘She says she’s not my girl.’ He looked back at Maddy. ‘Well whose girl are you then? Because I don’t see anyone else rushing round to claim you.’

‘Trevor, that’s enough. And we don’t need any more cheek from you either, young lady. I’ve just got in from work and all I want to do is put my feet up with a cup of tea, but instead I walk into World War Three. Come on now, both of you just calm down.’

‘I’m going out,’ Maddy stormed into the narrow hallway.

‘No you are not going out. Come back here. We haven’t finished talking yet!’ Trevor was yelling now.

‘I’ll see you later,’ and then she muttered, ‘or not.’

‘You walk out of that door and that’s it, Maddy. I’m warning you!’ Trevor lunged forward and grabbed her arm.

‘Get off me!’ Maddy shook him off and slammed out of the house.

She didn’t know what to do. She felt shut down. Something tightened and closed inside her. She didn’t want to talk about this with her friends; it was too scary and exhausting to say the words out loud. Words like homeless and separation or care home. Maddy worried about Ben and what he would think when he got back and found her gone. She’d promised to help him with his project, but now he’d have to finish it by himself.

After walking for a while, she found herself back on the busy High Street. The noise, dirt and heat, added to her feelings of turbulence and fear. Familiar surroundings seemed alien. Maddy craved peace, calm and normality, but she didn’t know where to go. The park would be packed with kids by now and she couldn’t face talking to anyone she knew, besides, Ben might still be there. Walking for about ten minutes, she negotiated her way past A boards, pushchairs and groups of ambling school kids who took up the whole pavement. Then, across the road, she saw an elderly woman shuffle out of a red brick building. Set back from the street, beyond a small neat garden, it squatted securely in the shade of some leafy trees. It looked like a public building, maybe a small drop-in centre or something, but as Maddy approached she saw it was a library.

Crossing the busy road, she headed up the ramp and passed the old woman, still inching her way down towards the road, gripping the rusting railings for support.

Maddy walked in, slightly reassured by its solidity and musty old scent, the air blissfully quiet and cool. She looked around and headed to the least busy section. Her eyes roamed across the book spines, not really concentrating as she didn‘t know what she was searching for. Then she recognised a familiar title and prised out a tatty copy of Jonathan Livingston Seagull. She loved that book.

She spied a vacant chair and table at the end of the aisle, sat down and looked at the blue and white cover. Wouldn’t she love to be a seagull. She’d make the most of that freedom, savour it, hovering, swooping, gliding, diving. She inhaled the book. It calmed her and she turned to the first page. Black thoughts receded as she unfocused her eyes across the blur of words.

Just as her breathing steadied, a voice made her start. She looked up and saw a man. He was telling her the library would be closing in five minutes time. The anger returned. She glared at the man and scraped her chair back. He smiled apologetically and backed away. Where could she go now? Not being a member of the library, she couldn’t even check the book out with her. She looked left and right, made sure no one was looking and wedged the thin volume down the back of her skirt, pulling her school shirt over the top.

Maddy made a swift exit, back out into the humid unfriendly evening, starving and thirsty as she’d had nothing to eat since lunchtime. Her bag was back at the house, but anyway she’d given her last two pounds to Ben. She located a cough sweet in the front pocket of her skirt which had half melted to its wrapper. Using a blue varnished nail, Maddy spent a couple of minutes peeling the bits of paper off it and finally plopped the sticky cube into her mouth. It tasted pretty disgusting but it was better than nothing.

Shania Lewis was having a party later, which probably wouldn’t get going till at least nine - more than three hours away. She’d left her mobile in her bag at home, but anyway, it had no credit and the battery was almost dead.

All she could do for now, was just keep walking.

*

The party was already spilling out into the street when Madison arrived. She pushed her way inside and nodded to a few people. In the kitchen, the sight of a bowl of Hula Hoops induced a feeling of euphoria and she crammed a handful into her mouth. Then she spotted the fridge, leant down and hooked out a cold can of beer. As she straightened up, she felt two hands snake around her waist.

‘What the ...’ She whipped around ready to spew some vitriol, but saw the hands belonged to a boy she’d seen around. The arrogant one with the sardonic smile.

Fifteen minutes later, they were staggering up the stairs, kissing and laughing. His dark stubble scratched her chin and his warm smell made her light headed and reckless.

The boy pushed open a door and pulled her over onto an unmade double bed. The insistent bass line from downstairs helped mute her feelings. As their kisses grew deeper, she forgot about the fact she might not have a home, she forgot about her suspension from school, she forgot who she was, why she was here and why she cared about any of it. She just concentrated on the hot shivers in the depths of her body and the comforting feeling of being held, of being wanted.

Madison didn’t particularly care about him, it was just convenient he looked fit, seemed to be into her and happened to be a pretty good kisser. He started to undo the buttons on her shirt. So far, she’d done a good job of keeping her clothes on, but his hands were stronger than hers.

She wished he’d stay happy with the long deep kisses, but knew how likely that wasn’t, and his groping began to annoy her. Grabbing his hand more forcefully, she pushed it away.

‘Come on, Maddy.’

‘No.’

‘It feels good though doesn’t it? Just chill a bit.’

‘I said no. Don’t spoil it.’

His hands wandered down past the back of her skirt and found the stolen library book.

‘What’s this?’ He pulled it out and squinted in the darkened room. ‘What you reading this for? Seagulls?’ He tossed it on the floor and started to kiss her again.

‘No, pass that back. I’m gonna go downstairs, I need a drink.’

‘We’ll get a drink later, come on.’ He tugged at her skirt.

‘No, get off!’ She sat up and shoved him away. ‘Where’s my book?’

‘God, girl, it’s just a frigging book! What is your problem? You some kind of geek or something?’

Maddy jumped off the bed and scrabbled around on the floor until she found the book, wedged it back down her skirt and slammed out of the door.

‘Freak!’ the boy shouted after her.

She stumbled past the smokers on the stairs and the sweaty crowd of kids in the hall and shakily made her way outside. The police had just pulled up. They were early, didn’t usually show up at parties until at least eleven. It had been raining - a short sharp thunderstorm and the air smelt burnt and damp.

Maddy walked blurrily down the road in no particular direction until her legs grew tired and she sat down on the wet, grey kerb, with her feet in the gutter. Dirty rainwater swirled around her boots, but she didn’t care. This isn’t my life, she thought. I’ve seen real life on the telly, and I’ve read about it in books and it’s not like this. This is a mistake; my life is a great big mistake. It’s not supposed to be like this.

Chapter Two

Paris 1881

*

They were all furious with Alexandre. It was ridiculous. He had only escorted her outside onto the terrace for some air. Well … there was the small matter of the kiss. One tiny innocent kiss. But then, he supposed there was no such thing as an innocent kiss.

At this moment he wished he had never set eyes on the girl. She had looked up at him from under her lashes, instantly seducing him with her china blue eyes. And now there was an almighty furore. It was the revolution all over again, with both families baying for his blood.

*

The evening had started out well enough. Their carriage had drawn up outside the neo-classical stone building set on its wide tree-lined Paris avenue. Hurrying out of the chill February air and shrugging off their coats, the Chevalier family had made their way into the great ballroom.

The room murmured with the convivial buzz of chatter and soft laughter. Crystal chandeliers glittered and sparkled above walls hung with gleaming mirrors, reflecting the glamorous guests. Men, slick and groomed in black and white. Women, shining like multi-coloured birds, evening gowns cascading over bustles, in swirls, frills, ruffles and ribbons.

Alexandre knew he looked dashing and, when he finally made his entrance, he sensed admiring eyes on him. He and his family were immediately presented to their hosts, the Bouviers.

The Bouvier sisters were all remarkably ugly, with the exception of the youngest who had taken all the good genes and arranged them into a delightful mix of blonde ringlets, tiny nose and rosebud lips. Alexandre carefully observed etiquette to show them all the same courteous attention.

‘And this is our youngest, Lily.’ Monsieur Bouvier introduced her with an indulgent tone.

The elder sisters’ expressions soured, jealousy abounding. It was a good thing Bouvier was wealthy, else his horse-faced daughters would be destined to board the fast coach to spinsterhood.

Monsieur Bouvier turned to Alexandre’s Papa. ‘So, you and your good lady wife are soon away to Turkey to discover its hidden treasures. I am most curious to discover what you shall discover.’ Monsieur Bouvier was backing Papa in his archaeological career.

‘God willing, we shall find something of note there. It does sound promising by all accounts.’

‘Good. Come, come, let’s find you a place to sit.’

The Chevaliers followed their host into the throng, where he found them seats next to the draughty French windows.

Alexandre danced with one of Lily’s sisters first. Unfailingly charming, he made perfect small talk and put the awkward girl at her ease whilst trying to avoid having his shiny pointed shoes stamped on. A waltz followed and then a polka and finally he was to dance with Lily.

She took his arm confidently and he felt her mother’s eyes boring holes into his back. Alexandre led her onto the dance floor and turned his gaze on her, taking in her pretty features and perfect form. She put her hand on top of his and spoke in a high, childish voice.

‘You must say something interesting, Monsieur, or I shall be forced to replace your name on my dance card with someone more convivial.’

‘Then I shall tell you how I have been so bored by my other partners, I was compelled to glance over their shoulders just to get a glimpse of you.’

‘Such cheek! I am sure those ladies must have found you most rude.’

‘Not at all, Mademoiselle. I did not let them see me looking over their shoulders. I was very discreet.’

She giggled. ‘You have a roguish streak. I think this must be why my mother is glaring at us.’

‘I thought that was her natural facial expression. A glare for me you say? But it is the only expression I have ever seen her wear.’

‘That is my mother you are talking about! And it is the only expression you have seen her wear because it is reserved for you alone. I fear she may be right about you, Monsieur.’

‘I fear it too. There is then, no hope for me. Alas, what am I to do?’

They flirted with one another until their dance ended and they were obliged to dance with other, less interesting partners. After a few more waltzes and cotillions, there was a break in the proceedings and the guests retired to the adjacent supper room for refreshments.

Soon, however, the guests were back on the dance floor and once again Alexandre danced with Lily. They continued with their spirited banter until, disappointingly, their dance ended.

‘Monsieur Chevalier,’ Lily said, putting her hand to her forehead. ‘I do feel terribly faint all of a sudden. It must be the heat. Would you mind escorting me out on to the terrace before I fall?’

Concerned, Alexandre glanced around and saw Madame Bouvier busy conversing with another guest.

‘Wait, Come and sit. I shall fetch your mother to see to you.’

‘No, please do not. I fear she will give me even more of a headache. No, I just wish a few moments in the fresh air, in your company.’

‘Very well.’ Alexandre took her arm and led her towards the nearest of the French windows. He opened the latch and they stepped out through the thick lace curtains onto a terrace which looked down upon a perfectly square lawn. He closed the door behind him, muffling the sound of music and chatter.

The cold air refreshed Alexandre and his eyes welcomed the gloom, after the twinkling brightness of the ballroom.

‘Oh, I feel better already. It is too stuffy inside, do you not agree, Monsieur?’ Lily hugged herself briefly and put her tiny kid-gloved hand on his.

‘Mademoiselle.’ Alexandre was surprised at her forwardness and began to worry someone may have seen them go outside alone.

Lily turned to look at him and tilted her face up so he could feel her soft breath on his face. Her closeness made him lose his rationality. Before he could stop himself, he had leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her rosebud lips.

‘Here they are!’ a woman’s voice neighed triumphantly as the curtains were drawn back and the doors flung open. Two of the Bouvier sisters appeared.

Alexandre pulled back from Lily immediately, but knew it was already too late to deny anything. Some of the other guests glanced in their direction and his heart sank. This was trouble he could do without.

Madame Bouvier spotted them. She instantly coloured, walked outside and closed the curtains to shield the scandal from shocked eyes. She glared at her other two daughters, strode up to Alexandre and hissed at him, ‘I believe it is time for you and your family to leave, Sir.’

‘Of course, Madame.’

‘You, young lady ...’ Madame Bouvier said, grabbing Lily by the arm, ‘… are without shame.’

Lily’s sisters stood by the window, smirking behind their hands and Alexandre walked back inside, trying to keep his face averted. His father was going to be furious.

The dance continued despite the drama, but as The Chevaliers left the room, whispers and speculation followed close behind. Alexandre knew the details would become more scandalous and exaggerated with each retelling.

*

‘It really is too bad, Alexandre,’ his younger sister, Isobel, said once they were back in the carriage and heading home a full hour earlier than anticipated. ‘It is only just the beginning of the season. My very first ball. And you have completely ruined it and ruined me! I shall be a laughing stock. My reputation is tarnished before it is made.’

Jacques gave Alexandre a quick grin and was swiftly and uncharacteristically slapped by his mother. Jacques instantly wiped the grin away and looked down into his lap.

‘Is this really the kind of behaviour you want to teach your younger brother, Alexandre? You are supposed to be his role model. We have all been embarrassed.’ Maman looked as though she would burst into tears.

His father had been sitting quietly with a face like thunder. Suddenly he roared, ‘Quiet, everybody! We shall discuss this tomorrow. I do not wish to hear another word this evening.’

The remainder of the journey was completed in uncomfortable silence.

*

The following morning, Alexandre looked up with a start as his father entered the dining room. He saw no humour in Papa’s face so he lowered his head. For the first time ever, the family ate breakfast in silence. Alexandre chewed his food without tasting a thing.

‘Right,’ Papa said, once the plates had been cleared. ‘Isobel, Jacques, you may leave the table. Your mother and I have something to discuss with your brother.’

The twins rose and hastily exited the room. His father turned to him.

‘I just cannot believe you would put me and Maman in this situation. I am dismayed by your behaviour.’

‘He is just young, Didier. I am sure he has learned his lesson now ...’

Alexandre was grateful to his mother for trying.

‘No. This boy has had things far too easy his whole life. He does not realise how his little pleasures impact upon all of our lives.’ He turned back to Alexandre. ‘You cannot carry on like this. Your sister was right when she spoke to you in the carriage last night. Your actions reflect badly on her and Jacques. You are not a child anymore. You are an eighteen-year-old man and I know what that is like. But you must have more care and if you cannot take care, for God’s sake, at least be discreet.’

‘I am sorry, Papa.’ Alexandre hung his head. He knew how to be repentant and appease his father. It did not do to argue - that would get him nowhere. ‘I regret my foolish actions and …’

‘Yes, you say sorry Papa and you regret this and that, but then you carry on and do whatever you like. It is not good enough! You need to think. You have a brain don’t you? Use it. These people, they are a powerful family and we may mock their ways but now it is my career at stake. Do you understand?’

Alexandre looked down at his shoes. No, he didn’t understand. How could his father’s career be at stake?

‘Son, it pains me to say it, but Monsieur Bouvier is more-or-less my employer. If we offend him, I lose my funding and my income. We lose ... everything.’ His father sighed. ‘Do you understand now?’

‘Your employer? I did not think you were employed by anybody. I thought you were your own man.’

‘In a way I am. But, I do not have the wealth to do as I please. Our family is reliant on the patronage of the rich. It is not a thing I care to advertise and it is not something I wished you to know. But now, because of your actions, you need to know our precarious situation.’

Alexandre suddenly had the shock realisation his family weren’t exactly who he thought they were. They were not the carefree members of the wealthy upper classes who could travel through life without a thought for anything.

‘But our house … everything we do speaks of money.’

‘Yes, the house is ours and we are fortunate that we have enough. But ‘enough’ is not an endless supply.’

With a sickening lurch in his stomach, Alexandre understood things were not as they seemed and his selfish actions really may have had serious consequences for his family. He had known going out on to the terrace unaccompanied with Lily Bouvier was against the rules, and the kiss was completely unacceptable. But he had not anticipated that to break these rules could mean his father’s career might suffer and, in turn, his whole family’s fortunes. He hung his head again, but this time it was with real shame.

‘Papa, I did not realise and I will never do anything like this again. I am ashamed ... I will make it up to you.’

‘Pah!’ his father replied. ‘You are too handsome for your own good.’ He turned back to Maman. ‘This boy’s good looks are from your side of the family. It is entirely your fault we have this problem.’

Alexandre and his mother both chanced a wary smile. Papa’s anger was always short-lived; he could never be cross with any of his family for too long. He loved them all too much.

*

On Monday morning, Alexandre paced around the drawing room, imagining the worst. Cold spring rain splattered against the windows and gusting wind rattled the misted panes.

‘For goodness sake, Alexandre. Do sit down. We shall hear back soon enough,’ his mother snapped.

Papa was currently visiting the offices of Monsieur Bouvier to apologise for his son’s behaviour. Alexandre was terribly worried. Would Papa lose his funding? Would Monsieur Bouvier expect Alexandre to be given a serious punishment?

His parents had thought it best if Alexandre did not accompany his father. They said the mere sight of his handsome face could further provoke high feelings and that was the last thing they wanted.

A few hours later, and several hundred more circuits around the drawing room, Alexandre took a deep breath as he heard the front door slam.

The door to the drawing room flew open and his father strode in, removing his hat and coat and tossing them onto a side table. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes glittered.

‘Goodness, it is foul weather out there. Blowing a gale. Where are the others? Can you call them in, Marie?’

Alexandre’s mother swept out of the room, gathering up her husband’s hat and coat on the way. Alexandre couldn’t work out what sort of mood his father was in. He appeared agitated, but not entirely angry. He ignored his eldest son and stood looking out of the window, his hands clasped behind his back.

Moments later, Marie-Louise returned, the twins following her into the drawing room with expectant expressions. Jacques raised a quizzical eyebrow at his brother. Alexandre shrugged in reply.

‘Well, Didier?’ Marie-Louise asked. ‘Are you going to put this boy out of his misery and tell him what his punishment is to be?’

‘Lily Bouvier is to be engaged!’ Didier announced.

Alexandre felt his stomach sink down to his boots.

‘I am to … to … marry?’

‘Ha ha!’ Didier roared with laughter. ‘Not you! You, marry? Ha! You can barely take care of yourself.’

Alexandre’s stomach inched back up to where it should’ve been. His mother gave a half-smile, half-frown in his father’s direction.

‘No, no. No marriage for you just yet,’ his father continued. ‘But, Lily is to be wed and Monsieur Bouvier is worried your little scandal has the potential to damage his daughter’s reputation.’

Alexandre realised his punishment would be harsh. He had kissed someone else’s fiancée. He lowered his eyes and waited for his father’s pronouncement.

‘Monsieur Bouvier has decided the only course of action is for you to accompany us to Turkey on the dig. If we are all out of the country, the gossip may eventually die down.’

Alexandre thought he had heard wrong.

‘Well? Have you nothing to say?’ The corners of Papa’s mouth curled upwards.

‘Is this true?’ Alexandre could not believe it. ‘I am to come with you?’

‘That’s not fair …’ Jacques began.

‘Not just you, Alexandre,’ Papa said. ‘We are all to go. All five of us.’

‘But this is amazing!’ Jacques almost leapt around the room.

‘No!’ Isobel exclaimed. ‘I do not wish to go!’

‘Incredible,’ Maman said, ignoring her daughter’s distress for the moment. ‘He is funding the whole family?’ Her dawning smile encompassed them all.

‘Yes!’ Papa also allowed his smile to break through.

Alexandre had been fully prepared to knuckle down and spend a gloomy year at his books and yet instead he was now to accompany his parents across the ocean to Turkey, to adventure and excitement. What excellent fortune.

‘I shall miss the whole season! I shall miss my friends and everyone will be talking about us, saying we have been sent away like criminals.’ Isobel all but stamped her foot. ‘Alexandre, this is your doing.’

‘I am sorry for your disappointment, Isobel, but come now, do you not think we shall all have such fun travelling together?’ Alexandre replied, his eyes alight as the reality sank in.

‘Belle! How can you not want to go?’ Jacques asked. ‘You are so boring.’

‘Jacques,’ his mother reprimanded. ‘Do not be rude to your sister. She has different priorities to you and it is a lot for her to take in.’

She turned to Isobel who sat down heavily at the piano, looking most upset. ‘Isobel, my child, do not distress yourself. What Papa omitted to say, is that we shall be travelling First Class and there will be wonderful parties aboard our steamship. Think of the glamorous stories you shall tell your friends when we return.’

‘Well, that is something I suppose. But, Maman, will I not need some new gowns if we are to travel First Class?’

‘This one does not miss a trick,’ Papa said. ‘Very well. New gowns for Isobel and, to be fair, new gowns for Maman.’

‘Oh, Papa, I love you!’ Isobel jumped up from the piano stool, ran across the room and threw her arms around her father.

‘Oh you’re such a girl, Isobel,’ Jacques said. ‘Who cares about dresses and dances when we shall be travelling on the ocean and visiting foreign shores? It will be wonderful.’

Later that night, as Alexandre lay in bed unable to sleep, he thought about his sudden good fortune. Thank you Lily. That kiss has changed the course of my life. After years of begging to come and being denied the opportunity, he could now accompany his parents on one of their infamous digs.

It was uncanny that he had landed himself in such trouble, and yet from it had come something so unexpected and wonderful. Turkey! What was it like? What would the people be like? The women? No ... better not go down that avenue too soon, or his parents would ship him straight back to Paris.

Maybe his life would now take on some meaningful direction and he could find something he really wanted to do. At present he was studying Engineering at the Académie Camillo. But it wasn’t his passion, just a subject he was good at and at this moment he felt nothing but enormous relief that he could escape it. In his heart, he hoped another opportunity would present itself and he would never have to resume his dull studies.

How would he ever fall asleep tonight? Too many things danced through his mind. The journey overland would be long and arduous, possibly even dangerous and he would have to be armed. It was almost too exciting to contemplate.

The departure date had been brought forward and their tickets now bore the date March 12th 1881, only two weeks from now. Hardly any time at all to get properly prepared for a nine-month expedition in a strange land.

Chapter Three

*

Madison and her foster parents reached a kind of compromise, a way to keep the peace and try to get back to normal. Angie arranged for Maddy to spend her week’s suspension from school, working with her in the supermarket.

It meant Maddy could keep out of Trevor’s way, stay out of trouble and, at the same time, contribute to the dwindling household income. Angie was happy with the arrangement, Madison less so and Ben was relieved Maddy wouldn’t be sent away. Trevor hadn’t made his feelings known; he’d just grunted.

Madison had been stacking shelves, sweeping floors, cleaning toilets and flattening cardboard boxes for a couple of days now. She and Angie were on the eight-till-four shift, with forty five minutes for lunch. Each day was long and monotonous and Madison was bored out of her skull.

Nobody interesting or good looking worked there and she was mortified every time anyone from school came in, mainly because she had to wear a blouse and skirt so revolting they induced violent feelings of nausea. To complete this humiliating ensemble, was a blue nylon overall which generated so much static, she renamed herself Electro-Girl, whose only superpower was to give off shocks barely strong enough to irritate a wasp.

Maddy knew her foster mum enjoyed having her there. They had their tea breaks and lunch together and Angie kept trying to initiate cosy chats, trying to draw her into all the work gossip. But Maddy wasn’t interested in the faulty till on checkout number three or how bad the manager’s new hairpiece looked.

Home life wasn’t much better, with Trevor ignoring her and Ben constantly asking if she was okay. Each evening, when she got home from the supermarket, there was a shed load of schoolwork waiting. She was fed up and exhausted. Nothing felt good. To top it all off, tomorrow was her sixteenth birthday and she had nothing planned. She didn’t even know if anyone would remember.

The following morning dawned grey and bland. A nothingy day – damp and dull. But when Madison came down to breakfast, she saw two wrapped presents on the table.

‘Happy birthday, love,’ Angie smiled and kissed her cheek. ‘Your brother reminded us. What with all that’s been going on, we almost forgot. Sweet sixteen and never been kissed.’

‘Hmphh.’

‘Trevor! Don’t be such a misery guts. It’s the girl’s birthday. You don’t turn sixteen every day.’

‘Happy Birthday,’ he finally said. ‘Well, don’t just stand there, sit down and have some breakfast. Angie’s done us a fry up.’

Ben flew into the kitchen. ‘Happy Birthday, Mads! I got you a present.’ He handed her a small, badly wrapped parcel.

‘Oh, Ben, you didn’t have to! Thanks.’

‘Open it then.’

‘Give us a chance.’ She tore at the wrapping, secured with yards and yards of sellotape. ‘God, Ben, did you use the whole roll?’ She finally managed to prise the gift free of its bonds and out of a small squashed cardboard box fell a silver bracelet with a single charm attached. It was a small bird with its wings outstretched.

‘It’s not real silver or anything, but I’ve seen you with that seagull book all the time and the charm looks a bit like a seagull, so I thought you might like it.’

‘Ben, I love it. It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever bought me. You are such a great brother. But you shouldn’t’ve spent your money on me.’ She stood up and flung her arms around him, kissing his cheek till he pushed her away.

‘Alright, Maddy, it’s not that great.’

‘Yes it is. I’m going to put it on and I’ll wear it every day, forever.’

‘Aaah, Ben,’ Angie said. ‘You’re such a thoughtful boy. You’ll make someone a lovely husband one day.’

Ben blushed and sat down at the table.

‘Are we eating or what?’ Trevor said. ‘I mean it’s lovely and all that, but our breakfast’s getting cold.’

‘I’ll dish up,’ Angie said. ‘Sit back down, Maddy. You can open the rest of your presents after brekkie.’

Maddy still had to go to work, even on her birthday, but she hadn’t expected anything otherwise. She opened Angie and Trevor’s presents which turned out to be some fairly awful perfume and a box of chocolates.

‘Sorry it’s nothing more exciting, love, but you know we’re a bit strapped at the moment. We’ll get you something better when Trevor’s back at work again.’

‘No, no it’s nice of you to have got me anything. Thank you.’

She knew everyone had been making a real effort, but she just felt really down. On her birthday, she always ended up thinking of her mum and what it might have been like if she hadn’t died. She couldn’t even remember their father. He’d done a runner when she was only three, when her mum had got pregnant with Ben.

Her mum had died from a brain haemorrhage when Maddy was eight and Ben only four. They had no other relatives and her dad had been untraceable, and so began their journey through the care system - a catalogue of misery and instability.

For years she’d refused to believe her mum was really dead. Madison hadn’t actually seen the body or even attended the funeral, so she’d convinced herself there’d been a mix up at the hospital. Like most of the children she’d met in care, Maddy harboured a secret hope her mother would eventually come to claim her, but it had never happened. As Madison grew up and toughened up, she realised she’d been clinging to a stupid fairytale dream. Her mother wasn’t any more real than Father Christmas or the Tooth Fairy.

She had to accept this was her life and it was up to her to keep the two of them safe. So she had badgered and bullied her support worker for months and months until the wheels of bureaucracy finally started turning in the right direction. Not until Ben and Madison were placed together at the Johnsons, did things start to get a bit better. But Maddy still couldn’t let herself fully trust anyone, nor could she shake the constant insecurity that gnawed in her guts.

Later that day, after her lunch break, Maddy was given the exciting task of restocking tinned soups. But she didn’t mind. She actually found the job quite soothing and monotonous. Madison allowed herself to concentrate on the labels without thinking about anything else: pea and ham, carrot and coriander, chicken noodle, tomato, the list went on. It irritated her when a customer came to buy from the section she was working on - she’d be forced to stop and move out of the way, breaking her calm concentration.

Now, out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the cashiers giving directions to a customer - a tall man in a dark grey suit. The man was heading her way. She hadn’t quite finished restocking country vegetable, when he approached and asked her something.

‘What?’

‘Are you Madison Greene?’ he repeated

She looked the man up and down. He looked to be somewhere over thirty, but not as old as fifty. As far as she was concerned, anyone over the age of twenty was ‘old’. He looked like he had a good job, not the usual class of customer they got in here. Maybe he’d come from school, something to do with her suspension. He didn’t look like anyone from social services - he was far too well dressed and smelt of something expensive. Madison prided herself on being able to spot a social worker at fifty paces.

‘Who wants to know?’ she asked.

‘My name is Robert Vasey-Smith and I represent a firm of solicitors called Hamilton Blythe.’ He had a strong voice with no discernible accent.

Maddy felt unsettled. What would a solicitor want with her? Had she done something wrong? Was she in trouble again? Great birthday this was turning out to be.

‘What do you want?’

‘I need to confirm you are Madison Greene, daughter of Sally-Anne Hathaway.’

Madison didn’t know whether or not to answer. How did he know her mum’s name? She saw Angie walking up the aisle towards them.

‘You okay, Maddy? Does this gentleman need any help?’

‘He wants to know if I’m Madison Greene.’

‘Who are you then?’ Angie took on a defensive posture, crossing her arms over her wide chest and staring hard at him.’

‘My name is Robert Vasey-Smith and I represent a firm of solicitors called Hamilton Blythe. I have some important information for Miss Greene.’

‘Well I’m her foster mum, you can tell it to me.’

‘I’m afraid I’m not authorised to speak to anyone other than Miss Greene herself.’ He turned to Madison. ‘I take it you are Madison Greene?’

‘Yeah,’ she said, feeling nervous now.

‘Everything okay over here, Mrs Johnson? Miss Greene?’ The supermarket manager came up the aisle. ‘Are you alright, sir? Do you need some assistance?’

‘It’s okay, Colin,’ Angie replied. ‘Just a personal matter, we’ll have it sorted in a mo.’

‘There’s no need for me to remind you what the policy is on personal conversations in the workplace.’ He frowned. ‘Sort it out quickly please, girls.’ And he strode off in the direction of Dairy Products.

‘You heard the man,’ Angie said. ‘We’ll be getting grief off him now.’

‘I apologise,’ the solicitor said. ‘Is there a good time when I could speak to you uninterrupted, Miss Greene? Are there any cafés near here where I could meet you after work?’

‘I don’t care if you’re a solicitor or the King of Timbuktu, you won’t be going anywhere with this barely sixteen-year-old girl without me.’ Angie put her hands on her hips and glared at Mr Vasey-Smith.

‘Angie’ll come with me,’ Maddy agreed.

‘Very well.’

‘Ali’s Caf on the High Street at four thirty,’ Angie said. ‘Now you better leave before you lose us our jobs.’

He nodded and left. Angie and Madison stared wide-eyed at each other.

‘What’s all that about then?’ Angie asked. ‘I hope for your sake you haven’t done anything you shouldn’t have. Trevor isn’t in the mood for any more of your troublemaking. It’ll be the last straw, Maddy. He’s got no more patience.’

‘We better get on with our work, Angie. Colin’ll be on the warpath.’

‘Hmmm.’ Angie walked back to the checkouts, glancing back at Madison.

Maddy’s mind whirred and clicked. She wished she knew what it was all about. How had he known her and where she worked? And he’d mentioned her mum, that was the weirdest part. Her heart felt too big for her ribcage and she couldn’t concentrate. Who cared about country vegetable soup at a time like this?

*

Ali’s Caf was packed to its grease-stained ceiling, mainly with school kids, and it didn’t take Madison and Angie any time at all to spot the solicitor. He didn’t quite fit the usual customer profile. He sat, straight-backed, in the far corner with his briefcase on the table.

Madison followed Angie, who wove her way purposefully past the other customers towards him. They sat down on the sticky plastic chairs and he asked if he could get them a drink.

‘Coke please,’ said Madison.

‘I’ll have the same,’ said Angie.

He turned around and asked the man behind the counter for two cokes, a cup of tea and a plate of sandwiches.

‘We’re intrigued, Mr ... Vasey-Smith is it?’ Angie said. ‘What’s it all about?’

‘I have some interesting news for you, Madison. You’ve been very difficult to track down.’

‘How d’you know my mum?’

‘We’ll get to all that. Will you permit me to tell you what I need to? And then you can ask me any questions you might have and I’ll do my best to answer them.’

The cokes arrived on the table and Angie patted her hair and took a couple of delicate sips. ‘Let’s let the man speak, Maddy.’

‘Our client is deceased, but before his death he spent much time and considerable funds in trying to trace any living relatives. Alas, he found none, but remained convinced he had someone somewhere, no matter how far removed.

‘After his death, he entrusted my firm with the task of carrying on this search for the time span of one hundred years. After which time, if no descendant had been found, his estate was to be gifted to a specific charity of his choosing. Our firm has been engaged in this search for ninety six years, but we believe we have now found not one, but two living descendants: You, Madison, and your brother, Ben.

Maddy chewed the skin on the back of her forefinger, her glass of coke sat untouched on the table. A girl plonked a mug of tea in front of Mr Vasey-Smith and put a large plate of cheese and tomato sandwiches in the middle of the table.

‘We ‘found’ you, so to speak, three and a half years ago, but, as per the terms of the will, were unable to initiate contact until your sixteenth birthday. We’ve been waiting for today.’

‘This relation, was he rich then?’ Angie asked. ‘Has he left Maddy some money?’

‘His estate has been willed to you, Madison, but there are some conditions.’

Maddy stayed silent, but Angie’s mouth opened and closed. ‘Oh, Maddy, you could be rich! Imagine.’

‘There is a large house in Gloucestershire, just outside the town of Tetbury. You will inherit this property on your twenty first birthday but can live in it from the age of sixteen, that is, today.’

‘A house …’ Maddy couldn’t comprehend what the man was telling her. She shook her head. ‘This is a wind-up, yeah? Oh very funny. ‘Madison Greene, delinquent waste of space inherits a house’. Ha, Ha, Mr Vasey-whatever your name is. Nice try, but I‘m not falling for that.’

‘Maddy, shhh,’ Angie interrupted. ‘Excuse her, she’s got a funny way of saying thank you.’

‘I know this is a lot to take in,’ he said. ‘But I can assure you this is not a joke. In addition to the property, there is a generous allowance to be dispensed monthly, until such time as you reach twenty-one-years-of-age or marry, whichever comes first. At that time, the remainder of the estate is to pass in its entirety to you, Miss Greene. The current value of this estate is sixty one million pounds.’

Madison couldn’t accept what she was hearing. Thoughts of school, Haggis, Ben, care homes, Angie and Trevor, flew through her mind along with the unfamiliar images of piles and piles of cash, flashy cars and, for some reason, very rich people in dark sunglasses.

‘What? Sorry?’

Mr Vasey-Smith had been speaking, but her mind had drifted off and she hadn’t heard what he’d said.

‘I know this is a shock for you. But I do trust it is a welcome one. I was just saying there are a number of stipulations regarding the settlement of the will and, to that end, I suggest we reconvene in my office, where we can go over the fine details more thoroughly. Shall we say ten thirty tomorrow morning, if that’s convenient? Here’s my card. Our offices are just a few minutes walk from Baker Street tube station.’

Madison clutched the card. ‘Is it really true? You’re on the level? Me and Ben are ... We’re rich?’

‘Yes, Miss Greene, it’s true.’

*

That evening, Angie and Trevor ordered a Chinese takeaway, letting Madison and Ben order whatever they wanted from the menu.

‘Well, it is your birthday,’ Trevor said, ruffling her hair. ‘Madison was amused and annoyed at his good mood. For days now, she’d been careful to keep out of his way, trying to avoid riling him and now it appeared she was completely forgiven. He and Angie were sunshine and happiness, laughing, joking and teasing.

When Madison had told Ben they were coming into some money, he’d got pretty excited.

‘Does that mean I can get a laptop and a DS?’

‘Hold on there, shortie!’ Madison laughed. ‘We’ve got to get the cash before we can spend it.’

‘So this relation of yours …’ Trevor asked through a mouthful of chicken chow mein, ‘… he died a hundred years ago?’

‘Mr Vasey-whatsit said they’d been looking for ninety six years, so nearly a hundred, yeah.’

‘Blimey. Lucky they found you then. Nice they found you settled and happy with us and not in some scabby care home. Your relation would’ve been pleased we gave you a home.’

‘Mmm.’ Madison felt uncomfortable at the direction the conversation was taking.

Angie looked at Trevor and then at Madison. ‘So, Maddy,’ she said. ‘What an interesting sixteenth birthday you’ve had. You’re not gonna forget today in a hurry.’ She looked at her husband again.

‘Trevor and me have agreed you can go out with your mates tonight if you want. But I wouldn’t mention what’s happened today to any of them. You know what people are like when money’s involved. I mean me and Trev, we’ve just got your best interests at heart, but … Well, you just don’t know how other people are going to react. They might try and take advantage. You need to be careful now, Maddy.’

‘Can I go out now then?’ Maddy rose to her feet.

‘Don’t you want to finish your takeaway?’

‘Not really that hungry, thanks.’

‘Go on then, love. Have a good time,’ Trevor said. ‘Me and Ben’ll finish yours, won’t we, lad? You need a bit of building up anyway.’ He squeezed Ben’s skinny bicep.

‘Not too late please. Big day tomorrow with that solicitor and everything.’ Angie stood up and kissed her cheek. ‘Happy Birthday, love.’

Maddy got changed and rushed downstairs, relieved to get out of the house into the evening air. Things had never felt stranger. She walked towards the park, texting Keisha and Lois on the way. They arranged to meet up in ten minutes time.

As she walked across the tarmac, Maddy saw her friends were already there. They were easy to spot. Keisha, a half Afro-Caribbean, half English beauty, with long brown hair and a willowy figure. And Lois, with her streaked blonde hair, big boobs and an attitude radiating from every knock-off designer fibre.

When Maddy started at Collingstone, she’d slotted into their friendship easily and although the others had known each other since they were tots, it felt like the three of them had always been together.

Maddy ignored Angie’s advice and immediately told her friends what had happened with the solicitor.

‘You’re winding us up, right?’ Keisha raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

‘I know it sounds insane. But I’m totally serious.’

‘Girl, that isn’t something to go joking about.’

‘I’m not.’

‘But then … wow! You’re like, set for life. If you’re having a laugh, I’ll …’

‘I’m not!’

‘Mads, I can’t believe it.’ Lois threw her arms around her friend and hugged her. Then all three of them started jumping up and down, whooping and laughing.

‘Yeah!’ Lois screeched. ‘Don’t you go forgetting your friends though. You’ll be going out with film stars and partying with Paris and Lindsay while we’re stuck here getting jiggy with it, to Paul Mancini’s mobile disco.’

Mads and Keisha laughed at her intentionally crap dance moves.

‘Where is Gloucester anyway?’ Keisha asked. Is it in the country? You gonna have to move there?’

‘It’s Gloucestershire I think, some village called Tetbury or something. I dunno where it is and I ain’t moving to the country. Nothing going on there. Maybe I could buy a place in town and we could all move in together.’

‘Oh, Mads, you’re gonna live the dream.’

They spent the rest of the evening theoretically spending sixty one million pounds.

*

Trevor and Angie had made an effort for their trip into town. Trevor in a too-tight suit and Angie with flattened hair and a new skirt and blouse. They made Ben put on a shirt and tie, but Maddy wouldn’t be told what to wear and decided on faded stretch jeans, black wedges, a strappy vest and lots of jewellery. She pulled her black hair into two cute bunches and went heavy on the eyeliner.

A warm breeze wafted a musty, oily scent into Maddy’s nostrils and she inhaled deeply as they descended the escalator. Their tube wasn’t too busy and they all got a seat.

‘You excited, Maddy?’ Angie asked.

‘Dunno. It’s a bit weird.’

‘Weird?’ Trevor scoffed. ‘It’s everybody’s dream come true, is what it is. Things like this just don’t happen. I’d say you’re the luckiest girl in Britain.’

Maddy shrugged her shoulders. Sure it was great and everything, but she certainly didn’t feel like the luckiest girl in Britain. She just felt ... weird.

After a couple of changes, they reached Baker Street and stepped out into the muggy warmth of central London. Outside the station Maddy saw a few stalls and shops selling the usual tat of policeman’s helmets, t shirts and postcards. The queue for Madame Tussauds and The Planetarium snaked along for what looked like half a mile up the road and the traffic roared past.

Trevor led the way and within minutes, they stood outside the impressive white mansion block that housed Hamilton Blythe Solicitors.

After taking the wrought iron lift up to the third floor, they found themselves in a plush reception area, a bit like the lobby of a five star hotel. Madison looked around, trying not to feel intimidated. She took in the pale marble floor, dark green pot plants and several groupings of subtly mismatched sofas and armchairs. Today’s newspapers and the latest glossy magazines adorned side tables and an indoor water feature provided a delicate tinkling sound, making Maddy want to pee.

They were greeted immediately by a smartly dressed young woman who asked them to please sit and make themselves comfortable for a few minutes. Mr Vasey-Smith would be with them very shortly. She took drinks orders and returned almost immediately with a tall jug of iced lemonade and a plate of freshly baked cakes and biscuits.

‘You better get used to this, Maddy,’ Trevor said, ‘now you’re a lady of means.’

‘It’s just lemonade and biscuits, Trevor.’

‘No pleasing some people.’

‘Mads, this is awesome,’ Ben said, eyes wide, taking it all in.

‘Not bad, shortie, not bad.’ She smiled and winked at her brother.

Phones trilled in the background and she heard low murmuring voices from the room behind the large reception desk. Barely a couple of sips of lemonade later, and Maddy saw Mr Vasey-Smith heading their way. He smiled at Maddy and Ben and nodded to Trevor and Angie.

‘Shall we?’ He gestured to them and they followed him up a small set of stairs to the left of the reception area and then through an unmarked door into a small conference room with an oval walnut table and eight high-backed chairs. A briefcase lay on the table. He sat down in front of it and wheeled the combination lock until it clicked open. The receptionist came in behind them and set the tray of drinks and biscuits on the table, along with a pot of tea for Mr Vasey-Smith.

‘Please do sit. Now, first things first. Did you bring your birth certificate?’ Angie took the document out of her handbag and passed it across to him. ‘I’ll take a copy of this, but it’s just a formality, Madison. We know who you are.’ He removed a rolled-up scroll of paper from his briefcase and slid it across to her. ‘This is how we found you.’

Maddy unfurled the paper and laid it flat on the table. It showed a hand-written family tree stretching back to 1764. Hers and Ben’s were the most recent names, right at the bottom, linked to her mother’s name. The names Swinton and Hathaway were the predominant surnames on the document. Her surname, ‘Greene’, was her father’s name and none of his ancestors were on the tree. The tree related to her mother’s lineage.

‘The gentleman we’re interested in is ‘Harold Swinton’. His wife Victoria is your distant relative.’ Mr Vasey-Smith reached across and pointed to the name, somewhere near the top of the scroll. ‘She was the niece of your great-great-great-grandmother and her husband left his considerable fortune to you and your brother.’

‘So what about all the other people here?’ Maddy asked. ‘Surely some of them must’ve had kids? Are me and Ben really the only ones?’

‘Yes, we’ve researched it extensively. We had to go back to the eighteenth century to find another branch of the family, which led us back down to you. It was only with the advent of the internet and the release of certain classified military records, that we were able to trace you.’

Maddy thought for a bit. She and Ben were alone in the world. Here on a scrappy piece of paper in black and white, was evidence of a real family, but they were all dead. Just her luck. She knew she’d give up all the money if she could have her mum back, but that wasn’t going to happen. So she decided this money would be their way forward. She would use it to make their lives safe.

‘So let me get this straight,’ Trevor said. ‘These Swintons were Maddy’s ancestors, but their kids are dead and there’s no other relations anywhere apart from Maddy and Ben?’

‘Just so.’

‘And Maddy gets everything?’

‘I’ll get to that in a minute.’

‘I thought you said she gets a house and sixty one million? Angie, you told me …’

‘Mr Johnson,’ Mr Vasey-Smith interrupted. ‘I mean no disrespect to you, but this meeting is for Madison and I would be obliged if you would let me explain all the details.’

‘Just looking out for Maddy here, that’s all. She’s only sixteen.’

Maddy looked at her foster father with dislike and felt an unfamiliar wash of embarrassment at his crassness. She returned her gaze to the solicitor and waited for him to continue.

‘Once the paperwork is signed, you will stand to inherit the house in Gloucestershire and will receive a very generous monthly allowance from your trust fund. The main stipulation is that you must make the property your permanent residence, not just in name. You must live there for at least forty weeks in each year.’

‘Live there? I can’t live there.’

Chapter Four

1881

*

Inside the Gare du Nord, a cold March light washed down through a massive glazed arch onto the hoards of passengers. Among them, Alexandre and his family stood in the Salle de Depart, waiting to board the sleeper train from Paris to the Port of Marseille.

Papa went off to locate their platform and soon returned to guide them towards a large black steam train which hissed and blew on the line. They found their first class carriage easily enough, their name written on a piece of stiff card attached to the door.

Other passengers squeezed past them in the corridor and Alexandre eyed them with interest, wondering what their stories were and whether he would have the chance to converse with any of them. The rest of his family bustled about inside their compartment, stowing away bags and removing overcoats.

‘Come in, Alexandre,’ his mother chided. ‘Why are you standing out there? You are blocking the way for the other passengers.’

‘Sorry, Maman,’ he replied and entered their compartment.

‘But where are we to sleep?’ Isobel asked.

‘It has only just turned four o’clock, Isobel. You do not need to worry about that just yet,’ Papa teased.

‘Tell us more of Turkey, Papa,’ Jacques said.

‘Let us remove our outer garments and make ourselves comfortable first. We have a long train ride ahead of us.’

Before long, they were snugly ensconced in their first class compartment, all coats and bags stowed away under their seats.

Doors slammed, the whistle blew and great clouds of steam wheeshed into the icy afternoon air. The carriage lurched backwards unsteadily and then, with more confidence, rocked forwards and away, out of the station, leaving behind the great iron roof of the Gare du Nord.

The soft rhythmic puffing of the train took Alexandre and his family northwards through the grimy Parisian suburbs until they were outside the city. And then it curved back round onto the main line that would take them south to the sea and beyond.

They travelled down the tracks through woods of pine and larch. They climbed hills and steamed through tunnels hollowed out of the soft limestone. Over bridges and viaducts they steadily made their way southwards. Through mirror-black windows Alexandre stared out into the rapidly growing gloom at the smudged outlines of smoking cottage chimneys until at last night finally fell and their train was a lone speeding light through the dark French countryside.

Supper on the train turned out to be quite a lavish affair. The Chevaliers were shown to their table where they chatted and sipped aperitifs.

‘I cannot believe it will actually be warm in Turkey. The weather is so vile here,’ Isobel said, tasting her drink.

‘Do not forget it will still be cold at night,’ Papa replied.

‘If we are lucky, it will be warm in Marseille too,’ Maman added.

‘Do stop talking about the weather and tell us of all the exciting discoveries we shall make in Turkey,’ Jacques said.

‘How can Papa tell us that, when we haven’t even discovered them yet.’ Isobel rolled her eyes.

‘Is it really true you do not yet know what lies in Cappadocia? That you have no idea what manner of artefacts we are going to uncover?’ Alexandre asked his parents.

‘Monsieur Bouvier has made me and your mother sign a letter of confidentiality. But I can tell you this much – you will not be disappointed.’

‘You mean to say, you actually know what is there? Then you must tell us, Papa,’ Jacques said. ‘It is too unfair to make us wait this long to find out.’

‘If I tell you, Monsieur Bouvier will send his wife to hunt us down and then we will all be in dire trouble.’

‘Didier,’ Maman chided. ‘Do not let them hear you talking this way about Madame.’

‘But everybody knows she is a shrew, Maman,’ Alexandre said.

‘They may know it, but it is not polite to say it out loud.’

‘Your mother is right. I should not have spoken so. Erase that comment from your memories, children. Aah, here comes the soup - Pigeon Bisque. It smells delicious.’

‘I am so hungry I could eat my shoe.’ Alexandre’s eyes lit up at the arrival of the first course.

‘You boys are always hungry,’ Maman replied.

Alexandre concentrated on his food while Jacques cross-examined Maman and Papa on every aspect of archaeology he could think of. Papa never tired of talking about his favourite subject and Jacques’ interest fuelled his enthusiasm.

Alexandre realised this Turkish dig could lead to the most important find of the century or it could be a wild goose chase. But it was a risk his parents were willing to take. They wanted to uncover that one big find that would gain them the respect of their peers and re-launch their ailing careers.

Whilst they had been enjoying dinner, the train staff had transformed their first class carriage into a comfortable bedroom. The lower benches were now beds, and two further bunks had been pulled down from each wall. Alexandre and Jacques were to share, topping and tailing.

‘Keep still, man, for goodness sake.’ Alexandre jabbed his brother’s leg with his foot.

‘Ow! Maman, tell Alex to stop hogging the whole bunk and maybe then it wouldn’t take me so long to get comfortable.’

‘Just lie still, close your eyes and go to sleep,’ Alexandre said. ‘That usually works for me.’

‘It usually works for me too, but I don’t usually have to lie next to a six foot idiot who takes up the whole bed.’ Jacques kicked him back.

‘Ow! You little ...’

‘Right, that’s it!’ Alexandre heard his mother slip down from her bunk. She drew back the curtains in front of their bed. ‘Jacques, you take my bunk. I will share with Isobel. I cannot stand another moment of your bickering. Just promise me you will not be like this for the whole nine months we are away. Didier, why are you not scolding your sons?’

Alexandre followed his mother’s gaze to see Papa lying in his bunk with his mouth open, snoring.

‘Oh. Now quiet, everyone. Papa is asleep.’

‘We don’t have to whisper, Maman. We could scream blue murder and he wouldn’t wake,’ Alexandre said. ‘You know what he is like once he falls asleep.’

‘Yes, well …’ Maman replied, climbing in next to Isobel. ‘… it is late and we have another long day tomorrow. Sleep now, children. Goodnight, I love you all.’

‘Goodnight, Maman.’

‘Goodnight, Maman. Sleep well.’

Alexandre stretched out on his narrow bunk, relieved he no longer had to share it with his fidgeting brother. He lay with his hands behind his head and stared up at the underside of Jacques’ bunk. It didn’t look too sturdy. He hoped it didn’t detach from the wall and come crashing down on top of him.

The train swayed gently and Alexandre thought this is what it must feel like to be a babe rocked to sleep in its mother’s arms. He and his siblings had never travelled on a train before. They had rarely travelled anywhere within their own country, let alone abroad.

His parents, on the other hand, were two of the most well-travelled people of their time and it had always struck Alexandre as grossly unfair he had been nowhere and seen nothing, whilst they had travelled the world ten times over. Now, however, his time had come and he meant to make the most of every second of every day.

The next morning dawned clear and cold, the wide pale country sky trying its hardest to be blue. By ten o’clock it had succeeded.

After an early breakfast, the family returned to their compartment and once again it had been transformed back into its daytime persona. Everyone was quiet and contemplative this morning. Even Jacques remained uncharacteristically silent. Alexandre had slept fairly well, but his thoughts now turned to the long sea voyage ahead of them.

Once they boarded the steamer at Marseille, they were to meet up with The Swintons, old family friends from England. Victoria and Harold Swinton were archaeologists who had worked with his parents on various digs around the world. They had two children – Leonora and Freddie. Alexandre wondered what they would be like. He had a vague memory of them from his younger days - the girl had been irritating.

Through the window, idyllic country scenes scrolled past – olive groves, ruined castles, small river ferries cruising beneath arched stone bridges and bent-backed agricultural workers with all manner of livestock working the brown and yellow fields.

All too soon, the mellow French countryside was swallowed up by a more urban landscape. A random spattering of chalky white houses gradually merged and darkened into dirty suburbs – Alexandre’s first introduction to Marseille. The Paris rain had not reached this far south and the views were dusty and dry.

Suddenly the train slowed and drew into the Gare St Charles, Marseille’s train station, which perched loftily on top of a high plateau. They were not to disembark here, however. After a short wait, the train moved off onto a single track branch line, towards Gare de la Joliette, the harbour station.

*

Marseille, the oldest city in France, lay on the eastern shore of the bay, backed by green-covered hills and high-peaked mountains. Down at the harbour, sailing boats and steamers purposefully set out to sea or else lined up along the dockside, moored two and three deep.

Alexandre breathed in the sea air and almost gagged. The Marseillaise atmosphere felt much drier than cold damp Paris, but it smelt infinitely worse. The docks swam in ships’ rubbish and the stench of foul water was almost too much to bear.

‘Oh, it is worse than anything I have ever smelt in my life!’ Isobel exclaimed, holding her lace handkerchief in front of her nose and mouth.

‘It is not very pleasant, I must agree.’ Their mother too, covered her nose.

‘It is the scent of adventure,’ Papa declared.

‘Where are we to meet the Swintons?’ Isobel asked from behind her handkerchief.

‘We will find them on the ship. They have made their way from England. Maman and I visited them there many years ago.’

‘And how old is their daughter?’

‘Leonora must be seventeen or eighteen by now. They stayed with us once, but you were probably too young to remember. You all got on very well.’

‘Maman, how can you say that?’ Alexandre said. ‘I can remember the girl was very annoying. Rude and entirely without charm.’

‘You only say that, because she did not fall for your charms, Alexandre. I have met her several times since and she has spirit - an admirable quality.’

‘And the boy?’ Jacques asked.

‘A thoroughly delightful chap,’ said Papa. ‘Jacques, you and he got on like a house on fire. Got up to no end of mischief though. He has now grown into a very likeable fellow.’

‘Is Monsieur Bouvier also their patron?’ Alexandre asked.

‘Goodness no,’ his mother replied. ‘Papa wants their expertise on the dig. The Swintons are so wealthy, I believe they own half of South Gloucestershire. They are passionate archaeologists though, just like me and Papa.’

The cold Mistral blew down from the Rhone Valley and they had to keep turning aside to prevent grit blowing in their eyes.

‘Oh, it is awful. Freezing cold and smelly. Can we not return to Paris, Maman?’ Isobel pouted.

Maman laughed. ‘Now, Isobel, you are made of stronger stuff than this. A bit of rubbish and a gust of cold wind is not something to get upset about.’

‘Isobel, it is wonderful here,’ Alexandre said. ‘There is so much to see and the Mediterranean is so blue out there.’

Isobel threw Alexandre a resentful glance. He had hoped she would have forgotten her crossness with him, but he realised he wasn’t going to have it so easy. Her face did soften a little as she looked out across the ocean. Away from the murky harbour, the sea twinkled and glittered in the morning sun, a slightly deeper shade of blue than the powdered sky.

‘I thought the Seine beautiful, but the Mediterranean is something entirely different,’ Alexandre said.

‘I feel your mother and I have been remiss in your education. We should have brought you to see the ocean long before now.’

‘I cannot argue with that, Papa,’ Alexandre replied.

*

The Mistral was a magnificent steamer, with a sleek hull, black-topped funnels and four masts for sailing if the winds were fair.

Standing high on deck, Alexandre looked out across the land side of the ship onto a sea of colour. He saw upturned faces, hats and twirling parasols. Cases and trunks passed over heads, smiles, tears, waving handkerchiefs, kisses being blown and caught.

He left his family for a while and walked around to the other side of the ship. There, the blue green ocean mesmerised him, its waves rippling out to the horizon and beyond. Gulls cried out: hovering, swooping, gliding and diving. Alexandre felt an affinity with these birds; a feeling that he now shared in their freedom. His wings had stretched and strained against the stiff breeze for too long, but suddenly he found himself no longer struggling - fair winds were taking him exactly where he needed to go.

The steamship sounded its horn. Three long low blasts which filled up the air with its deep mournful sound. Cheers and shouts erupted all around and the large vessel began to heave its way out of the harbour, towards the open sea.

A small child on deck pointed down into the water and Alexandre caught his breath as he saw a school of about twenty shiny-backed porpoises leaping up out of the navy blue ocean and diving back under to glide beneath the clear surface. As the evening sun slid slowly into the Mediterranean, one of its rays caught Alexandre’s face. He savoured its bright warmth and enjoyed an unfettered moment of billowing happiness.

*

The Swintons had been rich land owners for generations and Harold Swinton had inherited his wealth, like his father before him. These fortunate circumstances had allowed him to indulge in his passion for archaeology. He had met his beautiful half-Russian wife, Victoria, on a dig at an ancient Mesopotamian site where they had fallen in love and married within the month.

Now, the Chevaliers walked across the black and white tiled floor of the Garden Lounge to where the Swintons sat at wicker chairs around a tile-topped table. They appeared to be playing the card game, Chance, and from the look of things the boy, Freddie, appeared to be winning.

‘This is just too easy,’ he chortled.

‘Nobody likes a show off,’ his older sister replied.

‘Never mind, Leonora. We’ll play something easier next. How about Snap?’

Leonora rolled her eyes and ignored her younger brother. Both parents laughed.

‘Harold! So good to see you,’ Alexandre’s father called out. ‘Victoria, how are you? You all look marvellous.’

‘Children, look!’ Victoria rose to her feet. ‘It is the Chevaliers.’

The Swintons stood up and introductions were made. Harold looked around and caught the eye of a steward who came over and moved another table and some chairs next to theirs so everyone could sit together. Both families spoke both fluent French and English and switched easily back and forth between languages.

‘I cannot wait to find out the nature of the site,’ Freddie said.

‘I know,’ Jacques replied. ‘It is too bad Papa will not enlighten us.’

‘Perhaps now would be an appropriate time to tell the children,’ Papa looked at Maman and the Swintons. They smiled and nodded their agreement. ‘But remember,’ Papa continued. ‘This is confidential information.’

Alexandre and the others leaned forward to better hear the information they had been itching to find out for days.

Papa began:

‘As you know, we are travelling to an area in the region of Cappadocia. The site was unearthed very recently, when a local woman caught her foot in something and could not free it. Her brother cleared the ground and realised her foot was trapped in some kind of narrow hole. They eventually freed it, but later discovered the hole was an ancient light well, or air vent belonging to an underground chamber. This chamber had lain there, undisturbed for centuries.’

Everybody made ‘ooh’ noises and laughed.

‘Carry on, Papa,’ Jacques said. ‘What is inside the chamber?’

‘Well, we are not entirely sure. It is thought there may be more chambers leading from that one. Perhaps interesting artefacts to be uncovered, maybe it was a burial site with clues to an undiscovered ancient civilisation. We will not know until we see the evidence with our own eyes.’

‘There is another thing that makes this site more interesting. The locals will not go anywhere near it. Apparently they are terrified. They say the ground is cursed. It is very intriguing.’

‘Oh.’ Isobel looked at their mother. ‘It’s not is it? Cursed, I mean.’

‘Of course it’s not,’ Leonora Swinton interjected. ‘It is all local folklore and mumbo jumbo. You do not want to take any notice of that.’

‘Do not worry, Belle,’ Jacques said in a fake pirate accent. ‘Alex, Freddie and I will save you from the terrible ghosts in the accursed underground cavern.’ He made a ghoulish face and pretended to strangle himself. Freddie laughed, but Isobel did not look amused.

‘Very funny, Jacques. But it does not sound at all pleasant to me.’

‘Leonora is right. It is all superstitious nonsense,’ Victoria said and put a reassuring hand on her arm. ‘But really, it will be very interesting to see what is down there. Some of the local people are afraid of the unknown, that is all.’

Alexandre listened with growing anticipation. He could not wait to enter the cavern and see what was to be found. Visions of tombs, ancient mummies, jewels and gold scorched his mind. He had never paid much attention to his parents’ profession before. It was just something they had always done. He had wanted to accompany them for the travel more than for the actual work itself. But underground caverns sounded exciting and the fact it was all such a secret, made it doubly so.

‘Will I actually have to go into the cavern?’ Isobel asked.

‘That is the general idea.’ Jacques rolled his eyes.

‘Not if you do not wish to,’ Papa said, giving Jacques a reproving stare. ‘But it would be an exciting and interesting experience for you if you did decide to have a look.’

Alexandre took a stealthy look at Leonora. She was beautiful, but just as outspoken and bristly as he remembered from years ago when they were young children. Freddie seemed to be quite straightforward. A little like Jacques really. He wondered how they would all get along in the coming months.

That evening, the Chevaliers and the Swintons reconvened in the sumptuous dark-wood-panelled dining room. A myriad of white stars twinkled in the ocean sky through a hexagonal glass roof. Carved columns, Persian carpets and tropical potted palms added to the feeling of splendour.

The two families had just enjoyed a delicious leisurely dinner.

‘Mmmm, this chocolate orange mousse is absolute heaven,’ Freddie said. He closed his eyes and savoured the taste of his dessert.

Alexandre tried again to talk to Leonora who sat on his left. She looked stunning in a pale blue satin gown the exact same shade as her eyes, which contrasted beautifully with her milky white skin and raven hair.

‘And are you also a fan of chocolate orange mousse?’ he asked with a half smile that usually made any female within a twenty yard radius turn weak at the knees.

‘I like it well enough,’ she said, shrugging her pretty shoulders. Then she deliberately turned to her left and began to engage his Papa in conversation, leaving him staring at the back of her perfect head.

Alexandre was dumfounded. Had he offended her in some way? All evening he had tried to strike up conversations with her, but she had merely nodded or smiled politely. He could not recall saying anything out of order. Isobel sat on his right and she too gave him the cold shoulder. It was just too bad, to be sitting between two females who would not talk to him.

He caught his mother’s eye. She sat across from him and threw him a sympathetic glance, tilting her head and raising her eyebrows as if to say, what is to be done?

The entire crossing stayed mainly calm and they only experienced the odd moment of mild sea-sickness. Midway on the crossing they stopped at Valetta, the large dockyard in Malta, to disgorge a few passengers and take on a few more, but soon they steamed back out to sea.

The air felt noticeably warmer and the atmosphere on ship became more light hearted and fun. But Alexandre’s growing excitement was tinged with confusion. The arrival of Leonora Swinton had greatly unsettled him and he did not know why.

She was undoubtedly beautiful, sophisticated and interesting, but he had met many other women with these attributes and they had not made him as nervous. She obviously did not care for him greatly – she either ignored him, or made cutting remarks which he did not know how to deal with.

But why should this trouble him so much? He hardly knew the girl. Could it just be the fact she had not fallen for him? This was the first time Alexandre had been rejected in such a way, but surely he was not so arrogant as to think every female on the planet would instantly worship and adore him? Was he? Actually, he realised he probably was.

He grinned to himself. Over the past month his record with women had been absolutely abysmal. First, the Lily incident which had led to uproar and instant banishment, followed by his sister’s disgust with him and now the beautiful Leonora Swinton had failed to be won over. Well, he sincerely hoped his bad luck would stop here.

The shame of it was, they could have passed a very pleasant time conversing with one another instead of all this cold-shoulder nonsense. But she had taken against him for some unknown reason, so he should probably forget any thoughts he might once have entertained.

Maybe it was all a question of balance. His life had become more exciting and interesting, but his charms had fallen by the wayside. Well alright, he would take the adventure for now and try to work on his relationships. Or maybe he could try a little reverse psychology and ignore both his sister and Leonora. At least this would spare him the constant humiliation of being snubbed. Yes – he would concentrate all his efforts and attention on the trip and ignore these temperamental women.

*

There was an excited buzz aboard the Mistral. They would reach their destination today and everyone was out on deck trying to be the first to spot land.

Out of nothing, a haze of coastline gradually shaped itself into a blurred outline, taking on more definition to finally appear solidly in front of them like an astonishing magic trick.

Alexandre felt his heart rate speed up as they steamed purposefully forward on the undulating blue Aegean Sea and up the Gulf of Smyrna. As the ship drew closer to port, he enjoyed the un-European sight of red tiled chimneyless roofs and painted balconies, interspersed with the smooth domes and white minarets of a multitude of mosques. Fruit trees and tall cypresses grew everywhere, and behind the city, on top of a craggy mountain, stood the dark walls of a dilapidated ancient fortress.

‘Well, children,’ Papa announced. ‘At last we are in Turkey. Let us try to enjoy every minute.’

‘Papa,’ Jacques said. ‘May we ride on a camel to get to our hotel?’

‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Isobel replied.

‘Do not worry, Jacques, the camels will still be here tomorrow,’ Papa replied. ‘We will all need a good rest tonight before we undertake the next part of the journey.’

Alexandre imagined the exotic sights and sounds he would soon be experiencing. He could not wait to soak up the foreign atmosphere. To start living his dreams.

Chapter Five

*

Mr Vasey-Smith continued talking. ‘I’m afraid the terms of the will are very clear, if you do not actually reside in the property, you will not receive a penny of the inheritance. It will remain in trust, however, for another four years, in case you change your mind, after which time it will pass to the next beneficiary, your brother, Ben, when he reaches sixteen years of age.’

‘Well it looks like we’re moving to Gloucestershire, Maddy,’ Trevor interrupted. He turned to Mr Vasey-Smith. ‘What’s this house like? Is it big? Is it in a nice place?’

Mr Vasey-Smith ignored him. ‘Madison, the decision rests with you and I understand it is a lot to take in. Perhaps you would like time to think about it? Here are the details of the property we have put together for you to look at today.’ He handed her a glossy-looking brochure, which she took without looking at. ‘Would you care to sit in our private lounge and examine it at your leisure? As you will see, the property has continued to be well cared for and maintained during the last century.

‘Mr and Mrs Johnson, Ben, I have arranged for a car to take you to lunch in Covent Garden followed by a top West End show of your choice. Perhaps we should give Madison some space to reflect. We can meet back here at 6pm.’ He put an envelope in Trevor’s hand.

Trevor looked at the contents - some theatre tickets and a thick wad of crisp twenty pound notes.

Mr Vasey-Smith continued, ‘Madison, is this agreeable with you?’

Maddy’s mind whirled and span. She would appreciate some time to herself, where no one was talking to her or telling her what to do.

‘Yeah … Some space.’

‘Fine. Mr Johnson?’ Mr Vasey-Smith rose from his chair and indicated for him to do the same. Trevor didn’t speak. He just waved the envelope in front of Angie’s eyes so she could glimpse the cash inside.

‘Oh, a show!’ she said. ‘What a treat. Ben, would you like to see a show? I’ve always wanted to see Billy Elliot.’

‘That’s about dancing.’ He didn’t look too impressed. ‘What other ones are there?’

‘Should we be leaving Madison here on her own? This is an important day for her,’ Trevor said. He paused and then nodded his head once, as if reaching a decision. ‘Now, Maddy, don’t go deciding anything till we get back. Just do like Mr Vasey-Smith says and have a little time to yourself. We’ll all have a think and then we can sort out what we’re going to do later, once we get back.’

Maddy gritted her teeth and tried to ignore his patronising, overly friendly tone. He was seriously getting on her nerves. Hadn’t Mr Vasey-Smith told them it was her decision; nothing to do with them. She couldn’t wait for them to leave, so she could think straight.

‘Yeah, Trevor. See you later.’

He looked at her, trying to spot any attitude in her words. But she plastered on a smile and he seemed satisfied.

‘Bye, Benny Boy. Have fun watching the dancing.’

‘Shut up, Mads. Gonna see something cool aren’t we, Angie?’

‘There’s a list here, Ben. We’ll have a look on the way. You be alright, Maddy?’

‘Yes, yes.’

‘Alright! Only asking. See you later, love.’

Mr Vasey-Smith buzzed the receptionist to come and show the Johnsons and Ben out to their car, leaving him and Madison alone in the room. It was only eleven fifteen, but Madison felt like she’d been there for hours. The wall clock ticked faintly.

‘Will the house and everything really be mine?’

‘Yes.’

‘And living there - that’s my decision too? No one else can decide. I mean, Trevor, he can’t tell me what to do and make me move there or anything?’

‘Madison, all of this is about you. Nobody else is involved. Nobody else can make the decision. You are the sole beneficiary ... that is, if you want to be.’

‘Right,’ she exhaled.

‘If you’ll allow me to suggest something …’

She nodded.

‘Why don’t you take me up on my offer of sitting in the private lounge to look at the details of the house, maybe before you rip them to shreds?’

She looked down and realised she had twisted the details around in her hands until they were nearly torn in two. She gasped. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t even realise ...’

‘It’s not a problem, don’t worry about it.’ He smiled. ‘Follow me.’

He led her through another door to a beautifully furnished sitting room with a cream chaise longue, two tan leather armchairs and an oversized flowery sofa. Soft landscapes sat in gilt frames and a huge ornate mirror hung decadently over a carved wooden fireplace. The faint scent of vanilla hung in the air and shafts of diffuse sunlight warmed the room. Heavy pale blue silk curtains billowed in the breeze which floated in from an open sash window above a wrought-iron Juliet balcony.

It was like no room Madison had ever been in before and she felt an urge to fall into the sofa and close her eyes.

‘Please make yourself comfortable. I’ll ask Marilyn to bring you some lunch in about an hour. If you need me, just pick up the phone.’ He pointed to a telephone which sat discreetly on the lower shelf of one of the side tables. There’s a bathroom outside, first door on the right.’

With that, he deposited the family tree scroll on the table and left the room, closing the door with a soft click.

Madison put the screwed up details on the table along with her glass of lemonade. She walked over to the open window and looked out. Busy weekend traffic sounds filtered up from the thoroughfare below. Immediately opposite, stood similar buildings to this one: large-windowed stately edifices reeking of power and money. Was she now part of that world?

A skip of excitement dared to make itself felt in her chest. She wanted to smile, but didn’t know if she could let herself. There had to be a catch, well, there was a catch - moving to the back arse of nowhere, that was the catch. She supposed she should at least look at the details of this place.

She smoothed out the … well, it was practically a brochure. I mean, what sort of house had its own brochure? Maybe, if she was lucky, it would be in a lively part of the countryside, if there was such a thing, or near a big town. She bounced down onto the sofa, picked up the brochure and couldn’t believe what she was looking at.

It was an aerial shot of a house, but it wasn’t a house, it was a mansion set in what looked like acres of gardens. Shock hit Madison. She’d had a vague image in her mind of a house like a larger version of Trevor and Angie’s terrace. She realised how far off the mark she was, but then if her ancestor was a millionaire, of course he was going to live in a place like that.

God, Trevor would wet himself if he saw this. Madison groaned. She really didn’t want to witness his excitement when he saw the brochure. How was she going to deal with him and Angie?

She turned over the page and saw the house from the front, it was stunning. She began to read: … the charming market town of Tetbury … ‘Marchwood‘, a period property in excellent order … original features, nine bedrooms … games room ... lavishly furnished … extensive grounds … woodland. She looked at photographs which showed rooms not dissimilar to the one she was currently sitting in. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to live there. All that space. Me and Ben could get bikes. We could get a dog, maybe even a horse. We could definitely get one of those massive trampolines, Ben would love that.

But one thing she did know - she didn’t want Trevor and Angie to be there with them, telling them what to do. Trevor acting like the Lord of the Manor. It would be unbearable. How could she fix it so she and Ben lived there alone? Her mindset had shifted and she realised she might actually, really like to live there.

Think of the freedom. And it wasn’t as if her school would miss her. She could just leave without telling them and then she’d never have to see any of her teachers again. Or maybe she could go back to school for one more day just to wind Haggis up for the pure fun of it. Now that would be good. She could wear all her most outrageous clothes and snog some fit bloke right outside her window. Haggis would go even more mental than before. But then again, could she really be bothered with all that? Probably not. It just didn’t seem that important anymore.

The comfort of this room and the beauty of the house in the brochure had completely seduced her. She and Ben could actually live like this all the time. And, countryside or no countryside, there was no way she was ever going to turn down the prospect of sixty one million quid. I mean, who did she think she was kidding?

The problem was, she had always been so used to fighting against everything that came her way, she couldn’t break the habit. It was an automatic reaction borne out of years of having to battle against the system. Now, when something good actually came her way, she was still fighting, not trusting that anyone else could really have her best interests at heart. But how could she have even thought for a second about turning down this opportunity for her and Ben?

She’d ask Vasey-Smith how to go about sorting the Trevor and Angie situation. If anyone knew a way, he would. And she could tell he didn’t particularly like Trevor anyway. He’d got rid of him pretty quick-sharpish, packed him off to the West End, no problem. Maddy smiled, thinking of the wad of cash in the envelope - yes, Mr Vasey-Smith knew Trevor all right.

She spent the next hour studying the photographs in the brochure, trying to imagine herself in the rooms or walking in the gardens. And then she looked, fascinated, at her family tree. Even though her relations were no longer living, it felt amazing to know she came from somewhere. These names on the paper were her ancestors and one of them had actually left her everything he owned. It was nothing less than a miracle.

She allowed herself another small smile and hugged herself excitedly. This was it, the start of her real life.

A light knock on the door interrupted her thoughts and a young woman came in with a tray. On it was a fancy chicken salad, some funny bread rolls and some fruit and chocolates. Maddy was starving, she hadn’t realised how hungry until she’d seen the food. She would speak to Mr Vasey-Smith after she’d eaten.

Trevor, Angie and Ben bustled back into the offices of Hamilton Blythe at 6.20pm. A secretary showed them back up to the conference room where Maddy and Mr Vasey-Smith waited. Their cheeks were flushed and they were laden down with shopping bags.

‘Mads, it was mint!’ Ben said. ‘You should’ve come, you’d’ve loved it. We saw the Lion King. You’ve got to see it.’

‘It was fantastic, love,’ Angie agreed. ‘Pity you had to stay here.’

‘That’s okay. Glad it was good.’

‘So,’ said Trevor, rubbing his hands together. ‘What’s the scores on the doors? We moving to the country? Any decisions been made or what?’

Maddy’s nerves kicked in, but Mr Vasey-Smith had assured her he would handle everything. He worked for her now.

‘Yes, a decision has been reached,’ the solicitor answered. ‘Madison has decided she would very much like to move to her new home in Gloucestershire with Ben.’

‘Nice one, Madison,’ Trevor smiled. ‘Let’s have a butcher’s at our new place then? Where’s these details?’ He sat down at the conference table and drummed his fingers on the wooden surface. Everyone else was still standing.

‘Mr Johnson, Madison and Ben will be moving to Gloucestershire on their own. There are a couple of trusted retainers there who will look after all their needs.’

‘Now, hold on a minute …’ Trevor’s smile disappeared and he stood up again.

‘They’re just a couple of kids!’ Angie said, her face flushed. ‘They need us, we‘re their foster parents.’

Trevor put a hand on her arm. ‘I’ll handle this, Ange.’ He turned to the solicitor and pointed to himself with his two forefingers. ‘We are their legal guardians and there is no way they are moving out of our care. Over my dead body, in fact.’

‘Excuse me,’ Madison said. ‘I am still here you know.’

‘Maddy, this posh bloke is trying to get one over on us. Thinks because he went to private school, he can treat people like dirt. Well, we’ve put a roof over your heads for three years and if you think you can walk out on us now you’ve got a ton of cash in the bank … well ...’

‘Trevor,’ Maddy replied. ‘It’s my decision, not yours or his. No one’s trying to get anything over on anyone. I’ve had a pretty crap life up till now and this is mine and Ben’s chance for a better life.’

‘Well thanks a lot!’ Angie exclaimed. ‘Crap life is it? Me and Trevor have tried our best. I know our place isn’t a fancy house in the country, but at least we took you in and we’ve put up with a hell of a lot. You’ve been quite a little madam to live with.’

‘I didn’t mean that,’ Madison took a deep breath. ‘I meant, I’ve got no real family or place of my own …’

‘Let’s all calm down a bit,’ Mr Vasey-Smith interrupted.

‘Patronising git,’ Trevor muttered. Vasey-Smith ignored him and turned to Ben.

‘Ben, there’s a TV next door, would you like to ...’

‘Yeah, that’d be cool.’ Ben leapt towards the door, eager to be away from the shouting.

Trevor started up again. ‘If you try to diddle us on this, we’ll sue you. Those kids are legally our responsibility and you can’t decide anything without our say so. I know what’s what! I‘ll sue you, I will!’

‘You could try. But I wouldn’t advise it.’

A blue vein pulsed angrily in Trevor’s forehead as he squared up to the solicitor.

‘Oh I am feeling so lairy right now. All your talk is winding me right up.’

‘Mr Johnson, please. Just listen for a moment. You might like what I have to say.’ Vasey-Smith sat down at the table and gestured for everybody else to do the same.

Angie pulled gently on Trevor’s sleeve. He shrugged her off and sat down, leaning back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest.

‘Go on then. Talk your talk.’

‘I have a proposition for you both.’ Vasey-Smith looked from Trevor‘s red-cheeked scowl to Angie‘s wary, slightly scared expression. ‘Madison has decided she and Ben will live in Gloucestershire. But has insisted she would like to give you a gift as a way of thanking you for the past three years. Now, I propose you both have a good look around some estate agencies and find yourself a suitable property. She would purchase this for you and, of course, we would give you a generous lump sum towards its maintenance.’

A thoughtful silence followed. Trevor and Angie looked at each other. Their sulky and wary expressions gone.

‘This property,’ Trevor said. ‘It would have to be in keeping with Maddy’s new standard of living. I mean, it couldn’t be any shabby old dive could it? It would probably be a four bedroom detached house in a nice part of town with a new car in the garage.’

‘Of course.’

‘And the upkeep would probably be quite a lot for a property like that.’

‘Oh, I think the maintenance would be rather steep,’ Vasey-Smith agreed. ‘You’d probably need at least one hundred thousand pounds to look after a property like the one you’re going to own.’

‘Probably more like two hundred thousand,’ Trevor said, staring hard at the solicitor, who didn’t flinch.

Vasey-Smith’s eyes narrowed and he fixed Trevor with a look that could have melted stone. Maddy was unsettled by the mild-mannered solicitor’s sudden change in character.

‘I think one hundred thousand pounds will suffice,’ he said, with steel in his voice.

Trevor paled slightly and quickly recovered himself with a jokey smile. ‘Course, course, you’d know best.’ He backed down straight away.

‘What about social services?’ Angie asked. ‘We’re their foster parents. Maddy’s sixteen and Ben’s only twelve. What about school?’

‘You don’t need to worry about any of that. As I mentioned before, we are a powerful firm and with the kind of money Madison has, we can solve any problems.’

While this exchange had gone on, Madison had watched and listened intently. Earlier, Vasey-Smith had already guessed at her feelings regarding Trevor and Angie. She hadn’t had to say anything and his solution had shocked her.

‘This is how it will be,’ he had said. ‘I will offer them some money to let you go without a fuss, they will accept the offer. I will then get them to sign a document agreeing to the terms, so they can never ask for anything from you or your brother ever again.’

It was bribery and she’d had a horrible feeling they’d accept it.

And now it seemed Vasey-Smith had been proved right. On the one hand, she was relieved it had all gone as smoothly as the solicitor had predicted. But the other part of her felt sick with disappointment that ‘money’ was all it took for Trevor and Angie to cast her and Ben aside.

All that talk of being their legal guardians, of them only being children was a load of rubbish. They didn’t really care about Madison and Ben, not when it came right down to it. Angie and Trevor Johnson had just traded their foster children for a nice house and a shed load of cash.

*

The train sped east to west, grey to green, across the country. It raced towards a new life in the unknown. But this time, the unknown didn’t produce the bowel-watering terror Madison usually associated with change. This time, she experienced a light, flickering anticipation mixed in with a completely new emotion. Hope.

Ben sat next to her, head down, immersed in some shoot-em-up game on his new DSi. He’d been pretty laid back about the whole move, apart from saying it would be a bit of a hassle having to start a new school and leave his mates behind. He was adamant wherever Mads went, he would follow.

To Maddy’s relief, Vasey-Smith accompanied them on the journey. She hadn‘t wanted to make the trip with her foster parents, but she was nervous about travelling there on her own. It was daunting, moving halfway across the country and Trevor and Angie would have only made it worse.

The only time she’d ever left London in her life, was when she was very young, before Ben was born. Her mum had taken her to Brighton for the day. She remembered sunshine, pebbles, splashing in shallow water and an enormous swirly ice cream with a chocolate flake sticking out the top.

Vasey-Smith sat opposite them. He read a huge rustling newspaper and, apart from some additional information relating to the house, he didn’t try to make small talk. She was glad of the silence and the chance to think.

Madison had bought a couple of large zip-up bags to pack their stuff in. She’d also bought them a decent mobile phone each and a few clothes. She had all this money she didn’t really know what to do with. When she’d opened her bank account and seen the balance, she wondered how she’d ever be able to spend it all. And she would be getting the same amount every month. It was mental.

Their train only travelled as far as Bath, where they would be met by someone called Morris, one of the caretakers of the house ... her house. He would drive them to Tetbury where they would soon be living.

Vasey-Smith had told her about Esther and Morris Foxton, the caretakers of Marchwood House. He’d said they would be very pleased to stay on and continue looking after it, ensuring the house and grounds were always clean and in good repair. Esther could also shop and cook for them.

Maddy wasn’t sure if she liked the idea of two strangers being in her house, but Vasey-Smith assured her they would be very discreet and would only be in the house between agreed times. They lived in a small cottage on the edge of the Marchwood Estate.

Madison thought about it. She had no experience of running a large house, any house for that matter. She guessed it would take a lot of work and it would be handy to have someone to take care of the cooking. She agreed that, as long as they all got on okay, she’d like them to stay. As the house was out in the sticks somewhere, a few miles from town, Morris would be their driver.

At Paddington the atmosphere had been frantic, noisy and rushed, but as they pulled into Bath Station, things felt different, rural. People even seemed to walk more slowly. Through the window, she saw hanging baskets and tubs with flowers. It was – what was the word? – Quaint. But if Bath was supposed to be a city, what would it be like on the outskirts of a small village? She nudged Ben’s arm with her elbow.

‘We’re here, mate. You can stop killing things.’

Ben looked up, stretched and shoved his DSi in his rucksack. Vasey-Smith expertly shook his newspaper closed and left it on the table. They pulled their travel bags out from the luggage racks and stepped off the train. The solicitor asked if they were alright and then strode purposefully towards the exit, where a man stood waiting. Madison and Ben followed. The two men shook hands.

‘Madison, Ben, this is Morris Foxton. He and his wife do a wonderful job of looking after your house. Morris, meet Madison and Benjamin Greene, the new residents of Marchwood.’

Morris was a red-cheeked, stocky, middle-aged man, with thick, dark, greying hair, wearing jeans and a checked shirt. For the first time in her life, Madison felt her own clothes might be a bit much. She wore her nose ring, a short kilt, black scruffy t shirt, laddered tights and black biker boots.

‘Hello, Miss Greene, Ben.’ He shook their hands. ‘If you follow me, the car’s this way.’ Morris Foxton sounded quiet and disinterested, a slight West Country drawl to his voice. He took Madison’s and Ben’s bags from them, not leaving any time for them to protest that they could manage. They followed him out into the car park.

Once in the car, a battered navy blue estate, Maddy began to feel queasy. Morris and Vasey-Smith were making pleasantries in the front and she and Ben sat in the back. She felt like a little kid and could tell Morris wasn’t thrilled to see them. It wasn‘t anything he had said or done, he hadn‘t even looked at them strangely. It was just a feeling.

Ben also looked worried, so she pinched his knee and pulled a weird face at him. He pulled one back and Maddy felt slightly better. She looked up and saw Morris watching her stupid expression in the rear view mirror. They made eye contact and he looked away. Oh no, thought Maddy, he’s a right weirdo.

The drive to Tetbury took about forty minutes. The road swept them up out of the valley, high along a ridge which looked out across the fields and villages. It was a bright but blustery afternoon and the wind swirled around the car, making low wailing noises. They stayed on the same road for a long time.

Ben asked Maddy the odd question and they exclaimed over real live cows, sheep and horses in the fields which neither of them had ever seen before; unless you counted the huge scary horses that the mounted coppers sat astride on Friday and Saturday nights, back in town.

The house would be legally hers, so why did Maddy feel like an impostor? These emotions were alien to her. She was used to being a bit of a tough nut, a rebel of sorts, fighting against the system. She knew who she was and she knew the image she liked to project - to her friends she was cool and to authority she was trouble. She always looked good, if slightly intimidating, but she’d created this shell around herself to fit in with a harsh environment. Here, away from everything familiar, she felt small and insecure.

Maddy hated to admit it, but she really did feel like a little kid out of her depth. She was being propelled towards something new and grown up and solid. Something she wasn’t sure she could cope with. But she had to cope with it. Ben needed her to be strong and look after him. She wasn’t the kid, he was.

The car slowed and they turned onto a narrower road, bordered by tall hedges. Small birds flitted in and out of the foliage and Morris had to pull in several times to let other vehicles go by. Ugh, it really was the back arse of nowhere … and she had agreed to live here.

‘Maddy, look!’ Ben pointed to large blue tractor trundling up the road ahead of them, making them slow to a crawl. It was a huge noisy thing, pulling a trailer loaded high with what looked like large barrels, covered in black bin bags.

‘It’s the harvest.’ Morris briefly turned to look at Ben. ‘That’s hay under the plastic, stops it getting wet.’

‘Oooh arrr, Farmer Ben,’ Maddy whispered to Ben, who giggled.

‘Nearly there,’ Morris said, overtaking the tractor as its driver waved them forward.

They drove through a small, but gorgeous town with a large market square and lots of pretty shops selling lots of expensive stuff. Antique stores, clothing boutiques, posh wine bars and restaurants. Snobby-looking couples holding hands, or sliding into sleek cars. Kids with expensive clothes and no worries on their Gucci-clad shoulders. Even the local supermarket had stone columns outside it. This wasn’t Madison’s world.

They sped through the town and came back out into open countryside. High hedgerows lined one side of the road and a dry-stone wall bordered the other. After a few minutes, Morris indicated left and swung the car through a large set of open gates which sat between two stone pillars.

‘Welcome to Marchwood,’ he said without ceremony.

The vehicle crawled up a gently sloping tree-lined avenue - her tree-lined avenue! The trees swayed loftily and the long grass in the adjacent fields turned from green to silver to grey as the wind stroked it in different directions. As the winding avenue unfurled before them, Ben clutched at Maddy’s arm in excitement, almost jumping up and down.

‘Deer! Look, Mads, those are deer. That’s the male ‘cos it’s got antlers, we did that at school. We got deer, Mads. Can you believe it? This is our place. My mates won’t believe it, when I tell them! They’re gonna be so-o jealous. It’s wicked, man.’

Maddy had to agree, it was ‘wicked, man’. The brochure hadn’t done this place justice at all.

‘You’ll have to invite them to stay and then you’ll be the most popular kid in the ...’ But Madison stopped mid-sentence, awed into silence as they rounded the bend at the top of the hill. Nothing had prepared her for this moment. For there, in all its eighteenth century glory, sat the most breathtakingly beautiful house she had ever seen.

Pale grey sash windows with wooden shutters looked out from three floors of perfect proportions. Mellow stone blended into lush, flower-filled gardens and powder-purple wisteria climbed lovingly around the large wooden panelled front door. It was a picture book house. All her worries and doubts about Trevor and Angie and leaving London and getting along with caretakers and everything else, evaporated into nothing. Because at that moment, in that heart-stopping second, she knew at last, this was where she was supposed to be.

Chapter Six

1881

*

The following morning, the Chevaliers and the Swintons began the next leg of their journey. Alexandre’s father had ordered four carriages to collect them from outside their hotel at eight o’clock.

As they drove through Smyrna, Alexandre absorbed the colourful sights and scents. The city had a strong European flavour despite its Oriental roots and he heard all manner of languages being spoken. He saw smartly-dressed Greeks, pipe-smoking Turks, Armenians in flowing robes and Bedouins with bare legs and covered heads.

Caught up in excitement, his brother was pointing and exclaiming, asking question upon question about everything, which Freddie did a good job of answering. Alexandre felt a little resentful that, at fifteen, Freddie was so knowledgeable whereas at eighteen he, Alexandre, knew next to nothing.

They passed small donkeys, mules, dejected dogs and haughty looking ostriches. Camels swayed in single file with heavy loads of wheat or raw silks. Crowded bazaars sold woven rugs, spices, scents, fruits and clothing of every colour and texture.

There was no train route to their final destination and the roads were unfit for coaches so, despite Isobel’s reluctance, they were to take the camel train. It started at Caravan Bridge, a Byzantine aqueduct north of the main city.

It was a pretty area with antique fountains, twisting grape vines and coffee gardens under shady cypress trees. Relaxed groups of Turks dressed in loose kaftans squatted on cushions and rush mats smoking long chibouks. Rows of camels stretched their hessian necks and stared rudely at the approaching foreigners. They ranged in colour from dark brown, through tan, beige and honey to the palest sand, making up a desert rainbow.

After prolonged negotiations, the two families finally sat on pack saddles atop the lumbering beasts whilst sturdy black buffalo pulled crude wooden carts laden with their luggage and supplies. And so they were on their way.

For the first couple of days, they passed gentle scenery - dark pine forests and clear running waters teeming with fish and croaking frogs. Green-clothed mountains made up the backdrop, complete with majestic eagles hypnotically circling their zigzag peaks. But as the days went by, the landscape gradually became more monotonous, harsh and barren.

The days were hot and relentless, the nights, cold and short. The camel train travelled for nine hours each day on roads of flattened earth and the party spent most nights in the open air, on rugs and blankets around pine log fires. Their armed Turkish guides ensured they all slept safely, but that did not stop Alexandre clutching his pistol under his straw pillow each night.

He did not know why, but Leonora had finally softened towards him and he often looked up to see her riding alongside him. Delighted at her overtures of friendship, he gratefully stopped ignoring her. Now there was just Isobel left to win over.

Alexandre enjoyed making Leonora laugh with his witty conversation, regaling her with watered-down stories of dare-devil exploits with college friends back home.

‘… and there we were, miles from anywhere in the pouring rain without a single centime between us for a cab fare. It was dark and so Antoine and I discreetly jumped up on to the outside of a moving omnibus heading towards our neighbourhood.

‘We clung on to the back for dear life, praying the horses would not take the corners too fast. But as bad luck would have it, an awful lady inside the omnibus spotted us two fellows holding on by our fingernails and do you know what she did?’

Leonora shook her head.

‘She took her umbrella and she poked us through the window with it. The wicked old witch prodded and pushed at us until we could hold on no longer.’

‘Oh no!’ Leonora gasped.

‘So we ended up bruised and battered, lying in the Bois de Boulogne and forced to walk miles to get home, in the freezing cold and very wet night.’

‘I do not believe it,’ she said. ‘The perfect Alexandre Chevalier lying in the gutter. So you are not quite the golden boy you appear to be.’

‘Golden,’ he retorted. ‘I should say dull lead, or maybe tarnished copper at a stretch.’

‘No, I think we can go one better,’ she replied, daring to hold his gaze for a split second longer than strictly decent. ‘How about sterling silver?’

‘Silver? I’ll take it,’ he grinned.

After five days of relentless travelling she still looked quite stunning. Her cutaway coat fitted her slim body perfectly and her curves sat in all the right places. He loved the way she looked up at him with those pale eyes from under dark lashes, half-hidden by the net veil on her hat.

She was graceful and completely at ease on her beige camel, which was no mean feat and she did not complain at all (unlike his sister).

‘Alexandre. Alexandre?’ Leonora interrupted his reverie. ‘You were dreaming.’

‘Oh,’ he shook himself lightly. ‘I was thinking of all the things we have seen on this journey. It has been interesting has it not?’

‘Quite interesting. But I am more interested in your life in Paris. It does sound fun. Life in our country home is too dull for words.’

‘The unfamiliar is always more exciting, but I thought you did not spend too much time in your home?’

‘No, thank goodness. But do tell me more of Paris. I hear it is quite a bohemian place. Do you know any artists or musicians?’

‘It is as you say, bohemian. But it is also a place where etiquette is everything and sometimes there is no room for any freedom of expression at all.’

‘Really? Oh, so not too dissimilar to stuffy old England then.’

Alexandre laughed. ‘I suppose everywhere has a certain level of stuffiness. As a matter of fact, ‘stuffiness’ is the very reason I am here and not at home.’

‘Do tell.’

‘Here, take a drink.’ He passed across a canteen of lukewarm water and watched as Leonora tipped her head back, exposing the creamy white flesh of her elegant throat. He swallowed and looked away.

‘So?’ she asked, passing the drink back to him.

‘Well. We had been invited to a ball hosted by Monsieur Bouvier.’

‘Your father’s patron?’

‘Correct. I danced with his youngest daughter, but she said she felt unwell and so I escorted her out on to the terrace for some fresh air.’

‘You did?’

‘Well, her sisters and mother have eyes like hawks and they spied us outside and made a terrible scene.’ He decided to omit the part about the kiss. He did not want Leonora to have the wrong impression of him or think him a cad.

‘So,’ she said, pressing her lips together. ‘You have a sweetheart in Paris.’

Alexandre realised then he had made a terrible error in judgement. Of course this story was not for Leonora. He had thought the event would amuse her and that they would laugh at the overly strict Parisian social rules. He thought wrong.

‘Oh, no, no ...’ he tried to explain. ‘You misunderst ...’

‘She must be missing you terribly.’

‘No, Leonora,’ he tried to continue. ‘I have not explained myself well enough. She is not ...’

‘Do excuse me will you.’ She ignored his attempts to explain. ‘I should see if Isobel is alright. She looks as though she may be having some trouble with her pack saddle.’ Leonora did not even look at him. She and her camel trotted away.

‘Leonora, it is not what you think ...’ Alexandre called out after her, but she did not want to hear. He noticed the Turkish guides watching him and glancing at each other. Probably judging him and disapproving. Well let them.

He slumped down in his saddle. What a fool! How could he possibly have thought she would enjoy that story of his dalliance with another woman? He assumed Leonora would see it for the silly thing it was, because he knew Lily meant nothing to him. He could kick himself. He was a first class idiot.

*

As they journeyed further east, the ground became rockier and the scenery grew stranger. Alexandre was not prepared for the sheer drama of the Cappadocian landscape. Over millions of years, the area had been sculpted into fantastical shapes by volcanoes, ice, rain and wind.

‘Are we still on earth?’ Jacques asked. ‘It feels like we are crossing the surface of some fairytale land.’

‘You are right,’ Papa replied. ‘It is spectacular. Maman and I did not want to tell you about this wonderful landscape before we arrived. We wanted you to experience it for yourselves.’

‘It is amazing.’ Alexandre momentarily shook himself out of his misery over Leonora and soaked up the luminous atmosphere. He marvelled that such a place existed. Layers of rock and stone sprouted from the ground in a proliferation of shapes, patterns and colours. Sweeping ridges and gullies curved down the hillsides and tall basalt stones stood together in clusters, some as high as forty metres, shaped into columns, cones or mushrooms.

‘What are those?’ Isobel cried. ‘How beautiful!’

Alexandre turned to look where she was pointing and saw a tree hung about with blue glass discs. They twirled and glittered in the evening sunlight.

‘Those are boncugu,’ Victoria said. ‘To deflect what the locals call, ‘nazar’, or ‘the evil eye’.

‘The evil eye?’ Alexandre asked.

Victoria brought her camel alongside him. The others slowed to listen.

‘Yes,’ she continued. ‘According to local superstition, if you fall under the nazar, you feel as though you are living under a cloud. Things go wrong, plans unravel, love turns sour, scissors dull and windows crack. But it is believed the nazar boncugu has the power to ward off this shadow. Look - they are eyes.’

Drawing closer to the tree, Alexandre saw the discs were indeed like large blue eyes, staring unblinking at him.

‘They are both beautiful and terrible,’ Isobel said with a shudder.

‘You are right, Isobel,’ Victoria laughed.

‘We are almost at our destination,’ Maman said. ‘I tell you, it will be a welcome relief not to climb up onto a camel’s back tomorrow.’

There were hearty noises of agreement to this statement. The last two days had been especially hard going and Alexandre ached from being in the saddle for hours. But all of them had grown rather fond of the lumbering beasts and would miss their liquid stares and plaintiff groans when they left.

Alexandre felt nervous excitement. After days of travelling over land and sea by horse and carriage, steam train, ocean steamship and then camel train, they had finally arrived at their destination. The sun streaked rust and gold across the sky as they approached the small settlement that was to be their home for the next nine months.

The site lay in a valley on the outskirts of a small Cappadocian village. About half a dozen tents spread out near a small stand of yellow-leaved trees where Turkish and French flags hung limply in the still air. Fierce-looking Turkish guards sat around, playing cards, rolling dice and smoking chibouks, their long muskets and curved scimitars either slung across their bodies or lying on the ground at their sides.

One of them rose to his feet and brushed his hands down over his dusty uniform of long belted tunic over baggy cotton trousers. He was tall and forbidding, the kind of opponent you would certainly not wish to face in battle. But as he came to greet the weary travellers, he smiled warmly with friendship in his dark eyes.

‘Bonsoir to you all. Welcome. My French is not so good I am afraid. Is English alright?’

‘Good evening. English is fine, yes,’ Alexandre’s father replied.

‘I trust you had a good journey,’ the guard continued. ‘My name is Isik Kaya and these are my men.’ He gestured to the twenty or so guards who now stood together.

‘Good evening, Isik. I am Didier Chevalier and this is my family. I am here with the Swinton family from England. Shall I make the introductions now?’

‘No, no,’ Isik said. ‘You go and shake off your travelling skins. There is fresh water and there are four tents set up for you behind there.’ He pointed to a small hillock set back from the guards’ area. ‘When you are refreshed, you will all come and eat with me. We have good meals here, better than your dried travelling food, yes? We can make introductions then.’

‘Good,’ Didier replied. ‘That sounds like an excellent idea. Shall we meet you back here in about half an hour?’

‘No, I think one hour is better. You have much, aah … optimism to say half an hour.’ He laughed and gestured to the women. Didier joined in his laughter and clapped him on the arm.

‘I think you are right, Isik, I think you are right. One hour it is.’

*

The orange fire crackled, sending smoke and showers of sparks into the cool evening air. Torches on stout poles had been lit and ranged around the camp, casting long shadows on the ground. Introductions had finally been made and the two families sat around the fire with Isik and the rest of the guards.

The food had been prepared and cooked by local villagers - tomato salad with yoghurt, aubergine puree, cucumbers, roast lamb and freshly baked flatbread. Alexandre was most appreciative of the feast after the past few days of dried meat strips and stale biscuits. Busy eating, the conversation was slow to start.

‘So, Isik,’ Harold was the first to speak. ‘Have you been into the underground cavern yourself?’

‘I have looked down through the shaft but it is too deep to see to the bottom and there is no other entrance to be found.’

‘Has anybody been down there yet?’

‘Yes, government officials came and paid two of my guards to go down. They first offered to pay some locals, but none of them would do it. We lowered our men down with a lantern, one at a time on a rope.

‘Brave boys,’ said Didier.

‘They were scared witless,’ Isik chuckled. ‘But did not wish to be shown up in front of their comrades.’

‘Even so …’ Didier said. ‘I should like to meet them and congratulate them. It is no easy thing to go into the darkness. Into a place no one has visited in living memory.’

‘And they found the underground cavern?’ Alexandre asked. ‘What was in it?’

‘Nothing. It is just a small chamber carved out of the rock, with some rubbish strewn around.’

‘Did they touch any of the ‘rubbish’?’ Didier asked.

‘No, no,’ Isik reassured. ‘We were given strict instructions to touch nothing. They did not even set foot on the ground, but remained tied to the rope and swung the lantern around to see in the dark.’

‘And do you know if is it just the one cavern, or are there others?’

‘It appears to be just one as far as we can tell, but maybe there are more. I am very interested to see what it is all about.’

‘As are we all,’ Harold said.

‘What other things have you guarded?’ Freddie interrupted.

‘We protect whatever our government asks us to protect.’

‘Have you ever had to defend yourselves from bandits?’

‘Many times.’

‘This is not such good conversation for the table, Freddie,’ Victoria said. ‘I do apologise for my son.’

‘Not at all,’ Isik replied. ‘It is good to be inquisitive. This is how we learn, no?’

‘Why are the locals scared of the cavern?’ Jacques asked.

‘Oh, you have heard of this already? I planned to bring this up with your father later.’

‘Can you tell us now?’

‘You have to understand this is a superstitious place,’ Isik said. ‘The local people have grown up with tales passed down through generations. Tales which they believe to be absolutely true.’

‘What tales?’ Jacques and Freddie asked in unison.

Alexandre saw his mother put her arm around Isobel. Dusk spiralled into night and thousands of stars began to pierce their way through the velvet sky.

‘I do not wish to scare you unnecessarily,’ Isik said.

‘We are not superstitious,’ Harold said. ‘So we will not be scared.’

Alexandre was intrigued. Isik and his men were here and so they obviously did not believe in the tales, but nonetheless it did give one a thrill to hear about it.

‘Here in Cappadocia, they have different ways and different beliefs. There is a legend that has been part of local folklore for centuries. It tells of an ancient civilisation who built a vast city. A city like no other. It was built below the earth, a huge place accommodating thousands.’

‘Do you think this is what has been discovered now?’ Alexandre’s father asked.

‘Me?’ Isik asked. ‘I do not know. I am no expert. All I have seen is an underground chamber.’

‘So why are the locals so worried? The discovery of an underground city from a legend would surely be a reason for excitement and curiosity. Although I did hear some rumour of a curse.’

‘Well,’ Isik seemed hesitant to continue. All eyes were on him. ‘It is just … I do not wish to alarm the womenfolk.’

‘Thank you for your concern,’ Victoria said. ‘But we are used to hearing superstitions, curses and the like. It comes with the territory. Whenever we unearth ancient burial sites, tombs and religious relics there is always some element of local opposition.’

‘Forgive me, Madam,’ Isik continued. ‘But this is more than local opposition. This is pure fear.’

‘Fear of what?’ Freddie interrupted. ‘Do tell us, the suspense is too much.’

‘Very well. It will sound a little far-fetched to you, but the people here take it very seriously.’ Isik paused and looked around at everybody before continuing. ‘It is said the city was built by beings that were … not human.’

‘Gosh!’ exclaimed Freddie. ‘You mean beings from the stars?’

‘It is said the city was governed by ancient gods - demons. A city built on fear and death. That if it is uncovered again, it will bring down the wrath of these evil creatures on all our heads and death and destruction will follow.’

‘Oh! Oh!’ Isobel clapped her hands over her ears. ‘I do not wish to hear any more. Maman, I do not wish to be here. I want to return home. This place is cursed and it is not worth taking the risk ...’

‘Isobel,’ her mother pulled her close and kissed her cheek. ‘It is just superstition. Whenever we go to another country to begin a dig, there are always stories surrounding the site. It is normal and nothing to be at all worried about. Now, we are all tired. It is late and things feel strange. We will feel refreshed and happy again after a good night’s sleep.’

‘Sleep?’ Isobel almost shrieked. ‘Sleep! I shall not sleep and if I do I shall be plagued with dreams of demons and evil blue eyes.’

‘Oh,’ Isik looked mortified and rose to his feet. ‘Mademoiselle, you must forgive me. I knew this conversation was not for your ears. Your mother is right. It is all superstitious nonsense and you must pay no heed. Come, let us talk of happy things and forget this talk of demons.’

‘Isobel,’ Alexandre leaned across and whispered loudly to her. ‘Do not worry. I am here and I would never let anything happen to my little sister.’

‘Thank you, Alexandre. But I must say, I would not even have to be in this terrible place if it were not for you.’ She turned away from him.

Alexandre sighed, but did not try to justify himself again. He did not have the energy. Instead, he looked across at his mother who he knew would have a sympathetic smile waiting for him.

Isobel’s outburst had brought a hasty conclusion to the meal and an awkward veil of silence hung in the smoky air.

‘Aah well,’ Harold said, breaking it. ‘It is late. We should probably retire. As your mother said, Isobel, things will look better in the morning.’

Everybody murmured their agreement. Throats were cleared and noises made about what a tiring day it had been and how they needed sleep if they were to be fresh the next day. Isik wished everybody a pleasant night and returned to the rest of his men.

Before long, Alexandre lay in his tent alongside Jacques and Freddie who had fallen asleep remarkably quickly. His thoughts were a jumble of whispered tales and soon he fell asleep to the rhythmic song of the cicadas, the low voices of the guards and the soft click of dice rolling on hard ground.

Chapter Seven

*

Morris deposited their bags on the large flagstones of the entrance hall.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said and turned to Vasey-Smith. ‘Be back later to drive you to the station. Last train’s at ten past seven’

‘Thank you,’ said the solicitor who had offered to stay at Marchwood for a few hours until they’d settled in.

Morris looked over at Maddy. ‘My wife, Esther, she’ll call by tomorrow after lunch to see how you’re getting on, but in the meantime, she’s stocked the cupboards. Told me to tell you there’s a shepherd’s pie in the fridge. Just needs putting in the microwave to heat up.’

Maddy didn’t think she’d ever feel like eating again, she felt so strange and surreal.

Ben immediately zoomed off around the house to explore and Madison sat down in the lounge or ‘drawing room’ as Morris had called it. The shutters to the French windows were half-closed, angling shafts of sunlight across the walls. The house appeared as beautiful on the inside as on the outside, but Maddy felt somewhat dazed and small as she perched on the edge of the green velvet sofa.

Mr Vasey-Smith sat opposite her in a regal-looking armchair, still immaculately dressed, even after all that travelling. His dark suit was uncreased and he didn’t appear to be remotely tired. He sat comfortably in the armchair, exuding calmness and authority. Madison, in contrast, felt crumpled and exhausted.

Ben burst back into the lounge.

‘The kitchen’s massive, bigger than Trevor and Angie’s whole house and there’s a room at the back with a pool table and a darts board and a weird game where you have to throw hoops onto these hook things and there’s a tonne of bedrooms upstairs and they’re all massive. I don’t know which one to choose, but I’ll let you choose first, Mads, ‘cos you’re the eldest and …’

‘Oh my God, Ben,’ Maddy laughed. ‘Calm down, bro. It sounds amazing, but take it easy, you’re gonna explode in a minute.’

Ben’s cheeks coloured and Maddy felt bad for embarrassing him in front of the solicitor.

‘You’re right, Ben, it is exciting,’ Mr Vasey-Smith said, rescuing the situation. ‘And I think you’re quite right to want to explore everything straight away. The house is only the half of it. You own over one hundred acres of land here. There’s a lake, a chapel, some woodland, the deer park and a beautiful ornamental garden. There are even a couple of follies on the grounds.’

‘What’s a folly?’

‘I won’t spoil it for you. I’ll let you discover them for yourself. Much more fun that way.’

‘Okay,’ Ben said, his enthusiasm restored. ‘See you later, Mads. I’m going outside for a bit.’

‘Catch you later, shortie.’ Once Ben had left the room, Maddy’s feelings of insecurity returned, but Mr Vasey-Smith instantly put her at her ease.

‘Well, Madison, I know you’ll probably want explore at your leisure, but shall I just give you a quick tour so you can get your bearings?’

‘That would be great. Thank you.’ She stood up and followed him out of the drawing room.

Later that evening, after Mr Vasey-Smith had left for the station, Madison and Ben sat at the large scrubbed pine kitchen table and ate a supper of shepherd’s pie and salad. Ben inhaled his food while Maddy just moved hers around the plate.

‘You okay, Benny boy?’

‘Yeah, I love it here,’ he replied with his mouth full.

‘Good.’ At least she didn’t have to worry about him adjusting to country life. He seemed made for it.

‘Are you okay, Maddy? It’s just, you seem really quiet and you’re never usually quiet, not like this. At home you’re usually moody quiet, if you know what I mean. But here you’re like, a different sort of quiet. Aren’t you glad to be here?’

‘Oh, Ben, I am really glad we’re here, but I’m probably just tired. I’ll be back to normal in the morning. I’ll be ‘moody quiet’ for you then, okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘Now, once we’ve finished eating, you know what we’ve got to do don’t you?’

‘No, what?’

‘Choose our bedrooms.’

‘Yesss! Can we go now?’

‘Yeah, Ben, we can do whatever we like. Come on, you choose first.’

‘Really?’

‘Yep. Lead the way.’

They went up the wooden staircase which led to the upper floors and their nine bedrooms.

‘What we gonna do with all these rooms?’

‘Have lots of people to stay I suppose. Our friends could come. We could have big parties. Or we could sleep in a different room every night if we want.’

‘Yeah, cool,’ Ben’s eyes grew wide. ‘But I’d like this green room at the front for now. It’s got an awesome view across the fields and you can see the deer.’

‘Okay, it’s yours.’ Maddy walked out of the green room and along the landing, peering into a couple of the bedrooms. She opened one of the doors at the end and called to Ben. ‘I’m going to have this room at the back!’ It was all reds and golds with the most enormous bed she’d ever seen.

She immediately thought of the small, saggy single bed in her tiny room at the Johnsons. Not that she had ever minded having a tiny bedroom. She’d been happy to have any space to call her own, no matter how small. But this room, it was something else.

Ben followed her. ‘Cool room. Massive bed. What’s the view like?’

‘Dunno.’

She drew back the heavy velvet curtains and looked out onto a stone balcony, adorned with carved cherubs and angels. They pulled open the windows letting a rush of cool dusk air into the room, sweeping the curtains upwards and inwards. Stepping onto the wide stone balcony, Maddy gasped at the view, spread out like a faded painting before them.

It was a lavish ornamental garden. Its centrepiece, a rectangular lake in which the house was perfectly and dramatically reflected. Gravelled pathways surrounded the lake with low manicured hedges, bordered by huge grassy areas. To the right, stood a tall dark maze. Right at the end of the garden, a border of tall trees ran up to a pair of elaborate wrought iron gates painted in cobalt blue. Beyond that lay dense forest.

‘I think you picked the best room, Maddy,’ Ben breathed.

‘I think I did, Ben. I think I did.’

The following day, Madison woke up around noon. She smiled at the fact there was no Angie and no Trevor telling her to shift her lazy backside out of bed. She was here and they weren‘t. After such a good night’s sleep, she felt energised and excited. She couldn’t wait to get up and explore. It would probably take weeks to get to know the place, but she wasn’t short on time. And Ben still had two weeks left of the summer holidays before he started school.

Back in London, Vasey-Smith had suggested a top private school not far from their village, but both Maddy and Ben had balked at the idea.

‘I ain’t going to no posh school.’

‘No one’s sending you anywhere you don’t want to go, Ben,’ Maddy reassured. ‘We’ve had enough of that in our lives. We’ll do it our way now, won’t we, mate?’

‘Thanks, Mads. Does that mean I don’t have to go to school at all? I could stay at home and help you with the house and that.’

‘Hmmm, nice try, Benny boy, but I think you have to go to school. We’ll find you a good one though, one you’ll like. And anyway, you like having a bunch of mates. You’d be bored out of your skull with just me to talk to.’

‘What about you then? What about your mates? You’re not going to school. Why am I going and you’re not?’

‘Cos I’m sixteen and you’re twelve, that’s why.’ God, I sound like Angie.

Maddy took a shower in the luxurious bathroom, threw on some jeans and a t shirt and peered around Ben’s bedroom door. His room was a mess already - stuff all over the floor, his bed unmade and his radio alarm clock still playing. Maddy went in and turned it off. She opened the curtains and stood there for a while looking out across the fields, taking it all in. Then she gave herself a shake and went to look for him.

An empty cereal bowl sat on the kitchen table next to an empty glass containing the dregs of some orange juice. Maddy returned to the hall and opened the door to the dining room. She reckoned the table could probably seat about twenty people. It was massive. The tall sash windows looked out onto a stepped terrace which led down to the ornamental garden.

Back through the kitchen, she tried another door - the games room. She saw Ben leaning over a full size snooker table, concentrating hard to pot a red. He looked up at his sister’s arrival.

‘Hey, Mads, you’ve been asleep for ages. Want a game of pool?’

‘Morning, Ben. Yeah, I’ll just grab some juice and then I’m coming to whoop your ass!’

‘In your dreams, Mads. I’m awesome at this game.’

‘We’ll see, little man.’

Ben was right, he was awesome and he thrashed his sister three-nil, before she surrendered.

‘Okay,’ I agree, you rule,’ she conceded.

‘Yesss!’

A loud chiming ring made her jump.

‘Oh my God! Oh my God.’

‘It’s just the doorbell, Mads.’

‘Yeah I know, but it’s loud. And who is it anyway?’

‘Probably that caretaker woman.’

‘Oh. Right. Okay.’ The doorbell chimed again.

‘Are we gonna answer it then?’

‘Yeah. Come with me, Ben?’

‘You scared?’

‘No, but come with me anyway.’

‘You’re scared,’ Ben chanted gleefully as they walked towards the front door.

Maddy lifted the heavy bolt, turned the key and pulled the door open.

A small slim woman in her fifties, with brownish grey bobbed hair stood at the bottom of the steps, looking up at them.

‘Afternoon, I’m Esther Foxton, Morris’ wife.’ She looked them up and down, an unimpressed look on her face, walked up the front steps and wiped her feet on the mat. ‘You’re young,’ she said to Madison.

Maddy didn’t respond. Esther walked past them, straight through to the kitchen. Maddy and Ben followed her looking at each other, eyebrows raised.

‘What would you like me to do for you then?’ Esther asked, without waiting for a reply. ‘I can come in for five days a week if you like, from nine till twelve. I’ll clean and do your washing, shopping and meals. How’s that sound? Let me know in advance if you don’t want me to come for any reason, I still get paid for those days anyway - Hamilton Blythe deal with all that. If you want anything extra, we can sort it out between us. Alright?’

She hadn’t paused for breath and she didn’t sound as if she was asking, she sounded like she was telling.

‘Yeah, that‘s ... fine,’ Maddy said.

‘Leave a list of any extra groceries you want. Leave your washing in the basket at the top of the stairs. Here’s our telephone number, I’ll put it on the fridge. Ring me if there’s an emergency or if you need Morris to drive you somewhere. He’ll take me laddo here to school of a morning when term starts and then, if he wants, he can start taking the bus. D’you want a cuppa tea?’ She started filling the kettle and got some mugs out of the cupboard.

‘No thanks,’ Maddy said.

Esther turned to look at Ben and waved a mug in front of him.

‘Umm, no thanks.’

‘Right, I’ll have a quick cuppa and then I’ll be off. Back tomorrow at nine, as agreed. I‘ve got my own set of keys so I’ll let myself in.’

‘She’s got a nerve,’ Maddy said, after Esther had gone. “I’ve got my own set of keys, so I’ll let myself in”.’ She mimicked her Gloucestershire accent. ‘Oh well, at least we won’t have to do any housework.’

‘She’s weird,’ Ben said.

‘Yeah, her and Morris. Both of them are weird.’

*

During the next week, Madison and Ben fell into a routine. Esther came to the house in the morning, so they spent those hours outside, wandering in the gardens, getting lost in the maze, exploring the woods and feeding the very tame deer. They even visited the small chapel where her ancestors had been buried.

Maddy asked Morris to take them to the nearest large town where she bought a couple of top-of-the-range mountain bikes. These made getting around the property a lot easier and a lot more fun.

They usually ate lunch together in the kitchen. Then, in the afternoons, they would do their own thing. Ben would be outside riding around on his bike and climbing trees in the forest, whilst Maddy explored the house.

She discovered a gorgeously cosy library, stacked floor to ceiling with books. Maddy would tuck herself into the corner of the deep cushioned window seat and start to read one of the dusty hardbacks. But she couldn’t concentrate. She was too excited for any book to hold her interest for long. The library led into a large, warm orangery with citrus trees, vines and all kinds of other greenery. The house just overflowed with beautiful and interesting places to sit and relax.

By Friday of that first week, Madison began to get a bit restless, unused to so much free time and so few people. She wandered the house from the attics to the cellars. She cycled, ran, played pool, darts, the hoopla game and started to feel as though it truly was her house, but she missed her friends. Ben, however, was completely absorbed in the house and grounds. He loved them and hadn’t been bored once. Maddy scrolled through the numbers in her new mobile phone and called Keisha.

‘Oh, my God, Mads!’ Keisha’s screech made Maddy smile. ‘We’re just walking home. I’m with Lois. I’ll put you on speaker phone. Lois, it’s Mads. Say hi to Mads.’

‘Hey, girl, how’s it going in your stately home?’

‘I miss my girls,’ Maddy said. ‘Why don’t you come up this weekend? In fact, why don’t you spread the word. I’m gonna have a party. Saturday night.’

‘Now that’s what I’m talking about!’ Lois shouted.

After Maddy turned her phone off, she felt her heart thump wildly. A party? She’d just said she was having a party. Knowing Keisha and Lois, they would invite half of Collingstone Comp. And the rest. She needed sounds, drink, food, something new to wear.

Madison ordered a taxi and went into town. She couldn’t wait until she was seventeen and able to drive herself around, it was such a hassle relying on Morris or having to wait around for taxis. She walked up and down the main street a few times, then checked out a couple of side streets until she came across the kind of place she wanted. It was a hip little record store with a few kids hanging around outside. She went in.

‘D’you know any good DJs who’d be free on Saturday night?’ she asked the guy behind the counter.

He laughed. ‘I know some really crap DJs who’d be free on Saturday night. But the good ones have pretty much all got gigs.’ He shook his head, walking off into the back room.

‘Wanker,’ Madison muttered.

‘’That bloke’s a dick. I wouldn’t worry about him.’ Maddy turned round to see a boy about her age, with longish blonde hair in a Rage Against The Machine t shirt and a record bag slung over his shoulder. ‘You looking for a DJ, yeah?’

‘Mmm.’

‘I can do it.’

‘You any good? What sort of tunes do you play?’

‘Whatever. I can mix it up, see who’s there and play what the crowd wants. I‘m good,’ he added.

Maddy thought for a second and decided to risk it. He was her best and only option.

‘What do you charge?’

The boy looked at her. ‘What can you pay?’

‘If you’re good, you’ll be happy.’

‘I’m good.’

‘My name’s Madison.’

‘Hey, Madison.’

‘Bring some friends if you like, more the merrier,’ she added.

‘Cool. I’m Travis. Where’s the party?’

‘Marchwood House, just outside town.’

‘Serious?’ His eyes widened and he scratched his shoulder.

‘That a problem?’

‘No, no. That’s wicked. I’ll come down about seven, get set up. You from London? Your accent’s sweet.’

‘Yeah, just moved here with my brother.’

‘Cool, Madison. Later.’

‘Oh, Travis, do you know where I can get hold of some refreshments for Saturday?’

He laughed. ‘Yeah, I can hook you up. What do you want? Beers and stuff?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘No worries, you just tell me what you want and how much and my brother will sort it for you.’

‘Thanks, Travis. Shall I take your number?’

‘Yeah, here you go.’ He picked up a pen from the counter and scribbled on the back of a flyer.

‘Cheers. Saturday then.’

‘Saturday.’

Maddy found a great clothes shop with interesting alternative stuff. Nothing chain store-ish in sight, and she ended up buying way more than she’d intended. Then she raced around the supermarket, chucking crisps, sausage rolls and anything else that looked like party food into her trolley. The taxi was waiting outside for her and she sank into the back seat, pretty pleased with her afternoon’s work.

*

Keisha and Lois arrived Saturday lunchtime. They’d come by coach and then taxi, which Maddy paid for. Her friends were stunned by the house and Madison felt proud, awkward and strange all at the same time. She’d always been the underdog, the one people felt sorry for because she had no parents and no proper home and she’d hated their sympathy and pity. But she didn’t quite know what to do with this new attitude of respect and awe she now inspired.

‘I can’t believe you live here!’ Keisha screeched for the fifth time. Maddy gave them a tour of the house and asked if they wanted to choose their bedrooms. But Lois said she wanted to sleep in Maddy’s room and Keisha agreed. There was a long deep red velvet button back sofa which Lois bagged and they dragged in a single mattress and some bedding from the room next door for Keisha. Then they turned the music up and spent the next few hours getting ready.

‘You know Lois did some flyers, right?’

‘Flyers?’

‘Yeah,’ Lois said. ‘I did them round Tony’s after you rang and we been handing them out all week.’

‘This place will be rammed.’

‘Cool,’ Maddy said, feeling new tremors of trepidation.

‘Ben!’ Lois and Keisha cried together.

‘Come here, you cute boy. Let me kiss you.’ Lois held her arms out to Ben, who had appeared in the doorway. Ben reluctantly let himself be smothered in kisses, before pulling away.

‘Mads, what time’s everyone coming?’ he asked.

‘Won’t be till really late, Ben. But you can stay up. It’s your first proper party.’

‘Yeah, but none of my friends will be here.’

‘Sorry, shortie, but they’re too young. They wouldn’t be able to get here. Or be allowed to come, even. That’s the beauty of having a big sister looking after you. You get to do way more cool stuff.’

‘Yeah.’ But he looked a bit doubtful as he wandered away.

At seven thirty, the doorbell chimed. Maddy, Lois and Keisha went to answer the door together. It was Travis. He had driven up to the house along with about fifteen or twenty other people in several vehicles and some of them had started unloading a PA system from a battered yellow transit van.

‘Just set it up there.’ Madison pointed to a large patio at the side of the house, in front of a huge lawned area where people could dance. ‘You can run the cable in through the lounge doors.’

‘Cool,’ Travis replied. ‘This place is unbelievable. Your parents away?’

‘Did you manage to get hold of the drinks?’ Maddy asked, ignoring his question.

‘Yeah, I got your message. My brother’s got everything in his car. Do you want him to take it into the kitchen?’

‘Please. It’s straight through, at the back of the house.’

‘I’ve told everyone about tonight,’ he said. ‘You said, the more the merrier.’

‘Yeah, I did say that didn’t I.’

He laughed at the worried expression on her face. ‘Chill, it’ll be sweet.’

As more cars and small crowds of people started approaching the house, little niggles of worry started making themselves felt in Madison’s stomach. It was only eight o’clock and the front lawn was filling up already. She followed Travis’ brother through to the kitchen where she popped the lid on a bottle of cold beer, tipped her head back and took several gulps.

‘There you are!’ shouted Keisha, walking into the kitchen as a deep bass line started up, shaking the house to its foundations. ‘Tonight’s gonna be the bomb.’

Chapter Eight

1881

*

The next day dawned grey and cold, with no sighting of the warm Anatolian sun that had accompanied them all the way from Smyrna. Alexandre shivered in the damp morning air as he washed and dressed in thick breeches, waistcoat and jacket.

A mood of anticipation permeated the camp as everybody looked forward to viewing the site for the very first time. The two families followed Isik to the ventilation shaft. The area surrounding it had been cleared and they crowded around the narrow opening that had been cut roughly from the soft volcanic rock.

Without delay, the guards secured a rope around a nearby rock and lowered Alexandre’s father into the depths of the Cappadocian earth.

After a couple of long minutes, a shout came from below.

‘Very good! You can pull up the rope!’

Harold went next and Alexandre peered down after him. Isik pulled the rope back up and looked questioningly at Alexandre. He hesitated. His father had not said he was permitted, but surely he could not object once he was down there.

The rope squeezed his chest and dug in under his arms. Holding a lantern in one hand, he used his free hand to steady his descent and stop himself banging into the sharp sides. He shivered and inhaled the musty, damp scent of age-old decay.

The light from above grew fainter and he looked up to see the shrinking features of Maman as she squinted down at him. The shaft widened out at the bottom and Alexandre’s feet finally touched uneven ground. He held the lantern out unsteadily in front of him.

‘Alexandre!’ Papa exclaimed. ‘Well, now you are here, come and look at this. We require your help.

In the gloom of the cavern, he stepped over stones, rocks, dead birds, rodents and other fragments of debris.

‘What is it?’ he asked, holding out his lantern and looking directly at the spot where his father pointed. An entrance way had been carved out of the wall, but behind it sat a huge smooth slab of rock with a small hole through the centre of it.

‘The entrance is blocked,’ said his father. ‘Come. Help us push.’

Alexandre set down his lantern and they put their shoulders against the slab.

‘This is not going to budge an inch,’ Harold declared. ‘My guess is the others are all the same.’

Alexandre looked around the room and saw the same thing on all four sides – huge entrance ways blocked by slabs of stone which had been put into place from the other side.

‘Look,’ Alexandre pointed to a hole in the ground that he had almost put his foot into. It was in the corner of the room and was much smaller than the shaft they had come down, only a few inches across. Harold poked at it with a rod, clearing any blockages. He dropped a small stone into it and heard a skitter as it hit the bottom a couple of seconds later.

‘There is a lower level!’ His father could not keep the excitement out of his voice. ‘This legend of an underground city may indeed be based on fact.’

‘As long as the demons are not also based on fact,’ Harold smiled.

‘I want to try something,’ Papa said. ‘Pass me that rope, Alexandre.’ He took the rope and began to feed it through one of the holes in the stone slabs. ‘It is as I thought,’ he said after a moment. ‘This stone slab is no more than a few inches thick and the hole goes right through to the other side.’

‘There must be another entrance to this place nearby,’ said Harold thoughtfully.

‘I think you are right, my friend. Come, let us return to the surface.’

The two families spent the next week in an agony of frustration; they could not budge the stone slabs no matter how hard they tried. Gunpowder would have been the obvious choice, but Alexandre’s father said they must try less destructive options.

Marie-Louise drew up a plan whereby they would search the surrounding area for another shaft. They had managed to employ only forty three men from the outlying villages who would help them in their endeavours. It was a simple, but monotonous job. With sharpened sticks they would test the ground, tapping and prodding inch by inch, to try to find another opening. Isik’s guards would also join in the search.

Victoria reasoned that if she were to build an underground city, she might first try to dig where water had already begun to erode the rock – in a cave. And so the workforce split their time between prodding the ground and hunting for caves. To ensure everybody did a thorough job, a large bonus was offered to the person who found the entrance.

The weather was wet and cold and, after the initial excitement, boredom set in. Hours turned into days and days turned into weeks.

*

Thinking. This was something Alexandre had never really done much of back home in Paris. There had always been too many things to do and too many people to see. No time to reflect and ponder the universe. It was amazing how one grew to enjoy letting one’s mind wander over the views and the meandering, circling questions in one’s head – mainly questions about Leonora.

At first he had grown restless, wanting to move on to the next view and the next thought. But then, as the days unwound he came to realise it was entirely feasible to allow oneself the luxury of wallowing in a single idea for as long as one could. It was liberating to realise time was not his master anymore. No omnibus to catch, lectures to hurry to, dinner engagements to be late for or errands to run.

Everybody worked hard here, but clocks were not watched. Of course, Papa was conscious of the passing of time and worried about finding another entrance but, in the day-to-day scheme of things, life just unfolded.

Nor did Alexandre mind the monotony of the work, or the continuing soggy weather. It suited his mood. He almost enjoyed his misery over Leonora. He felt … not quite love, but almost.

He longed for a solitary look from her, for a small morsel of affection. Something to indicate she did not actually hate him and that there may be a chance for reconciliation. He burnt up with images of her long white neck, her slender arms and those pale, dark rimmed eyes that flashed scorn whenever she happened to catch his eye. He had never before felt so consumed with thoughts of someone else.

She worked as hard as any man and was always the first to volunteer for an unpleasant or dangerous task. She was so far removed from the Parisian girls he had grown up around. A true original. What his friends would probably class as an ‘eccentric’. She was his beautiful eccentric. Well, not quite his, but there was still time.

How could he make her talk to him again? He stabbed his stick moodily into the ground and thought hard about what he could do to win her back, but his mind was a jumble of thoughts and feelings. He could not think clearly. He needed a confidante, someone to talk to.

Isobel would ordinarily have been his first choice, but she still wasn’t speaking to him, especially now the weather was so vile and they all had to pull their weight in the search process. As it was, neither girl would have anything to do with him, taking great pains to avoid being in his company. He might as well have been infected with the plague. His back now ached from bending and he stretched his arms above his head.

‘Aarghh!’ he growled in frustration and the other workers looked up at him in surprise. He jabbed the stick into the ground again with such force it snapped in two and a splinter of wood stuck into his finger, drawing blood.

‘Damn it to hell!’ He threw the stick down and strode back to the camp.

One morning, soon after, Alexandre found himself working near his sister. He was pleased for the chance to try to patch things up and hoped she wouldn’t walk away.

‘So, Belle, are you ever going to forgive your errant brother?’

Isobel glared at him, dropped her shoulders and rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, Alexandre, it is such hard work being cross with you!’

‘Then am I forgiven?’

‘Yes. But only because it is too tiring to keep ignoring you.’

‘Oh, I am relieved. It has been a difficult time with both you and Leonora against me.’

‘Yes, what did happen with Leonora? First she disliked you, then she really fell for you and now she seems to despise you more than ever. She will not open up to me, even though I have tried to prise it out of her. Why is she now so set against you? Whatever did you say to her on the journey?’

‘I made an error in judgement.’

‘Errors in judgement seem to be your forté at present.’

‘I know.’

‘So? What was this monumental error that sent the beautiful Leonora running from your open arms?’

‘I ... I told her about ... about Paris and the ball.’

‘Oh, Alexandre! You didn’t. You actually told her about Lily Bouvier? Do you have soup for brains?’

‘I know, I know. I am an imbecile.’

‘I cannot disagree with you there, brother.’

‘Do you have any words of advice for me? Any way in which I can win back her heart?’

‘Pray?’

‘Is all hope lost then?’

‘Let me think on it.’

After days of drizzly damp weather, the spring sunshine had returned and it was really rather pleasant to stroll along together with no animosity between them. Birds chirped in the trees under a clear blue sky. They walked in silence for a few moments along stony ground which rose up on one side into a steep white escarpment.

‘What is it we are actually supposed to be looking for?’ Isobel asked.

‘Did you not listen to Papa at all?’ Alexandre asked and she gave him a look, so he went on to explain. ‘We are to try and find some type of entrance in the rocks. A cave or a sealed doorway. Anything which may lead down into the cavern.’

‘But there are rocks everywhere,’ she replied.

‘Yes, but caves. We must look out for caves.’

‘This is all so boring. But at least the rain has decided to leave us alone for the time being and my hair is not frizzing to oblivion.’

‘So will you speak on my behalf? To Leonora, I mean?’

‘I will try, but she is very close-lipped about you. I have already tried to find out what happened, but she changed the subject and gave me a cross look.’

‘Thank you, sister. And I am sorry you are not happy to be here. I will try to make it more enjoyable for you.’

‘Hmm,’ she replied, giving him a sideways glance.

*

Nothing appeared to be yielding any results for anybody. Not with Alexandre and Leonora, and certainly not with finding another entrance. Not prodding the ground, nor searching in caves. It all seemed hopeless. It was now mid May and Didier’s fears of failure worsened.

It was Harold who came up with another possible solution:

‘If there is an underground city in the legend and we have found a part of this city, then some of the legend must be based on fact. We need to hear the whole legend from start to finish and, somewhere in the telling, it may make mention of a location. You never know, there may be a nugget of detail in the old stories that will point to an entrance or give us some kind of clue.’

‘Isik,’ Didier turned to the Turk, who was listening quietly. ‘Do you know of anyone who might know the ancient tales in their entirety?’

‘I will find out. But I am sure they will not wish to speak to you about this. Do not forget, most people are praying you do not find the entrance. I doubt they will want to help.’

‘All the same, it cannot hurt to try.’

After a few days of asking around and greasing palms with coins and favours, Isik was told of an old woman, said to have lived for more than a century, who knew the legends word-for-word. She lived in a village, a day’s journey on horseback to the north and east.

‘Papa,’ said Alexandre. ‘I wish to travel with Isik to find this woman.’

‘My son, I am sorry but the answer is no. We need every pair of hands here.’

‘You can easily do without me here. I am making not one jot of difference to the search.’ Alexandre was determined to persuade his father. He had started to feel confined and frustrated, needing to escape from the claustrophobic atmosphere of the camp where everyone was miserable and disheartened. Even Jacques’ and Freddie’s high spirits had been dampened of late. And seeing Leonora’s icy features everyday was making him irritable. Maybe a day away would give him some relief.

‘I know you are a grown man, Alexandre and I do not want to restrict you, but there is no way on God’s earth your mother will let you go off into the Anatolian desert without us.’

‘But we will be armed and away from the main routes. We will be safe. Papa, please, I am not a child. You can persuade her ...’

‘Enough.’ He held up his hand. ‘Let me think on it.’

At these words, Alexandre knew he had won. He bowed his head and left his father alone to work on Maman who would not be at all happy with this decision.

First thing the following morning, Alexandre and Isik left for the old woman’s village. As they travelled further away from the Silk Road, the area became more heavily populated. They passed through small towns and settlements set into towering cliffs, with hundreds of cave dwellings and rock-cut churches. From a distance they looked like great slabs of chalk-white honeycomb.

Pillars of rock called fairy chimneys rose from the hillsides in between the houses, giving a magical quality to the scenery and emerald green grass made lush by the recent rain carpeted the lower levels.

The two handsome men received suspicious glares as they cantered through the settlements, but Isik reassured Alexandre it was nothing to worry about. Travelling strangers armed to the teeth were never a welcome sight in any peaceful village.

Alexandre had never really been given to thinking about the greater world and where he fit into it. He usually thought about the world and where it fit into his life. But travelling through the Anatolian countryside, seeing all these people in all these villages, well ... it set him thinking about all the people in all the villages in all the countries throughout the world and he thought about the insignificance of his own petty life.

What set him apart? What had he contributed? What difference had he made? What had he actually put into the world? For that matter, what had he taken out? Not a great deal, not when he thought about it.

He knew he was a good person, a caring brother and a loyal friend. But what else? Did there need to be anything else? Would there be a day of reckoning when he would have to account for himself? And if so, what would he say? Umm, I am good. People seem to like me. I am an amusing companion. This was not a long or inspiring litany. He would have to do better.

He would endeavour to make more of a mark on this world. What was it his father always said? ‘Opportunity is a duty’. Well, he would start to live by this saying. He was resolved.

As the sun began to set, the two men reached the outskirts of the village where the old woman lived.

Together they entered the settlement, an eerie place at this time of day. Birds screeched their evening song and the warm wind gave a low groan as it swept through the valley, picking up dust and leaves in small spinning vortexes and depositing them randomly on its way.

It was quiet. The time for meals to be prepared and for people to relax after a hard day’s work. Piebald goats bleated and a small fluffy dog yapped around their horses’ hooves. The noise brought a few village children scampering out of their houses.

‘A piastre to the child who can point me to the house of the village leader!’ Isik called across to them in his native language.

They all shouted and pointed at once to the larger of two square houses, which sat in the shade of the hillside. The children jostled each other, falling over themselves to reach the men. Alexandre laughed and showered a sprinkling of coins and sweets at their feet.

Isik gave his chestnut stallion a squeeze with his calves and the horse broke from a walk to a steady canter. Alexandre followed suit on his grey mare and they headed towards the imposing residence.

Alexandre had not expected to find such a wealthy-looking settlement. He had pictured a dusty, shabby place with spare accommodation and poorly dressed inhabitants.

When they reached the house, they dismounted and led their horses to a stone trough of water, tethering them to a couple of wooden posts. Whilst they did this, the front door to the house opened and a servant politely enquired as to their business.

‘Greetings to you,’ Isik said. ‘I am Agha Isik Kaya and this is Monsieur Chevalier, from France. He is here as a guest of our government. We are passing through and come seeking food and shelter for the night.’

The servant nodded and went back into the house. Five minutes later he returned, following a richly dressed middle-aged gentleman.

‘Greetings to you,’ The man said. ‘Do you understand English? I am afraid I have no French.’

‘Yes,’ Alexandre replied. ‘English is fine.’

‘Good, good. Please, Monsieur Chevalier, Agha Kaya, won’t you come in? I am Asil Sahin Rais and you are welcome to my hospitality. One of my servants will see to your horses.’

Alexandre and Isik followed their host inside. He showed them to a room where they could wash and change and then the house servant came to take them in to dinner.

Three pretty children stood in the hallway, staring with unabashed curiosity. The boys were handsome and the girl was as sweet as honey.

‘I am Yusue Sahin,’ said the eldest boy. ‘This is my brother, Yunue and my sister, Aysun.’ He held out his hand and Alexandre shook it.

‘My name is Alexandre Chevalier and this is Agha Kaya. I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Master Sahin.’ The men both shook each of their little hands in turn.

‘Where are your weapons, Sirs?’ Yusue asked.

‘We will show them to you later, if your father permits it,’ Alexandre replied, his eyes twinkling.

‘Really?’ they asked in unison.

‘Yes, really. We have muskets and pistols. And Agha Kaya also has a shining scimitar and a good sharp knife.’

The children nodded and looked impressed.

‘Father has a sword and also many other weapons, but we are not allowed to touch them, or we will turn into beetles,’ Yusue said.

‘Yes, you must heed your father,’ Alexandre replied. ‘You do not wish to wake one morning and find you are scuttling about the bed,’

They all began to talk at once. Telling the men about their father and their ponies and asking them about bandits and battles, until their loud chatter brought their father into the hallway.

‘What is all this noise? Our visitors will run away if you continue to pester them like this. Quiet, all of you.’

‘Father,’ Aysun said. ‘They do not mind.’

‘I mind. It is time to eat. Come.’ He smiled across at his visitors and welcomed them into the dining room.

Several people already sat cross-legged on plump cushions around a low table draped with a richly patterned cloth. The three children scrambled to their cushions while Asil Rais gestured to Alexandre and Isik to sit near him.

‘Allow me to make the introductions. Everybody, please welcome our guests. This is Monsieur Alexandre Chevalier from France and this is Agha Isik Kaya.’ He turned to the men. ‘Allow me to introduce my Great Grandmother, Havva Sahin.’

Alexandre turned to see an old lady, small but regal-looking. She sat upright and wore traditional local dress with a double headscarf, covering her chin and forehead.

‘Good evening Bayan Sahin.’ Isik said to her in Turkish. ‘And thank you for your kind hospitality.’

She nodded towards him with a smile.

‘Good evening, Madame,’ Alexandre spoke in English, not entirely sure of the etiquette involved. The last thing he wanted to do was make a faux pas.

‘My wife, Nuray,’ said Asil Rais. ‘And my two eldest daughters, Ayla and Aysel. And you have already met these three troublemakers,’ he added, indicating Yusue, Yunue and Aysun.

‘You have a lovely family, Asil Rais. May I give you a small token of thanks for your kindness in opening up your home to a stranger?’

Alexandre put a parcel on the table, next to Asil Rais’ wife. She undid the string and folded back the paper. Inside was a large bag of dried mulberries and some freshly made baklava - the delicious local sweetmeats made with honey and pistachios.

Nuray spoke quietly in Turkish and bowed her head in Alexandre’s direction to show her appreciation.

A servant carried in a large platter of mezze and placed it in the centre of the table along with a plate of warm pitta bread.

‘Bon appetite,’ Asil Rais said, raising his glass.

Alexandre wondered how to steer the conversation towards the local legends and underground caves. They had to find out where the old woman lived; the one who knew the ancient folklore of the region. He cleared his throat, ready to speak, but before he had uttered a word, the grandmother, Havva Sahin, addressed Alexandre directly.

‘I know why you are here,’ she said. ‘Do not ask me your questions, for it will be your greatest misfortune that I will answer every one of them.’

Chapter Nine

*

The party was in full flow and Madison stood, squashed in the corner of the lounge, chatting loudly to some school friends. Through the haze of faces, she saw the features of someone who most definitely did not belong there. A middle-aged man wearing an open-necked checked shirt and brown corduroy trousers and he was heading her way. He looked mildly familiar and she trawled the fuzzy recesses of her brain to try and place him.

It was Morris, the caretaker.

‘This going to be going on all night is it?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, probably.’

‘Right. Just checking. I’ll leave you to it then.’ He turned around and walked out.

‘Miserable old fart,’ she said to Lois and Keisha after he’d gone. ‘Nothing to do with him is it. Not his house. You seen Ben anywhere?’

‘No, but I have seen a lot of really fit locals,’ Lois giggled.

‘Me too,’ agreed Keisha. ‘But first I want to dance. Come on, you two, come and dance with me.’

‘In a minute,’ said Maddy. ‘Just going to find Ben first.

The air shimmered and sang with the heat of midsummer and by now there must have been several hundred people on the front lawn, with cars still arriving, pulling up wherever there was a space. Clusters of local kids ambled up the driveway with carrier bags of drink and the music thumped and pounded in the still night air and through the solid earth.

Every room on the ground floor was rammed with sweaty people. Talking, smoking, drinking, kissing, playing pool, throwing darts. Outside in the ornamental garden, people splashed in the shallow water features and Maddy heard laughter and screams from the maze.

She hadn’t spotted Ben yet so she made her way back inside and negotiated her way past strangers sprawled across the staircase. She tried the handle to her bedroom door ... Good, still locked. She walked down the landing to Ben’s room and tried his handle. Locked too.

‘Ben!’ she shouted through the door. ‘You in there, Ben? It’s Maddy!’ She waited a moment, then heard the sound of a key turning. The door opened. ‘Ben, what are you doing hiding away in here?’

‘I’m not hiding. I’m just watching everyone out of my window. Do you think the deer mind the noise? Do you think it’s freaking them out?’

‘I’m sure they’ll be okay. Why don’t you come downstairs? Come and enjoy the party?’

‘Mmm …’ He looked doubtfully at her. ‘I’m fine up here.’

‘Come on, Ben.’ Maddy pulled him by the hand and dragged him out onto the landing, just pausing long enough to let him lock his bedroom door. They went back downstairs into the kitchen and Ben stuffed a few crisps into his mouth. She got him a glass of lemonade and they went out front where Travis was still working his magic on the crowd.

‘Good DJ, Mads,’ Ben said. ‘This track is banging.’ They sat for a while, cross-legged together on the grass. ‘Oh gross! Look at Lois.’ Ben pointed to the open lounge window and through it they saw Lois inside, snogging one of Travis’ friends.

Maddy laughed and covered Ben’s eyes. ‘Just gonna have a little wander, shortie. You coming?’

‘No, I’ll sit here for a bit. Can you get me some more crisps when you come back?’

‘What did your last slave die of? Yeah, okay. See you in a bit, bro.’

In the kitchen, Maddy bumped into some friends from Collingstone. They told her she was a lucky cow and it was a wicked party and she should have one every month. That it was such a cool venue, much better than the London clubs. She chatted to them for a while and caught up on all the school gossip. But she felt detached from them, like she didn’t belong to that world anymore and found she didn’t mind at all.

She realised her party wasn’t at all what she had imagined it would be. She had thought it would be a typical good night out, a bit of a laugh. But this was different. This was her house and she was responsible for everything in it, including Ben. She found she couldn’t relax at all. Even after a drink, she felt the complete opposite of relaxed. Totally wired, on heightened alert, disconnected from everyone around her. She felt different.

Maddy excused herself from her mates and decided to have a quick look round, to check on everything else. She saw Lois, still snogging her fit bloke. They lay on the green velvet sofa in the lounge, oblivious to everyone else in the room. She did a quick reccy of the other ground floor rooms, all heaving with people, all of them strangers.

She entered the library, the most chilled out room so far, with just a few people sitting around chatting – no one she knew though. As she turned to leave the room, she heard the splintering of glass from behind the far door on the other side of the room. Everybody jumped and swivelled their heads towards the source of the noise, but nobody got up. Nobody was really bothered.

Madison threaded her way through the seated partygoers to the door which led into the orangery. When she got there, she was horrified to see a whole section of glass wall missing and two lads on the ground, beating the crap out of each other. They were rolling over bits of broken glass and smashed plant pots, black earth and ripped leaves.

A tall blonde girl in a short red dress screamed uselessly at them, calling out for them to stop. Tears rolled down her face and Madison could tell she’d been the cause of the fight.

Maddy looked around for help, but nobody looked like they wanted to get involved. Worry morphed into anger. A coiled hose hung from a hook on the back wall. She heaved it up and held the nozzle, letting the rest of the hose unravel onto the floor. Turning on the nearby tap, she pointed the nozzle at the scrappers and waited as the water made its long journey to freedom.

The cold jet gushed with satisfying force and Maddy got right up close, for maximum impact. The boys sprang to their feet in shock. Blood and water dripped from their bodies, marbling like paint on the tiled floor. They stood there open mouthed and panting. She turned off the water.

‘You two can get out right now.’ Maddy glared up at them. She continued to stare, with the hose trained on them like a weapon. Next, she turned to the blubbering girl. ‘And you can leave too.’

The girl stopped crying, pouted and looked down her nose at Maddy. ‘Oh really. And who are you?’

Maddy gave her a withering stare. ‘This is my party. This is my house. Now get out.’

The girl tossed her long hair and spoke to one of the dripping boys.

‘Come on, Sam. It’s a crap party anyway.’

‘Yeah,’ Maddy said, as they walked away, crunching over broken glass. ‘Thanks for coming. Thanks for the criminal damage.’ She threw the hose on the floor and turned her back on the mess and destruction, walking out the way she had come, back through the library. No one else paid any attention to the incident and the party atmosphere continued to ramp up.

Still annoyed, Maddy stomped into the kitchen to get some crisps for Ben. A food fight had broken out and screams accompanied sausage rolls as they flew across the room, while beer sloshed over people’s heads. Oh my God. How did I ever think a party was going to be a good idea?

She left the kitchen and went back outside to find her brother. A large group of blokes now sprawled where she and Ben had sat and Ben was nowhere in sight. A small finger of worry plucked at her chest. He’ll be okay, she reasoned. Maybe he’d got bored waiting for her and had gone back to his room. She returned to the house, barged past the people on the stairs and banged on his door, but there was no reply.

‘Ben! Ben! Are you there? It’s me! It’s Maddy!’

Still no reply. She ran back down the stairs and went into every single room, looking systematically and asking everybody if they had seen a twelve-year-old boy. Nobody had. She hauled Lois off the sofa and she and her bloke looked at Maddy in surprise.

‘Have you seen Ben?’

‘Ben?’ Lois asked stupidly. ‘No, I haven’t seen anything,’ she laughed. ‘I’ve been a bit busy.’

‘Yeah, I noticed.’ She stalked off, leaving a confused-looking Lois.

Maddy found Keisha slouched over the dining room table, talking to some friends. She drunkenly banged the table with her glass, trying to make an important point about something.

‘Maddy, there you are,’ she slurred. ‘I was jusht shaying, I mean shaying, saying …’ Then she dissolved into a fit of giggles and banged the table again, nearly falling off her chair, which made her laugh even harder.

‘Have any of you seen my brother? Have you seen Ben?’ Maddy asked, ignoring Keisha.

‘No.’ They all shook their heads.

Maddy hurried out of the room and back into the kitchen, ignoring the shouts and the mess. She pushed open the door to the games room. The atmosphere in here seemed calmer. The room was at the back of the house, further away from the music. A serious-looking game of pool was in full flow. People leant against the walls, smoking, drinking and watching the pool-table action in the murky light.

‘Has anyone seen my brother?’ Maddy’s husky voice, rose above the murmuring chatter. ‘He’s twelve with dark brown hair, wearing a green t shirt and black jeans.’

One of the pool players used his cue to point under the table and Maddy saw a black trainer sticking out. She crouched down to look. Ben lay on his back, passed out.

‘Jesus Christ,’ she said. ‘He’s drunk! He’s lying on his back! He’s a kid! Didn’t any of you think there’s a problem with that?’ But she was angrier with herself than anyone else.

The two lads playing pool knelt down and helped slide Ben out from under the table.

‘Sorry, man,’ one of them said to her. ‘He hustled us and kicked our asses at pool. He’s pretty good.’

‘Yeah,’ the other lad interjected.

‘But then he said he was gonna have a little kip under the table. Didn’t think he was that drunk.’

‘You morons. He was lying on his back. He could’ve choked on his own vomit.’ She rolled him onto his side. ‘Ben. Ben, wake up. Can you hear me, Ben?’

‘Mmmm?’ Ben opened his eyes, murmured something incomprehensible and threw up over one of the pool player’s trainers.

‘Oh that’s just great,’ he said. ‘My new Pumas. Yeah, thanks for that!’

Maddy ignored the boy’s complaints and got Ben slowly to his feet. She led him shakily out of the room.

‘Party’s over!’ She shouted as she went. ‘Thanks for trashing my house, but you can all eff off now. Party’s over!’ She got a few puzzled stares and dirty looks, but most people just ignored her. She washed out a glass in the kitchen and filled it with tap water. Then she took Ben upstairs to his bedroom and put him to bed.

Maddy locked the door and lay next to him, on top of the covers. She ignored the shouts and the yells, the booming bass line and the crashes, bangs and smashes. She knew all hell was breaking loose down there with nobody to stop it, but she couldn’t leave her brother on his own, not when he was in such a state. She smoothed Ben’s hair away from his eyes.

‘I’m sorry, little man. I didn’t look after you properly. But I promise you, that’s going to change. We don’t need any of those people in our lives. They don’t care about us. We’ve got each other and that’s enough.’ She closed her eyes and fell asleep.

*

She opened her eyes and instantly closed them again. The curtains hung open and the sun’s rays were shining straight onto her face. Madison turned away from the light. She heard the birds singing ridiculously loudly and then the sound of a car engine trying to start up. Her mouth tasted fuzzy and stale. Her eyes felt heavy and achy, the skin on her face dry and taut.

The previous night’s events jumped uninvited into her brain and she sat up too quickly, leaning over Ben to check he was okay. His breaths came loud and even, so Maddy lay back down. She knew she had to get up, leave the bedroom and look at the rest of the house. Assess the damage. The thought of it made her close her eyes again and curl into a foetal position. What on earth had possessed her to throw a party? She knew what they were like. She’d been to enough of them.

Maddy left Ben sleeping and opened the bedroom door. No sign of anyone on the landing. So far so good. She tried her bedroom door ... Still locked. Good. She tried another bedroom door. It opened and Maddy’s reluctant gaze rested upon a heap of sleeping bodies. At least four people in the double bed, one person on a slim chaise and the rest, sprawled or squashed on the floor. She stepped over them and pulled back the curtains.

‘Okay, people,’ she croaked. She cleared her throat. ‘Okay, wake up.’ Slightly louder this time, but not much.

One boy rolled over and groaned. He squinted at Maddy, who stood in front of the window, drenched in a flood of morning sunshine. The boy looked at his watch.

‘It’s six o’clock in the morning,’ he whispered.

‘Don’t care. Party’s over. Time to go home.’

‘Have mercy.’ The boy closed his eyes again.

‘Okay, everybody!’ Maddy shouted this time. ‘Time to go!’

Madison marched through the house, pulling back curtains, flinging open windows and telling everyone to get out and take their crap with them. She went into the kitchen, found a big roll of bin bags and began the hideous task of cleaning up. Uppermost in her mind was the thought that she did not, under any circumstances, want Esther or Morris to see the house in its destroyed state. She knew it was her house and she could do what she wanted, but the thought of their disapproving stares was more than she could bear at the moment.

A couple of kindly souls took some bin bags from her and started to help with the clearing up. Maddy smiled, but no words were exchanged. People were too hung over and tired to speak. By 8am, a trickling exodus had begun. Rooms were vacated and cars coughed to life, crawling away leaving muddy tyre tracks on the previously pristine lawns.

Travis was asleep in the passenger seat of the yellow transit van, his mouth and nose squashed up against the window, blonde hair, matted and sticking out in tufts. Maddy tapped on the glass. He awoke with a start, sat up and wound the window down.

‘Madison.’ He gave her a sleepy grin. ‘That was a good night. Tunes alright for you?’ he asked in his lazy Gloucestershire drawl.

‘Yeah, you were right, Travis, you’re a good DJ.’

‘Actually, that’s the first live gig I’ve ever done,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve only ever DJ’d in my bedroom up till last night. Now I’ve got a rep. I might be able to get some more bookings.’

‘It was lucky you didn’t suck then. This is for you.’ She passed him a wodge of notes through the window and enjoyed the look of wonder on his face.

‘I didn’t really think ...’

‘I said if you were good, you’d be happy.’

‘I’m happy.’

‘Good,’ said Madison. ‘Now piss off home. I’m trying to get everyone to leave.’

‘Why didn’t you say? Leave it to me and the lads. We’ll get rid of them for you.’ Travis opened his door and jumped out. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll have everyone shifted in the next half hour.’

Maddy smiled at Travis’ energy. She liked him and got the feeling he was going to be a friend. Talking of friends, she wondered what had happened to Keisha and Lois. Well they had certainly enjoyed the party. It seemed like she and Ben were the only ones who hadn’t.

Thank God it was Sunday today, one of Esther’s days off. She’d ring her and tell her not to bother coming up on Monday or Tuesday either. It would take time to sort this place out and get it back to normal and she didn’t need Esther tutting and moaning. She didn’t want any of this getting back to Vasey-Smith either.

Madison still couldn’t get it into her head that this was her house and she wouldn’t get into trouble for trashing the place. That nobody was going to have a go at her. But she almost wished somebody would, because then she wouldn’t be the one with the hassle of sorting things out.

By 3pm, everyone had left the party and Maddy, Ben, Lois and Keisha were sitting on the back terrace drinking cokes and eating cream crackers - the only food items left in the house apart from things like rice and vegetables which took too much effort to prepare. The house was as clean as it was going to get today. Maddy would sort the rest out tomorrow. Keisha clutched her head and groaned.

‘You sure you haven’t got no paracetamol, Mads? I’m dying here.’

‘I’m not looking again, Keisha. I’m knackered.’

‘I’m dying,’ she moaned. ‘And you made a dying girl clean up puke. That’s child labour, on a Sunday. You can get put away for that.’

‘Not if it’s your puke,’ said Lois. ‘Anyway, we gotta go soon. Last coach is at four thirty.’

‘Oh my God,’ Keisha moaned theatrically. ‘I can’t sit on a coach for three hours like this. I’ll die. Anyway, why are you so perky? You usually have a way worse hangover than me. Could it have something to do with a boy whose tongue was down your throat all night?’

‘He gave me his number. And he said he’s gonna come and see me in London.’

‘Lois, are you blushing? That’s a first.’ Maddy grinned.

A car horn sounded from the front of the house. ‘Here’s the taxi,’ Ben said.

‘You gonna be alright, Maddy? With the rest of the clearing up and stuff?’ Lois asked.

‘Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks for coming.’

‘You’re joking aren’t you? We wouldn’t have missed that.’

They made their way to the front of the house, where the taxi was waiting. The girls’ bags sat in the cool, dim entrance hall.

‘Wicked party, girl. You better have a few more of those,’ Keisha said. ‘But wait till I’ve recovered from this one, yeah?’

‘Dunno about that. Last night was well stressful.’

‘Stressful?’ Keisha mocked. ‘It was a party. You gotta chill, girl. Parties are for enjoying, not stressing.’

Maddy didn’t have the energy to explain, so she just smiled at her friends as they picked up their bags and walked out through the front door. They kissed and hugged while the taxi driver put their luggage into the boot. Ben and Madison stood on the front steps, waving until the car was out of sight.

She felt a mixture of relief and loneliness. It was lovely to have the place back to themselves, but her friends had livened the place up and now it all felt a bit empty.

The house was more or less tidy again. The damage minimal - a few broken panes of glass, some stains on the carpets, a broken coffee table, the kitchen TV had been nicked and the front lawn was wrecked. But Maddy thought they’d got off lightly. Tomorrow she’d get the windows and orangery fixed, but tonight she just wanted to curl up on the sofa and watch some rubbishy movie on the TV.

Ben wasn’t saying a lot today. He’d puked this morning and had sworn he’d never again let alcohol pass his lips. Maddy had said she was never going to let alcohol pass his lips again either.

‘You’re twelve years old, Ben. What did you think you were doing, drinking alcohol?’

‘You’re under age too,’ Ben huffed.

‘Yeah you’re right, mate. Let’s make a pact. No more getting wasted, okay?’

He scowled.

‘Oh dear, someone’s hung over,’ Maddy said, pretending to throw up.

‘Shut up, Maddy,’ he said, trying to be annoyed with her, but laughing at the same time.

‘And they called him ‘Puke Boy’!’

‘Maddy, shut up.’

*

If Esther and Morris thought anything about Madison’s party, or the state of the place, they kept it to themselves, for which Maddy was grateful. She’d never liked explaining herself and was relieved she didn’t have to actually have any of the conversations she’d practiced in her head.

Travis paid her a visit on the Thursday after the party and they wandered across to the deer park together. Maddy got the feeling Travis had a bit of a crush on her.

‘Your parents still away then?’

She didn’t know why, but she didn’t want to tell him she had no parents. That it was just her and Ben living in the house.

‘Mmm,’ she answered. ‘Did you have a good time on Saturday?’

‘Definitely. Everyone’s talking about it.’

‘Well, it was your tunes that got the place going.’

‘I was alright wasn’t I?’

‘Yeah and modest too.’

‘No. I just meant ...’ He blushed.

‘Relax, I’m taking the Michael.’

‘It’s just, I mean, I haven’t played in front of a crowd before and I’m glad I didn’t corpse or anything. I didn’t see much of you though.’

‘Yeah well, I was too busy being the hostess with the mostess wasn’t I,’ she lied. Too busy freaking out, more like.

‘If you want to make it a regular thing, I could DJ for you any time.’

‘I’ll think about it.’ Thought about it – answer’s no.

Travis stayed for supper and then played a few games of pool with her and Ben. When it got to ten o’clock, with Travis showing no signs of leaving, Maddy stretched and yawned.

‘Right then. I’m gonna go to bed now, so ...’ She felt mean, kicking him out, but she could do without any complications in her life right now. She was still adjusting to everything and although Travis seemed like a sweet guy, she didn’t want to give him the wrong impression.

‘Cool, cool,’ he said. ‘Cheers for the food. I’ll come and see you again. Maybe we could go out sometime?’

‘Yeah, that would be nice. It’s good to have made a friend already.’

‘A friend, yeah.’

She stepped outside with him. He hopped up into his yellow transit and waved.

‘Travis, wait!’ Maddy called out to him over the rumbling engine, before he drove away. ‘Are you around tomorrow?’

Travis gave her a big smile. ‘I can be.’

‘I’ve just had an idea. But I need your help. It might take all day if that’s okay?’

‘Shall I come round about nine?’

‘Ten?’

‘Ten’s cool. See you tomorrow, Maddy.’

‘See you tomorrow, Travis.’ Maddy hugged herself in excitement. She’d just had a brilliant brainwave and didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it before.

Chapter Ten

1881

*

Havva Sahin stared at Alexandre and chuckled, a wheezing sound that broke down into a wracking cough.

‘Are you alright, Great Grandmother?’ Asil Rais asked.

She managed to stop coughing and carried on speaking to Alexandre, ignoring her great grandson’s concern.

‘You are not merely passing through our village.’ She smiled at him in a most unnerving manner, gazing into his eyes as if challenging him to disagree. It felt to Alexandre as though she could see through to the very essence of him. Finally she spoke again.

‘Aah, you are a good man. But alas you are mistaken in your beliefs, or should I say your non-beliefs. Ha!’ She broke down into more wheezing laughter at this last statement.

Alexandre looked back at the woman, at her clear, bright eyes, not rheumy and clouded like an old person’s. Could this well-to-do great grandmother be the old woman in the village they were searching for? He had expected to find a wizened old crone in a stone shack. Had they stumbled across the right person so quickly? What luck if they had.

She seemed to know why he had come and it amused her. Maybe word had already reached her of the archaeologists and their discoveries. He looked sideways at Isik and the guard shrugged.

‘Great Grandmother?’ Asil Rais asked with worry in his voice. Everybody looked from her to Alexandre, with puzzlement. ‘Are you well? Do you know this man? Do you know Monsieur Chevalier?’ She batted away his questions with her wrinkled hand. He turned to Alexandre. ‘Does she know you?’ he asked sharply.

‘Why is Great Grandmother laughing like that?’ asked Aysun. ‘Did she make a joke?’

‘Hush, Aysun,’ her mother chided.

Alexandre started to feel uncomfortable. These people were now looking at him with suspicion.

‘I repeat,’ said Asil Rais to Alexandre. ‘Do you know my Great Grandmother?’

‘No, Sir. We have never met before.’

‘Then I must apologise to you. She must be unwell. Would you like to rest, Great Grandmother?’ He turned to his eldest daughter. ‘Take her to her room, Ayla.’

Havva Sahin stopped laughing abruptly and looked again at Alexandre. She spoke to him in a chilling tone.

‘I will warn you once again. Do not ask me your questions, for it will be your greatest misfortune that I will answer every one of them.’

‘Grandmother? Grandmother, what are you speaking about?’ Asil Rais looked more and more alarmed. ‘Are you ill?’

‘I am perfectly fine,’ the old lady snapped at him. She appeared to have shaken herself out of her trance-like state and had stopped staring at Alexandre. Instead, she had transferred her gaze to the large plate of mezze on the table. ‘Let us eat, I am hungry.’

*

Alexandre was unable to believe his good fortune. Havva Sahin knew the ancient legends as if she had lived them herself.

‘It is an old tale. Passed down through generation after generation as a warning not to undo what has been done.’

Her eyes glazed and she smiled as if remembering something good.

‘There was a glorious time in our ancient history where peace reigned for centuries. Our people lived in harmony. All beliefs were tolerated, embraced even, and our culture flourished and bloomed. Art, science, philosophy … we could revel in these pursuits for there were no invaders and no warfare. We accepted life would be like this for eternity, for what could happen to disrupt such a paradise? Who would want to destroy perfection?

‘But it is just when such acceptance occurs, that things begin to go wrong. We must never assume. We must be merely be grateful and give thanks for the minutes we are allowed.

‘And so the corruption of our lands began. A group of weary travellers came by night to our region, to the small village of Zelmat - a half day’s ride from here. They were beautiful but strange and the local people feared they carried a plague. But they begged for shelter and it was offered – a small cave with a well spring in the valley, just south of the village. It was a quiet place with five stone columns ranged around its entrance like guardians.

‘A local physician heard of their arrival and wondered about the condition that ailed them and so he paid them a visit. They said that the light hurt their eyes and the heat of the day was uncomfortable. That they preferred to make their appearances by night. The physician did not recognise such a disease and was unable to treat them.

‘They told him they came with disturbing news of a planned invasion from a warfaring tribe who lived across the sea. That these foreigners were arming and preparing to come, for they coveted our land for themselves. The village elders dismissed the travellers’ claims, but many of the villagers grew uneasy and word soon spread of the impending invasion.

‘What could they do? The art of warfare had been lost to them, for there had been no need to take up arms for centuries. They would all be slaughtered or enslaved or worse. Our people began to feel fear.

‘The travellers settled in well to the community, apart from their odd habit of sleeping by day and waking by night. In response to the panic at the threat of invasion, they came to see the village elders and put forward an ingenious suggestion. Why not build hidden underground shelters for everybody to hide in? Shelters which could not be seen from above ground. They could fill them with enough provisions to see them through any raid that might occur.

‘This suggestion took root and the idea grew and grew until plans were drawn up for the construction of a vast underground city that would support every one indefinitely. There would be stables and kitchens, churches, a well spring. In short, everything vital to life.

‘Work commenced in earnest. It was as if a line had been drawn on their old contented ways. Everybody ceased their idyllic pursuits and began, instead, to chip away at the rock - tunnelling, burrowing, hacking and scraping. It was exhausting, back-breaking work, but vital to their survival and they toiled as if the devil himself was whipping their aching bent bodies.’

‘Where did they build the entrance to this underground city?’ Isik interrupted.

‘Many people have asked this question over the years. The answer has been lost in history.’

‘What about the cave with the well spring?’ Alexandre asked. ‘In the village where the strangers were housed?’

‘There is no trace of such a place near Zelmat. People have searched but have never found the cave with its pillars.’ Havva shrugged her shoulders. ‘It is a lost city. And once you have heard the tale in its entirety, perhaps you will agree that it is a good thing.’

Alexandre tried to hide his dismay at this news. His father would be sorely disappointed. ‘I apologise for the interruption. Please do continue with the story. It is a fascinating tale.’

The other diners were also transfixed.

‘I never tire of hearing the legends,’ Asil Rais said. ‘Grandmother has been telling us these tales since we were children. She has a wonderful memory for stories. It is a gift she has.’

‘Flatterer,’ she laughed. ‘So, I will continue.

‘The city took years to build. Nobody thought it odd that they had not seen one single invader in all that time. They were too consumed with their task of building, tunnelling and scooping out the earth and rock.

‘The city was vast with many levels and stretched for miles but, best of all, there was no trace of it above ground and no invader would imagine there was such a world beneath their marauding feet. The local people stockpiled supplies. They carried down mountains of grains, pulses, animal feed, dried fruit, herbs and spices. Barrels of wine, strong liquor and olive oil were rolled into the underground storehouses. They mined copper ore to take down for melting and linseed was to be used for lamp oil.

‘They rounded up the livestock and herded it down into dark rock-hewn stables. Lastly, the villagers harvested all the fresh produce they could, in preparation for moving every trace of their lives below ground. They did not even sow seeds for the coming seasons for they did not want to give any clue of the civilisation who once lived there.

‘And so, late one night, under cover of darkness, the inhabitants from Zelmat and from the other villages in the region gathered in front of the five white pillars at the cave entrance to their new city, to make their way below ground. They did not know how long they would have to live there, but as long as the threat from invasion remained, they would be safe, hidden away from the world.

‘In all, over twenty thousand men, women and children descended into the bowels of the earth. And so, the exodus from above ground was complete.’

‘What a tale,’ Alexandre said. ‘Imagine moving lock stock and barrel under the ground, away from the light of day. Thank you for retelling it. I am grateful.’

‘That is only half of the story,’ said Asil Rais. ‘Children, it is late. You must go to your beds now.’

‘But, Father,’ Yunue said. ‘I do not know the ending.’

‘The end of this story is not for young children,’ Asil Rais said to him. ‘When you are grown, you may hear the ending.’

‘I know the ending already,’ Yusue taunted him. ‘And there is lots of blood!’

‘Yusue!’ his father said. ‘Bed. Now.’

The children reluctantly said goodnight and left the room with their mother, who also bid the guests goodnight.

‘We should very much like to hear the second part of the legend,’ Alexandre said. ‘But if you are tired and wish to retire, of course we would not presume to keep you. Maybe you would continue tomorrow?’

‘That is thoughtful,’ Havva replied. ‘But I do not sleep much these days. Three or four hours a night is usually enough for me and so if you really want to hear the rest of the tale, then now is as good a time as any. As long as you do not suffer from nightmares.’ At this she laughed her wheezy laugh. ‘But let us have tea, I am thirsty and another of your baklava would be good.’

They retired to a comfortable sitting room. The lamps were lit, casting a hazy latticed glow across the room and a large water pipe was set up on the floor, its crystal bottle glinting in the lamplight. Servants brought in tea and pastries and the three men smoked and drank tea whilst listening to the rest of Havva’s tale.

‘Those unfortunate people were not alone below the ground. The night they descended into the earth, they were accompanied by others.’

‘Others?’ Isik asked.

‘Yes,’ Havva continued. ‘The strangers who had arrived all those months ago were not as they seemed. They had spoken the truth when they talked of an invasion, but it was an invasion of their making. For you see, they had carefully planned the whole thing. When the city was finally complete, they sent word to others of their kind and they all descended into the earth together, along with the villagers.’

‘I do not understand,’ Isik said.

‘Demons, my friend,’ Asil Rais said. ‘Demons.’

‘Thank you, Asil,’ his Grandmother snapped. ‘Whose story is this?’

‘I am sorry, Great Grandmother. I am spoiling your tale.’

‘You most certainly are. But my impatient grandson is right. They were indeed foul demons. Demons who could not stand the light of day, for the sun’s rays would kill them. Demons who lived on blood alone.

‘Before the city was built, they had led solitary existences, coming out at night and feeding quickly, when and where they could. They killed with no mercy, taking human blood as we take bread or water. But their lives had always been lived in secret. They were never able to live freely, but forced to roam singly or in pairs for they could not draw too much attention to themselves for fear of persecution.

‘Until one day, one of their kind devised a plan to give them everything they desired with no need to hide in the shadows anymore. It was a plan to signify the death of thousands of innocent humans; the humans who would follow them down into their underground lair and give them access to what they needed.’

‘So the travellers were the demons?’ Alexandre asked.

‘Yes. The villagers did not know it but they had built their own prison, their own hell. They had been duped into building a trap for themselves. Once down there, away from the sun’s protection, no one could help them, God rest their souls.

‘They were slaughtered with abandon, but even worse, many more were kept alive to breed and ensure an eternity of blood to satisfy the thirst of the evil ones. There is no happy ending. This is our terrible history and we ignore it at our peril.’

‘But forgive me,’ Alexandre said. ‘You said this is your ‘history’. Surely you cannot believe this is true?’

‘We ignore it at our peril,’ she repeated.

That night, Alexandre and Isik slept in the guest quarters, above the stables. Long after Isik was snoring, Alexandre lay thinking of the chilling tale. He could hear Havva’s rasping voice in his head, recounting the ancient words and he shivered despite himself. He laughed inwardly at his fears. She has unnerved me, he thought. That lady and her tales of underground demons.

*

The following morning, after a lavish breakfast of fried eggs, sausages and fresh-baked bread, Alexandre and Isik prepared to take their leave of the Sahin family. Alexandre was sorry to say goodbye, for in the short time he had been there, he had already grown fond of them.

Yusue reminded Alexandre of his earlier promise to show them his weapons.

‘Another time, Yusue,’ his father said, ruffling his eldest son’s hair. ‘Monsieur Chevalier is a busy man.’

‘I am not too busy to keep my word,’ Alexandre replied. ‘If your father agrees, we shall have a quick weapons training school in the garden.’

Three small faces swivelled round to look at their father, eyes wide, waiting for his consent.

‘If it is not too much of an imposition on your time.’

‘Come, children.’ Alexandre held Aysun’s hand and the two boys followed behind as they walked out through the front door. ‘But remember your father’s warning,’ Alexandre said. ‘If you touch any of these weapons without permission, you will turn instantly into black beetles and be forced to live under a rock for the rest of your days.’

A small crowd of village children gathered to watch. Isik showed them the gleaming curve of his scimitar, slicing up a cucumber with its deadly blade. He then pulled out his knife and threw it with confident accuracy into the trunk of a walnut tree where it embedded itself, quivering in the morning sunlight. This earned him a round of applause and he bowed theatrically.

Next, Alexandre demonstrated how the musket and pistol worked. He removed the bullets and let the two boys pretend to fire them. They charged around playing soldiers and bandits until Isik said they really should head back. Alexandre picked up little Yunue and swung him around, he kissed Aysun’s soft cheek and shook hands solemnly with Yusue. Finally, he mounted his horse, alongside the Turkish guard and waved goodbye to the little household with promises to return.

As they left the village behind, Alexandre could not believe they had only arrived yesterday evening. He felt as if he had been there for at least a week.

‘I am afraid we must inform the others we have failed to find the entrance,’ Isik said.

‘I think we should look for ourselves, before we head back to disappoint them.’

‘That was not the plan.’

‘No, but how far is ... What is the name of the village?’

‘Zelmat.’

‘How far away is Zelmat? My father knows we may be away for a few days. We could use the time wisely and there is nothing to be lost by looking.’

‘It is almost on our way back, not too far from camp.’

So instead of heading straight back, they took a detour and rode towards the village that Havva Sahin had named in the legend.

Alexandre realised he was enjoying himself. It was like playing at detectives, finding clues to solve a mystery. It made a welcome change from the prod, prod prodding of sticks in the ground and trying to find non-existent entrances at the back of caves. He did not believe he had ever before felt this sense of purpose and excitement, not since he was a child playing make-believe games with his friends. Today he felt alive.

They rode hard and the morning sun burned hot. They were forced to stop several times for the horses to drink and to splash their own faces in the welcome streams which bubbled along the way. They reached the outskirts of the village by midday and found a shady spot to sit and share the large packed lunch that Nuray Sahin had pressed into Alexandre’s hands before they left.

The cavern was supposedly situated to the south of the village. It should be somewhere close by. Alexandre itched to start his search, but he knew he could not deny his companion rest and a meal first. He ate quickly, not even tasting the food. He was too wrapped up in thoughts of discovering the entrance. At last they remounted their reluctant steeds.

‘I know, girl,’ Alexandre patted the mare’s neck. ‘It is hot and you are still tired, but you can rest again soon.’

After several fruitless hours searching back and forth along the fast-flowing river that cut through the valley, Isik rode up to Alexandre.

‘My friend, I know it is disappointing, but maybe we need to accept it is just a legend and there is no cave. Or that it has indeed been lost to time.’

‘It must be here,’ Alexandre’s eyes narrowed in frustration. ‘The place was named. The location was specific. It must have been based on something.’

‘Let us rest for a few minutes,’ Isik said. ‘I will light a fire and make us coffee and we will talk of what is to be done.’

‘No. Please let us keep looking for a while longer. It has to be somewhere.’ Alexandre looked away across the land to the small figures in the distance, moving about the vineyard terraces. ‘We should head away from the river. Over there.’

The Turk sighed and gave his horse’s flanks a gentle kick. He said nothing, but cantered off in the direction Alexandre had pointed. Alexandre followed.

They found nothing. No caves or columns. The land flattened out and became less rocky and more desert-like. Alexandre stopped and jumped off his horse. He kicked the ground in frustration, sending dust and stones skidding up into the air. He picked up a pebble and hurled it with all his might. He remembered doing something like this as a child – sending smooth round pebbles skimming across The Seine with his father.

He bent down and picked up another stone, rubbing his thumb across the polished warmth, before sending it spinning into the distance. Why were these stones so smooth? What had polished them like this? One usually found these sorts of stones in a river … Could that be the answer? Could it really be as simple as that?

‘The river!’ he shouted.

Isik headed over towards him.

‘Isik!’

‘What is it, my friend? Are you well?’

‘I am fine and I think I may have solved the mystery of the missing cave.’

Isik wrinkled his forehead.

‘These pebbles are round and smooth.’

The Turk’s frown deepened.

‘I am not mad,’ Alexandre laughed. ‘Do you not understand? They are river stones. I think this used to be a river bed. But the river is no longer here.’

Isik did not change his expression.

‘I think the river must have changed its course or perhaps been diverted closer to the villages to irrigate the fields. Can you not see? The cave was in the valley, but the river was diverted there … and so now the cave is underneath the river. I am sure of it.’

‘I do not know about that,’ Isik said.

‘I am right,’ he insisted. ‘You will see. I will prove it. Did you say there were five columns? Five ... what do you call them? Fairy chimneys? There are many of them in the area and I have seen how tall they are. The columns could now be protruding from the surface of the river. We must look.’

Isik rode with Alexandre back towards the village of Zelmat.

The river ran deep and wide with a steep pitted rock face on the opposite side. Alexandre stared hard at the unbroken surface of the river, willing himself to see the tops of the five columns poking out. Nothing. They kept up their search all afternoon.

‘It is dark, we should set up camp,’ Isik, the voice of reason, broke through into Alexandre’s thoughts.

‘You are right,’ he sighed.

‘We can try again tomorrow morning,’ Isik said.

‘Thank you for humouring me,’ Alexandre said tiredly. ‘You must think me a fool to keep hoping.’

‘Not at all. As long as there is life, there is hope.’

*

The following morning, as dawn spread its soft yellow light across the river, the two men resumed their search. They searched all day and Alexandre was grateful to Isik for going along with him even though it was obvious he had no faith in this quest.

Now, late in the afternoon, they had travelled far beyond the area where the cave was supposedly sited.

‘Very well,’ Alexandre said. ‘We tried, but I finally agree with you, Isik, my friend. There is nothing here. Let us retrace out steps and head home.’

They reined in their horses and turned around, heading back along the river in silence. Alexandre sat low in his saddle. He suddenly felt very tired and thought he would suggest stopping to make camp. They could return to the site tomorrow when they awoke.

‘Alexandre.’

Dispirited, Alexandre was slow to respond.

‘Alexandre, could that be something?’ The Turk pointed to a spot near the middle of the river where two stones protruded from the water. Alexandre jumped off his horse and peered across. He threw his hat onto the river bank, stripped off his jacket and shirt and undid his boots.

‘I must protest,’ Isik said. ‘If you are going to do what I think you are. It is far too dangerous. Your parents would cut my throat from ear to ear if anything happened to you and I would not blame them.’

Alexandre grinned at the worried-looking Turk. ‘I do not think you could have picked two people less likely to do what you have just described.’ He clapped him on the back and started walking upstream. Then, he dived into the icy cold water.

‘Mind the rocks!’ Isik shouted.

The water flowed steadily and it would take a strong swimmer to navigate the current. Alexandre let it take him downstream whilst he tried to make his way to the centre of the river.

Very quickly, Alexandre reached one of the protruding stones and clung to it, trying to get his breath back. The freezing water and the strength of the current had shocked him, but he also felt exhilarated and refreshed, excited that this might actually be it - the discovery they all hoped for. He waited until he had his breath again and then he plunged beneath the surface.

Chapter Eleven

*

At ten on the dot, Travis’ rusty yellow van roared up the driveway and came to a gravelly halt outside the house. The horn finally brought Maddy and Ben out of the house. Ben got in first and Maddy squeezed in beside him, so all three sat up front.

‘Wish you’d tell me where we’re going, Mads,’ Ben said.

‘Yeah. Where to, Maddy?’ Travis asked.

‘Any 4x4 dealerships around here?’

‘Serious? You wanna test drive one for a laugh? I don’t somehow think they’re gonna let us do that.’

‘Yeah they will.’

‘If you say so. I don’t think we’ll have much luck, but it’s worth a go.’ Travis nodded his head.

‘Are we getting a jeep, Maddy?’ Ben asked.

‘Might be.’ Maddy nudged him playfully.

‘How old are you then?’ Travis asked Maddy. ‘If you don’t mind me asking.

‘Sixteen.’

‘Then how are you going to …? I mean, you’ve got to be seventeen to drive and if you haven’t got a licence, then ...’

‘That’s where you come in. You’ve got a licence so you can test drive it and tell me what you think. Then, when I find one I like, I’ll be able to drive it around at home.’

‘You’re going to buy one?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘Do you know how much a brand new 4x4 costs?’

‘Not really. But I don’t really care about the money side of it.’

‘Wow.’ Travis breathed out. ‘I didn’t realise you were loaded. I mean, I know you’ve got a big house and everything, but mummy and daddy must give you a lot of pocket money for you to be able to buy a car just for riding around the garden.’

‘It’s not like that,’ Maddy said, her mouth hardening into a thin line.

‘We haven’t got any parents,’ Ben said.

‘Oh no! I’m really sorry. I’m such a big mouth,’ Travis said, pulling over near the end of the long drive and glancing across at them. ‘Sorry. That must be rough. Do you live with your grandparents or something?’

‘We live on our own,’ Ben said.

‘Ben! He doesn’t need to know our life history.’

‘No, I’m just the chauffeur.’

‘Okay, I’m sorry. This was a mistake. I think we should go back home.’ Maddy opened the van door. She and Ben could walk back.

‘Chill, Maddy,’ Travis said. ‘You don’t need to tell me anything if you don’t want to. I’m happy to help out.’ He paused. ‘Sorry about the chauffeur comment, I was just being a twat. And I’m really sorry about your parents, I’m a nosy sod. Just tell me to shut up, okay?’

Maddy calmed down a bit. ‘It’s alright. It’s fair enough you want to know what I’m doing. You are the one helping me. But, Trav, can we just have fun today, with no questions? Please?’ She looked across Ben at Travis and put on her cutest smile.

He smiled back. ‘I can’t say no to you, can I.’

As expected, they were met in the showrooms with either suspicion or dismissive glances. Three young kids in band t-shirts, rocking up in a battered transit van, didn’t look likely to get the sales staff any commission. But Madison had brought a bank statement with her to prove her loadedness, should she need to.

They went to three different dealerships that morning but none of the vehicles were quite right.

‘They’re all a bit poncy,’ Maddy said, disappointed. ‘I want something that’ll go through streams and forests and up and down the valley, you know. Not a show-off car to pick the kids up from school in.’

‘Okay, Mads, I think know what you’re after,’ Travis said. ‘You should’ve told me earlier. Here I am, thinking you want a girly jeep that looks pretty.’

‘No, I want something tough.’

Travis drove straight to a huge out-of-town dealership, where Madison instantly fell in love with a huge, square Land Rover Defender on the forecourt.

‘Yes!’ Ben said, bouncing up and down on the seat. ‘That’s the one from Tomb Raider. Cool.’

She chose an enormous green station wagon and, at only five foot two inches tall, she almost needed a ladder to climb up into it.

Travis laughed. ‘I think it might be a bit small for you, Maddy. Maybe a Sherman tank would be a better size.’

‘Ha, ha.’

‘What do you think?’ the salesman asked. ‘It’s really built for off road, so if you want to book an appointment you could test drive it the way it’s meant to be driven.’

‘No need. I love it. Does it go up steep hills and through water and stuff?’

The salesman started talking to Madison about forty five degree angles, torque and throttle control.

‘So that’s a yes then?’

‘Yes,’ he agreed.

‘It’s perfect. Can I have this one?’

‘Yes, we can have it built for you in this colour.’

‘Built? How long will that take?’

Travis interrupted. ‘You should have it in blue to match your eyes.’ He blushed the instant he’d spoken.

‘You big softy,’ she teased. ‘Well, seeing as you’ve been such a star, I’ll take your advice and have a blue one.’

‘Izmir Blue?’ The salesman said, pointing to a Land Rover of such pale blue it was almost silver. ‘That colour is available to drive away today.’

‘That is the exact same colour as your eyes, Maddy,’ Ben said.

‘That’s the one then. Can you deliver it?’

‘Certainly.’ The salesman cracked his first smile.

Madison left the sales office having spent just under thirty grand. She couldn’t believe her extravagance but she felt fantastic.

It was now two o’clock.

‘Lunch! Please, Maddy. Me and Ben need food don’t we, mate?’

‘Couple of lightweights. Come on then. How about I buy you lunch in return for some driving lessons?’

‘Deal,’ said Travis. ‘But I’m warning you, I’m starving.’

*

Wednesday was the beginning of term at King George Comprehensive. Ben was about to start Year Eight and was pretty laid back about it, but Madison couldn’t help stressing.

She woke up at six, an hour before the alarm was due to go off, and jumped out of bed. She dug out the most conservative clothes she owned – a pair of skinny black jeans and a red and black top, which she belted on the hip.

That week she’d bought Ben a new rucksack, pencil case and pens and had even taken him to have his hair cut in town. He liked his dark locks fairly longish, but she’d thought they could do with a bit of a trim. She’d laid out his uniform the night before and now she paced around the kitchen, too nervous to sit.

‘I’ll come with you this morning. Make sure you’re okay,’ she said when he wandered, bleary eyed, into the kitchen an hour later.

‘You can come if you like, Mads, but it’s not a problem if you don’t.’ He yawned and tried to smooth down his hair, which stuck up at odd angles. ‘This is the fourth - or is it fifth? - new school, so I’ve had enough practice of first days.’

‘I know, Ben. Hopefully this will be the last first day if you know what I mean.’

‘Yeah, that’d be cool.’ He sat down and poured out a massive bowl of Shreddies and milk, shovelling it into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten for weeks. Maddy took a small bite of toast and watched him. She would have the place to herself today (apart from Esther, of course, but their paths rarely crossed). It would be weird without Ben. Would she be lonely? She didn’t know.

The school run went smoothly. Morris drove and Maddy sat in the back with Ben. They dropped him near the entrance and he walked into the large modern edifice without a backward glance. Maddy was surprised at how contemporary the building was. She had expected a traditional country school, but apparently King George (or KG as the locals called it) had won some multi-million-pound lottery funding a few years ago and was now a ‘state-of-the-art academy for the new millennium’ or something like that. It was all glass, steel and primary colours with light wood cladding, quads and atriums. Much more inviting than the mouldering red brick they’d gone to in London.

Maddy couldn’t settle when she got back to the house, so she decided to go for a walk down to the river near the edge of the property. But before she was even halfway there, a cool wind started up and a hefty black rain cloud moved in. Maddy shivered and reluctantly headed back towards the house. As soon as she got through the door, she ran upstairs to get a jumper. She was freezing and she was bored. What could she do?

Wandering into the kitchen, she broke off a few grapes and shoved them into her mouth a couple at a time. They were sweet and delicious and so she broke off a few more. She hummed a few bars of a TV theme tune and opened the fridge, had a quick scan and closed it again. Maddy knew she wasn’t really hungry and she wasn’t in the mood to read or watch television. Out of the window, the first few splats of rain landed on the glass.

She wondered how Ben was getting on at school. For a moment, Maddy almost felt jealous of him and then she shook her head. No, she definitely did not want to go back to school, no matter how bored she might get.

Her eyes rested on the little door at the back of the utility room that led down to the cellar. Maybe a little exploration would be interesting. She turned the iron key and pushed open the wooden door. It threatened to slam shut behind her, so she went back into the utility room, picked up a heavy box of washing powder and put it on the top step to wedge the door open.

She’d already had a quick peek down here the first week they arrived, but hadn’t looked around properly. She pressed the light switch. Nothing happened. She turned it off and on again a couple of times … nothing. The bulb must have gone.

As she looked upstairs in the cupboards for a replacement, she came across a large black and red torch instead. And so, holding the powerful torch out in front of her, she slowly descended the curved stone steps.

The darkness made her blink and stare. She could hardly see her fingers in front of her face. The torch didn’t have a wide enough beam to give an accurate impression of how big the space was. It smelt musty and reeked of stale alcohol. Her foot crunched over something and she shone the torch down onto the stone floor. She saw glass - a smashed glass bottle.

There were bottle fragments all over the floor, with puddles of sticky liquid - alcohol. The smell was pungent. The bottles must have smashed recently - the party! She realised someone, or a few someones, must have come down here and had a laugh smashing up bottles. Great. Now she’d have to clear up more mess.

She’d get another light bulb so she could see properly. Maddy shone her torch up at the ceiling and saw the remains of a strip light. It was smashed to pieces, with bits of broken bottle sticking out of it. God, what a bunch of idiots! It would take more than a new light bulb to get that working again. She noticed a couple of long shallow windows at the top of the far wall, which, from the outside, would be at ground level. They were so filthy they might as well not have been there for all the light they let in.

As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw that the cellar was a cavernous space with piles of crates and boxes stacked against each wall. Maddy walked towards the far wall, crunching over more glass and picking her way past boxes, piles of papers and other stuff. A narrow corridor lay to the right of the room and she walked down it, brushing away cobwebs which floated into her face. It was like being on a cheesy ghost train at the fair. There were some smaller rooms off the corridor and she peered in. All empty. She turned around and walked back to the main space.

Picking a crate at random, she tried to open it, but found it nailed shut. She went for a cardboard box instead and rested the torch on a crate so it shone directly at the box. It was covered in an inch-thick layer of dust. Just looking at it made her sneeze. She pulled back the cardboard flaps to reveal scrunched up newspaper. Maddy smoothed out a corner and saw a date – 1923. She opened it out to reveal a wine glass. Not very interesting. She put it back and opened another box – just an old patterned china tea set. She was curious about the large crates though.

She went upstairs to look for something to prise them open with. There was nothing in the kitchen or utility room, so she braved the horizontal rain and pelted round to the side of the house where she’d noticed a couple of outbuildings. Both were locked so she went back to the house, drenched, freezing and frustrated. Pulling her sopping wet jumper over her head, she charged up the stairs and bumped into Esther on her way.

‘Oh!’ Esther gave a small scream. ‘You frightened the life out of me.’

‘Sorry. I’m just going to get changed.’

‘Hmmm, you need to be careful on those stairs. We could’ve come a cropper with you charging around like that.’

Maddy took a deep breath to stop the sarcastic reply that hovered on her lips. Instead, she asked Esther if she knew where the keys to the outbuildings were. It turned out there was a set hanging in the utility room by the back door.

Maddy pulled on a dry pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and raced back downstairs, barely missing Esther on the stairs again.

‘For goodness sake, I need danger money working here!’ she called after Madison.

‘Sorry!’ Maddy yelled back up the stairs.

She skidded into the utility room, shrugged on her parka and slipped her feet into her old trainers. A large bunch of keys hung on a hook by the door. Maddy grabbed it, hunched her shoulders and headed back outside into the deluge. After a couple of goes she got lucky and managed to open the door to one of the stone outbuildings.

All manner of garden implements hung in orderly rows on the wall and a metal shelving system housed other useful objects - tins, pots, bottles and boxes. She picked up a large garden spade and thought it might just do the job, but then she spotted a long black crowbar hanging on the wall.

‘Bingo.’

Maddy and the crowbar made short work of the first crate and she lifted off the splintered lid. Something large and square rested on the top, wrapped in a thick piece of cloth. Maddy lifted out the heavyish object and unfolded it from its grey shroud. It was a painting, a portrait of a young girl from long ago in an ornate gilt frame. She had a beautiful face with long dark hair pulled back in a loose chignon. She stared confidently out of the frame and Madison stared back at her for a few moments. She set the painting down carefully on the floor, leaning it against the crate.

Delving further into the box, she pulled out several other portraits of different people. Maddy looked at their faces in the torchlight and shivered. If this was her ancestor’s house, maybe these were paintings of her family. She could ask Mr Vasey-Smith if he knew anything about them. For now, she’d take the paintings upstairs where there was decent lighting to study them properly. Perhaps their names were written on them. Wow. She wondered what she’d find in the other boxes and crates.

But right now she was hungry and actually quite tired. She returned the paintings to the crate except for the one of the girl which she brought back upstairs. She looked down at herself and realised she was filthy, covered in dust and grime. God, she’d have to change clothes again for the millionth time. Esther was a moody old cow but at least she did look after Maddy and Ben, what with doing all their washing and stuff. Maddy knew that when she put her dirty clothes in the basket at the top of the stairs, the next day they would be miraculously clean, dry and freshly folded, ready for her to wear again.

Morris dropped Ben back home at four fifteen and Maddy was dying to know how he’d got on. She took his wet coat and bag and ushered him into the kitchen where they sat in front of the large cream range.

‘So? How was it? Did you make any friends?’

‘I’m hungry,’ he replied.

Maddy pushed the fruit bowl towards him.

‘Not fruit, Mads, I need something proper,’ he pushed the fruit bowl back at her.

Maddy stood up and opened the larder. She took the lid off a dark green tin with flowers and fruit on it. Inside, sat a round fruit cake. It smelt delicious. She tipped it onto a wooden chopping board and hacked off a large slice.

‘Excellent,’ he said and started scoffing it.

Maddy cut herself a smaller slice and nibbled a corner.

‘Come on, Ben. How did it go?’

‘Mmm, fine,’ he said, through a mouthful of cake. ‘Lessons were pretty boring, but I met a few people. Seems okay.’

Maddy knew she wouldn’t get any more information from him for now, so she didn’t quiz him any further.

‘Gonna watch some TV, Mads. Okay?’

He took his cake, dropping crumbs all over the floor and made his way to the games room and the huge forty two inch plasma screen which Maddy had purchased for him the previous weekend, along with some games consoles, a couple of laptops and various other gadgets suddenly vital to life.

Maddy spent the next few days down in the cellar. It took ages to clear up the broken bottles from the party and then, when she’d cleared away every last shard, she started going through the crates. It was dirty work. Everything was covered in a century of dust and cobwebs, and every so often, fat black spiders would scuttle out to startle her.

The contents of the crates were fascinating. She came across more paintings, this time of landscapes which looked very much like the local scenery. She found bundles of postcards from all kinds of foreign places, sepia photographs and hundreds of letters. She would take some upstairs and read them later. The handwriting was beautiful, all flowing swirls and flourishes, not at all like her messy, spidery scrawl.

Then, she came to the clothes - amazing vintage suits, silk dresses, bustle gowns, voluminous white undergarments, rigid corsets, bonnets, lace scarves and heavy wool coats. There were dainty dancing slippers, high lace-up boots and beaded capes. They had all been stored carefully and were in surprisingly good condition. She lifted out a gold silk brocade dress, nipped in at the waist and billowing out to the ground in waves. She held it up to her body, feeling slightly ridiculous.

Maddy had never been a ‘pretty dresses’ kind of girl, but could feel herself becoming seduced by the luxury and sumptuousness of these other-worldly garments. She imagined her predecessors drifting around the house in their finery, like something out of a Jane Austin novel.

They’d studied the story of Mansfield House at school last term and Madison had wanted to slap the heroine in it. Fanny, her name was. God, what a drip. Maddy would never have put up with half of what she had.

Her English teacher tried to explain how different it was in society for women and girls back then, but Maddy just thought they were pathetic to just want nothing more for themselves than marriage to a rich husband. But then again, she knew quite a few girls who were like that now and this was the twenty first century. She knew she was lucky she’d never have to make the decision between independence and financial security - She now had both.

Ben would be home from school soon, so Maddy clumsily folded up the dress and stuffed it back into its crate. She picked up the torch, preparing to go back upstairs, but from across the room something beckoned.

A gleam of light, a glint of something metallic. She shone the torch at the far wall, but could see nothing unusual, so she walked closer, waving the torch around. There it was again. An elusive golden glint in the wall. She couldn’t get close enough to look properly. Stacks of boxes blocked her way.

A few were light enough to shift but she had to get her full weight behind the larger ones. They scraped stubbornly across the stone floor. It was no good, she was trying to do this too quickly and there wasn’t enough space. She’d have to be more systematic but there was no time now. Ben would be home any minute wondering where she was. Maddy shone the beam at the glinting spot, just to make sure she hadn’t imagined it. Then, satisfied, she made her way back upstairs.

When Ben arrived home, she told him about the hidden treasures in the cellar.

‘What, some old clothes?’ He made himself a jam sandwich.

‘Not just old clothes. Anyway, they’re amazing and they probably belonged to our ancestors. And there was this shining thing in the wall. I don’t know what it was though. I’m going to check it out tomorrow.’

‘Cool,’ he said with a mouth full of sandwich. ‘Some of my mates are going to see the new X-Men movie in town after school tomorrow. Can I go? Dan said his mum’ll give me a lift home afterwards.’

‘No, I’d like you to help me sort all the stuff out in the cellar.’

‘What? Oh ha, ha, very funny. Can I go then? To the cinema?’

‘Yeah, Ben. Course you can.’

*

Friday morning, and Maddy ignored the bright autumn sunshine. Instead, she descended into the dingy cellar. Now she had the whole day in front of her, she could approach things more methodically. She shone her torch across the boxes until the light caught the glint of gold on the wall. Or rather, it looked like it was in the wall. No, she couldn’t quite work it out.

She dragged and heaved the crates over to a large clear space on the right hand side of the cellar. She hadn’t opened them all yet, but there was plenty of time for that. It took her over an hour to move them and now her hands were black with dirt, her arms ached and sweat trickled down her back.

Esther would wonder what on earth she was doing to get her clothes in such a state every day. Well, let her wonder. Finally the far end was almost clear and Maddy was able to get up close to the wall.

A chunk of mortar had broken away from the brickwork, revealing a gap. Through it, Maddy saw the glinting thing. She slid in her fingertips and felt cold, smooth metal. There was something there, behind the wall.

Chapter Twelve

1881

*

Beneath the surface, the roar of the river instantly muted and Alexandre opened his eyes to bubbles and foam. He swam downwards and the water cleared. The rock he had clung to was indeed a stone column of some kind and he saw another one, huge and cone shaped. Then, Alexandre’s eyes widened.

There below him was the cave, just as Havva had described.

Could it really be the one from the ancient legend, or did this just conveniently fit the description? Set into pure white rock, four gigantic fairy chimneys rose up – two above the cave and two on the river bed, like unwavering guardians turned to stone.

One of them must have been destroyed, for Havva Sahin had spoken of five fairy chimneys in the legend. The mouth of the cave sat low and wide. Alexandre remembered the words of the story and could not help but imagine the thousands of villagers waiting with their families, ready to walk unknowing to their doom.

His lungs began to ache so he shot up to the surface and swam back to the river bank, ending up much further downstream. Sliding out of the water, he sat, trying to regain his breath. Isik joined him and Alexandre told him of his discovery.

‘I am going back down,’ he gasped. ‘I am going to go into the cave.’

‘Wait, my friend. You need to rest and you need to eat. Lunch was a long time ago and your energy must be low.’

Alexandre did feel a bit shaky. He sat down and acknowledged Isik was probably right.

Dry, fed and rested, Alexandre returned to the cold river and dived down as before.

The cave was not deep and he found a narrow crevice at the back. Alexandre squeezed through and wriggled out into another water-filled space. He swam upwards, praying he would hit air soon. His lungs were empty. He finally sprayed up out of the cold water and sucked in a long gasp of air.

He found himself in damp swirling darkness, a faint wash of light pulsing somewhere above him. Alexandre suddenly felt very uneasy. He could not see beneath the surface of the murky water. His mind turned to slimy river creatures and mythological monsters. He had to get out of the water before panic overtook him. He swam until he reached the edge and pulled himself onto a rocky shelf.

A mixture of fear and great excitement took over. He had actually done it. He had quite possibly found the entrance to the underground city. Others had failed, but he, Alexandre Chevalier, had doggedly followed a hunch which had proved him right. He allowed himself a moment of self-congratulatory pleasure before standing up and looking around.

His eyes adjusted to the gloom, relieved to see at least some light, even if it was only a faint glow. The air smelt musty and old, moist and earthy, but the whisper of a breeze stroked his wet face bringing an overtone of freshness. Eerily quiet, all he could hear was the echoing drip, drip, drip of water on stone and a faint rippling in the underground lake.

Alexandre stood up and balanced along the ledge until he reached a wider area of rock floor. The walls looked solid with no other entranceway that he could see. He walked along a little further, clambering over rubble. He stepped onto a smooth rock, shaped like a slice taken from an enormous cylinder, but broken in half. Climbing up further, he came to a large gap in the wall. An entranceway? His heart sped up. It looked like it could be a tunnel.

He stepped over the broken rock and peered into unending darkness. Close up, were fragments of what appeared to have been a carved pillar. He entered the black space and crept forward a little way. It was no good. The darkness would swallow him up. He needed more light. Alexandre backed out and climbed down over the large broken wheel-like stone. It had a hole in the middle, like a massive millstone.

Could this really be the underground city from the legend, sealed off from the inside and hidden from the outside world? He started to believe it and yearned to explore but knew that right now was not the time. Reluctantly, he returned to the river bank, surfaced next to the stone column and swam back to dry land where he saw Isik waiting, scanning the river for him.

‘It is there. It is as the old woman said,’ Alexandre panted, sitting on the river’s edge and sipping the water Isik handed him.

‘But this is incredible. Tell me what you saw.’

Alexandre got his breath back and went on to describe the underground lake in the cavern. He told him about the partially blocked tunnel that he believed could very well lead to other parts of the lost city.

‘The carved pillar proves it is not just a natural cave. And those tunnels are most probably man made.’

‘We are only about an hour from camp,’ Isik said. ‘Shall we go now before it is dark? You must be eager to tell your family of your great discovery.’

‘No. I am going back in, but I need to take supplies with me.’

‘You cannot go there alone,’ Isik said. ‘Forgive me, but that would be foolish, with or without demons.’

‘You said yourself we are not far from camp. I could travel back there through the caves. I would probably make it there within only a few hours.’

‘No,’ Isik said. ‘I must insist you do not go. It will be dark soon and we should return. You will have your chance to explore tomorrow. Just be patient for one more day ... Please.’

‘You are right of course. It is just that I am burning with curiosity to see what lies there. But I will wait. Shall we make camp here tonight? I suddenly feel very tired. I think it must be all that swimming.’

Isik laughed. ‘Tired? A moment ago, you were ready to go exploring underground caves. Very well, we will leave first thing in the morning and in the meantime you can dream of your caves.’

He continued chuckling to himself whilst Alexandre stared into the river where the water eddied at the top of the stone pillars.

*

Isik awoke, as always, at dawn. He opened his eyes and sat up. The sun rose behind him and the sky slowly bleached white before deepening into a familiar blue. He instantly knew something was wrong. Alexandre was nowhere to be seen.

His eyes fell upon a small scrap of paper on the ground, weighted down with a rock. He growled and ripped it out from under the rock to read.

Forgive me, Isik. I had to go. Do not worry.

I will see you back at the site very shortly.

Alexandre

Isik kicked the rock that had weighted down the note.

‘That damn donkey of a boy!’ he swore in his native tongue. Didier Chevalier will never forgive me, he thought to himself. I am a fool to have trusted his son.

Isik did not bother with breakfast. He jumped onto his horse, took Alexandre’s steed and galloped back to camp as fast as he possibly could. He worried about what the Chevaliers would say to him. Would they hold him responsible?

Thankfully, the boy had the good sense to take Isik’s bag and knife, but the Turk would have beaten anyone else who dared take his knife without asking. He knew he had to get back to camp as quickly as possible, but he dreaded telling them what had happened. He also felt foolish. Luckily he did not have far to travel.

Heads down, eyes narrowed, the horses thundered across the dirt and they thundered across the rock, oblivious to what waited below.

*

The old woman’s story of the demons, although patently fictional, had spooked Alexandre somewhat and if he was to go alone into a dark underground cave, he would feel more reassured if there was daylight outside. He waited until most of the night had passed, preparing to leave before dawn. His plan would go awry if Isik awoke before him.

Alexandre hesitated before borrowing the guard’s knife and leather drawstring bag, but reasoned that Isik would not mind. He would return them soon enough. And if the water damaged them he would replace them.

He tucked the knife securely into his breeches. Then, into the bag he put his own leather boots. In each of these he had placed some provisions. In one: a flask of fresh water, some strips of meat and some pitta bread. In the other: a compass, two candles and some striking matches. He placed a metal cup over the top, hoping the contents would manage to stay dry. He tied the bag across his bare chest and dropped into the cold dark river.

Once Alexandre surfaced in the underground cavern, he tugged at the drawstring to Isik’s heavy wet bag and pulled out his sopping boots. He smiled with relief to see his compass working, his candles and matches still dry. Pulling on his squelching boots, he held out the compass to see which way was west – the way back to camp.

Having clambered back up onto the broken stone, Alexandre peered once again into the unyielding blackness of the tunnel. He stepped inside, struck a match and lit one of the candles. The smell of sulphur burned sharp in his nostrils and the flame illuminated moisture dripping down black-green walls.

Suddenly, a great cloud of squeaking swooshing bats shot out of the darkness and headed straight for him. He dropped the candle and tried to shield himself as they flew into his hair and at his face. He shook himself and shuddered as the last one dived away. They swept on past him, circled the cavern and disappeared into the roof of the cave.

Alexandre picked up the candle with trembling fingers. What else could be hiding down here? He held out the candle and relit it. Then, with his free hand, he fingered the handle of Isik’s knife, ready to unsheathe it at the first sign of danger. The bats had unnerved him and he tried to slow his breathing and calm down before continuing.

The flame cast an eerie glow in the long grey tunnel. Narrow and low-ceilinged, it sloped gradually downwards away from the river. The rock walls were dry down here and the sound of dripping water receded. All Alexandre could hear were his loud breaths and the squelching trudge of his soggy leather boots. Every few feet, recesses had been cut into the wall, maybe to house candles or lanterns of some kind.

After about a ten minute walk, Alexandre reached a crossroads. Each way was clear, so he pulled out his compass and headed into the west-facing tunnel. A few moments later, he found himself standing in a great hall with a high barrel-vaulted ceiling. Frescoes and carvings adorned the walls and thick carved columns ran along both sides of the space. Alexandre shook his head at the sheer scale and craftsmanship.

He held his candle out in front of him to inspect the frescoes more closely. They appeared to be religious pictures, beautifully depicted but the subject matter was quite gruesome with much blood and gore. Alexandre supposed they were biblical scenes of hell or maybe some of the more grisly Old Testament stories. He shivered and turned away, looking instead at his compass which showed west to be in the left hand corner of the cavernous hall.

He walked across the vast expanse, his footsteps echoing, and saw a flight of steps leading downwards. Another floor! But he could not descend now; he needed to get back to the camp. He shivered, still wet and now quite chilled. Entering another corridor, he broke into a slow run to try and warm himself up, shielding the candle with his hand to stop it going out.

He felt less nervous now and grinned to himself, excited at the thought of telling his parents what he had found. They would be ecstatic.

But suddenly, Alexandre slowed. Up ahead the tunnel ended. Something was blocking his path. Something huge.

*

Whilst Alexandre travelled beneath the ground, his family was back at the site having breakfast with the Swintons. They looked up from their conversation as Isik charged into camp, dust flying out behind him like a swirling serpent.

The Turk dismounted and tried to break the news of Alexandre’s disappearance without anger or worry coming through in his voice. But he could not prevent the reaction that he knew his news would provoke.

‘That boy has always been trouble!’ Didier shouted. ‘What in the name of God was I thinking, letting him go off like that? I should have known the stupid idiot was not to be trusted.’

‘Shhh, Didier,’ Marie-Louise rubbed her hands up and down his upper arms, trying to calm him. ‘I too feel sick with worry but there is no use upsetting yourself like this.’

‘He is wilful, but worse than that, he is selfish,’ Didier fumed. ‘Does he think he is going to come back to a hero’s welcome? Pah!’

‘He is a child, he was excited …’ she began. And then she burst into tears.

‘He is a man and he is an idiot,’ Didier countered and then, as he realised his wife was crying, he stopped talking and put his arms around her to try to offer some comfort. What was to be done?

Everybody was at a loss as to what to do or say next.

‘Well,’ Harold finally said. ‘Victoria and I could return with Isik to the river bank whilst you wait here to see if he returns. I could go down into the cave and try to find him there ...’

‘If anybody is going into the cave, it will be me!’ said Didier. ‘I am the foolish boy’s father. I cannot let anybody else put themselves in danger on his account.’

‘Whatever you decide, Didier,’ Harold said. ‘You ask it and we shall all comply willingly.’

‘You are a good friend, Harold,’ Didier’s tone softened. ‘I am sorry for shouting. It is just that I am so worried. And look at the distress he has caused his mother.’

*

In the tunnel, Alexandre had been forced to stop. And now he saw the reason why. Something huge was blocking his way. It was a giant millstone.

He looked up at the massive cylindrical slice. It reached over head height, maybe eight or nine feet tall. He would have to turn back and find another route. A niggle of worry crept in but he tried to ignore it. He would find another way out. And if the worst came to the worst, he would just have to go back to the river. Alexandre paused, his brain making connections and then it suddenly came to him!

Back at the camp, down in the shaft, that large rock with the hole in it which blocked the entrance - it was a millstone! Excitement replaced worry and Alexandre pushed at the edge of the cylinder to see if it would move. It rocked just a fraction of an inch, so he put his full weight behind it. His heart lightened as it rolled heavily, crashing into a u-shaped stone at the side which held it in place. A wide opening in the rock wall was revealed.

The tunnel entrance was clear again! He marvelled at the ingenuity of the people who had built this place but he had no time to stop and ponder. He continued on his way, passing more millstones and more sets of staircases descending downwards. He noticed large earthenware pots, huge carved pillars, arches and all manner of things that he would return to explore more thoroughly. But right now, he had to try to ignore this strange and wondrous place and get back to the site.

His route took him through black tunnels and caverns. Every so often, a faint wisp of light shone down from above and he would breathe in slightly fresher air – ventilation shafts. Suddenly he felt a sharp stinging pain in his fingertips and, without warning, he was in absolute darkness again. After a second or two of panic, he realised his candle had burnt out and he fumbled in his bag to reach the tin which contained the spare candle and matches.

In the absolute black of the tunnel his breathing sounded thunderous and he tried to think of things to stop the fear creeping in. He pictured Leonora’s face, the scornful look she reserved just for him, her lustrous hair, her ... He struck the match and the blessed light flickered and wavered in his shaking fingers. He lit the wick and breathed a sigh of relief. It was not a pleasant experience to be alone and underground in complete darkness, especially with tales of demons haunting his mind.

Alexandre was almost certain the deep shaft back at the camp would be easily accessible, for he knew now that it was millstones which blocked the entrances. But this time he would be on the right side to roll them out of the way and ascend the shaft by rope.

Yet again he found his way blocked by another of the massive stones. He wheeled it aside and walked through. His new candle was instantly extinguished by a breath of wind but it did not matter, for a small glimmer of daylight swam around him, filtering down from above. He smiled triumphantly, not quite believing where he was.

He had done it! He was here! The familiar rope hung in front of him and he hauled himself up, hand-over-hand, back into the morning light, to the sweet fresh air and to his waiting parents, who were furious.

*

‘Is everybody talking about me again?’

All heads turned towards the sound of his voice.

‘Alexandre?’ Leonora saw him first. He was bare-chested, dishevelled, wet and grimy, but his smile was so broad it hurt his face.

‘Oh Alexandre!’ his mother cried and ran to throw her arms around him. ‘You scared us all to death,’ she sobbed into his chest.

‘But … But, how did you get back here?’ Isik asked. ‘You left your horse behind with me. Surely you did not come here through the underground caves?’

‘But that is exactly how I came here.’ Alexandre enjoyed looking at their confused faces. ‘I have been to the lost city.’

After making his apologies for worrying everybody, having a much-needed wash and pouring himself a hot cup of coffee, Alexandre sat down with the rest of the camp to tell them of his early morning adventure. He was questioned and cross-examined by his family and friends until he felt dizzy. He was shouted at, cried over, reprimanded, kissed and congratulated.

Eventually, when all was forgiven and the enormity of the discovery had been realised, it was time to get excited and, in gleeful moods, everybody prepared for the exploration of the lost ancient underground city of the legends.

*

Tools and supplies were lowered into the shaft, followed by Alexandre, Papa, Maman, Harold and Victoria. Isik had insisted that he and two of his guards accompany them. This time they all carried lanterns, illuminating everything much more clearly. Alexandre proudly led the way towards the great hall he had encountered earlier.

‘Incredible,’ Papa said as he saw the great millstone that had been rolled aside. ‘I believe the hole in the centre could be a spy hole, or perhaps a rod went in there to roll the stone more easily. Tell us where you saw the steps to the lower level, Alexandre.’

‘There were many places with stairs leading down. I must have seen at least half a dozen sets of stairs. I know there are some in the corner of the great hall.’

‘Look!’ Victoria pointed to a large room off one of the tunnels. ‘Are those stone troughs? Yes, look at those rock-built stalls. I do believe these were stables.’

They crowded into the room. Alexandre was amazed to see rough-hewn stables with columns. Victoria addressed everybody.

‘I have to say, this is the most exciting day of my career. I think we will be here for many, many months to come. It is an absolute treasure trove of history.’

As Alexandre led the others along the low-ceilinged corridors, he revelled in his new-found status of discoverer and leader. Their excited voices bounced off the rock walls, echoing strangely. Whispers were multiplied and exclamations of surprise reverberated in his ears. Here and there, ventilation shafts threw down narrow beams of light. Soon they reached the great hall and they stood in a rare moment of silence, staring around at the vast decorative space.

‘A barrel-vaulted ceiling!’ Harold exclaimed.

‘Frescoes!’ Papa said. ‘Come and look at these. They are depicting some kind of sacrificial scene. Quite incredible.’

‘Quite disturbing,’ added Maman.

‘Disturbing, but beautifully depicted,’ Victoria added. ‘They were artists.’

‘How old would you say this place is?’ Alexandre asked.

‘It is too early to tell,’ his father replied. ‘But my best guess, at this stage, is that we’re looking at over one thousand years old ... perhaps eighth century or maybe even older.’

‘Unbelievable,’ Alexandre said.

‘My only concern is the state of the place,’ his father continued.

‘Why?’ Alexandre asked. ‘It looks to be in a good state of repair, considering its age. I mean it is dirty and dusty, but not too bad at all.’

‘But that is exactly my point. It is in excellent repair and it should not be so.’

‘Come and look at this,’ Maman called from the other end of the hall. ‘I believe this is a stone altar.’ She ran her hands along the rectangular rock as they walked across to join her.

‘Of course,’ Harold said. ‘This is a church!’

‘It is a strange church that would have these types of paintings on the walls,’ Isik said. ‘I personally do not like this place at all. It does not feel good. It does not feel good at all.’

Chapter Thirteen

*

Madison heard the far-away sounds of metal banging on metal. Morris must be doing some manual work in the grounds. She picked a bit more of the crumbling mortar away from the brick wall. It felt sticky. Maddy looked at her fingers and tentatively sniffed them … alcohol. The mortar in between the bricks must have been dislodged during the party when those idiots smashed their bottles down here. She shone the torch on the floor and, sure enough, a few triangular fragments of glass glittered at her.

Maddy slid her slim fingers into the gap in the brickwork and the tips of her fingers stroked smooth shiny metal. But she couldn’t reach far enough in, to determine what it actually was. She tried to slip her fingers behind the brick to prise it out of the wall, but she couldn’t get enough leverage and it wouldn’t budge. She’d have to dislodge some more of the mortar. How annoying. She just wanted to get a sledgehammer and knock the whole thing down ... Yes! That could work.

She ran up the stairs, out of the back door and across to Morris’ shed where she scanned inside until her eyes rested on what she wanted – a large sledgehammer. A pick axe lay next to it; she’d take that too. She also grabbed a hammer and a chisel. The tools were deceptively heavy and Maddy half carried, half dragged them outside and back down into the cellar.

She heaved up the sledgehammer first and it took all her strength to hit the wall where the mortar had dislodged. The first hit didn’t seem to have any effect, so she tried again. It wasn’t as easy as she thought it would be. She tried the pick axe and aimed it at the gap. It lodged itself in the small space, splintering more of the mortar away and she angled it downwards and pulled hard. The brick scraped out and thunked down onto the stone floor.

Maddy dropped the pick axe and wiped her cheek on her shoulder. She shone the torch into the hole and saw the metal object. She reached her hand into the darkness and touched it. It was cold metal, round with raised ridges on it. Curved, like a ball … like a … like a door knob. It was a door knob! There was a door behind the wall.

Maddy heaved the sledge hammer up again and whacked the bricks above the gap. After about eight or nine hits, a large section of wall collapsed backwards. Dust flew everywhere. Madison coughed and choked. Her eyes itched and her arm and shoulder muscles burned, but she didn’t stop. After about five or six minutes of relentless bashing, she had cleared a door-space hole in the wall.

She stood for a few seconds to get her breath and wait for the dust to clear. When she held the torch up, she saw an intricately carved brass door knob which gleamed like new, apart from a light sprinkling of brick dust. The door knob belonged to a small, solid-looking metal door.

She twisted the door knob … locked. There was a keyhole. Maybe the key she needed hung on the bunch in the utility room.

She raced up the stone steps, two at a time, poured herself a large glass of water and gulped it down. She grabbed the keys off the brass hook and ran back down the steps. The door had a black metal lock with quite a large keyhole. She tried all the appropriate keys in turn but none of them came close to opening it. Damn! What could be behind that door? Something so secret it was locked away and then bricked up? And where on earth was the key?

She picked up the sledgehammer and heaved it against the edge of the door. A loud metallic clang reverberated around the cellar, but the door wasn’t even dented. Maddy’s body juddered from the impact. She threw the hammer down in disgust and plodded upstairs into the kitchen.

‘State of you,’ Esther said, looking at her dust-covered employer.

‘Nice to see you too,’ Maddy replied. Then she had a thought.

‘Are there any other keys anywhere?’

‘Keys for what?’

‘I don’t know. Keys. Like that bunch of keys in the utility room. Are there any other keys anywhere else that belong to the house?’

‘Far as I know, that’s all the keys there are. Now, I’m going to do you and Ben a chicken casserole for the weekend, so if you wouldn’t mind moving away from the kitchen table. I’ve just cleaned it and you’re contaminating everything with your grubby fingers.’

Maddy looked down at the dirty marks she’d left on the kitchen table. She huffed loudly, put her hands down by her sides and went back into the cellar. As she tramped down the steps, she heard Esther muttering to herself about cellars and dirt and children.

The small metal door had been set into a stone wall, the same type of wall as all the others in the cellar and, indeed, in the whole house. The false brick wall must have been built later, to cover up the door. She supposed she could knock the rest of the brick wall down and then try knocking down the stone wall, but if it was anything like the other walls in the house, it would be too thick and strong. She rattled the door knob again, in frustration.

Madison began to clear away the bricks that had fallen in front of the door, throwing them into the space between the two walls. Maybe she could get a locksmith in? They’d be able to open it, surely. Yeah, that’s what she’d do.

The soonest a locksmith could come out to the house was four thirty that afternoon. Maddy rang around several firms, but that was the best she could get. She’d just have to be patient. She had a shower and washed her hair, sticking all her filthy clothes in the basket with a pang of guilt at the dismissive way she’d talked to Esther. But then Esther was no better; she was always so rude. She just brought out the worst in Madison. The woman was a nightmare.

Maddy remembered Ben was supposed to be going to the cinema with friends after school, so she wouldn’t be able to show him the secret door. She’d have to wait until later. Maybe the door would be open by the time he got home and then they could see what lay behind it, together.

The locksmith was half an hour late. He drove up to the house in a small red van with a picture of a large brass key emblazoned on its side. A tall middle-aged man in a blue boiler suit unfolded himself from the tiny vehicle. His receding grey hair was styled into a DA and he had a matching grey luxuriant moustache.

‘Sorry I’m late, love.’ He spoke in the local Gloucestershire accent. ‘It’s been one of those days, you know?’

‘S’okay. Come in.’ Maddy gestured for him to follow her.

‘Nice place you got here. Couldn’t trouble you for a cuppa could I? I’m gasping and they ran out of milk at the last place.’

‘Yep, no problem. I’ll show you the door first, and then I’ll come back up and make some tea.’

‘Blimey,’ said the locksmith, as he followed Maddy down into the cellar. ‘You gonna murder me and hide my body in the basement? This is a bit spooky down here innit?’

‘The light’s broken, so it’s a bit dark. But I’ll leave you my torch while I make your tea, if that’s okay.’

‘You from London are you?’

‘Yeah.’ She shone the torch at the hole in the wall. ‘There’s the door. It’s got a keyhole, but no key. Can you open it?’

‘Interesting.’ He studied it. ‘Give us your torch then. I’ll see what I can do. Might need a couple of biscuits to go with that cuppa though,’ he chuckled. ‘Milk, no sugar thanks.’

Maddy went upstairs into the kitchen, sloshed some water over a teabag and mashed it around with a few drops of milk. She grabbed an unopened packet of chocolate digestives and headed back down into the darkness.

‘Have you got a key for it?’ she asked, passing him the tea and biscuits.

He took a sip of tea and opened the packet of biscuits.

‘Oh yeah,’ he said slowly. ‘I’ve found a key for the lock.’

‘Oh my God! You’ve actually done it.’

‘Yeah I’ve done it. But you won’t get that door open.’

‘What?’

‘No, you ain’t gonna get him open. Not from this side anyway.’ He looked quite pleased with his pronouncement.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, he’s been dead-bolted from the other side. He’s got a bolt at the bottom, here. And one up here.’ He looked at Maddy. ‘Is this an external wall? If it is, you could go outside and have a look for the other side of the door.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Maddy, disappointed. If it was an external wall, then there would be nothing interesting on the other side of the door. It would just lead outside.

‘Let’s have a look.’ The locksmith shoved half a biscuit in his mouth and followed the wall round to the right. ‘There’s a corridor here,’ he mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs. ‘And look, there’s a room off your corridor but it starts about fifteen foot away from your wall. That metal door don’t lead outside, it leads into a room.’

‘I knew it!’ Maddy said. ‘How can I get into it though?’

‘You can’t,’ he said. ‘That’s a solid metal door and this is a load-bearing wall. You mess with this wall and your stately home won’t be looking so stately.’

‘There must be some way.’

‘Well now, there’s a few options, but you’ll have to get the professionals in and that’d eat into your bank balance and it’d take a fair few days to sort out,’ he continued. He looked like he was settling in for a long enjoyable conversation, but Maddy was so impatient she wanted to scream. He continued talking in his ponderous manner, alternately swigging tea and munching biscuits.

‘Now I reckon this is a listed building, so they probably won’t let you do any of this anyway, but hypothetically you could take down some of the wall and put in a steel - that’s a large supporting beam - and then …’

Maddy tuned his brain-meltingly boring conversation out of her head. She had an idea that was far quicker and easier than any of his complicated theories.

‘Yeah that’s great,’ she smiled, cutting him off in mid-flow. ‘So what do I owe you for opening the lock?’

He looked a bit taken aback at the interruption. ‘Oh okay. Glad I could help. Here’s your key. I’ll go upstairs and fill out the paperwork.’

Maddy couldn’t wait for him to go. She was going to get that door open today, even if she brought the whole house crashing down. She was on a mission.

*

Once the locksmith had left, Madison returned to the cellar. She climbed on to a crate and reached up to one of the dirty windows at the top of the wall. Unhooking the rusty metal latch, she gave the window a push. It was stiff, but yielded open. A small shaft of afternoon light shone into the cellar. Maddy realised she should have opened the windows earlier and then she would have had some extra light down there instead of just relying on the torch.

Next, she went upstairs and out of the back door, looking along the outside of the building for the open cellar window. She spotted it at ground level on the north western side of the property. That shouldn’t be a problem, she thought. I think I can get close enough.

Her Land Rover had been delivered the previous weekend and Travis had given her a couple of rudimentary lessons. She still didn’t know exactly what to do with the pedals, but figured she’d be able to work it out. Maddy opened the wooden doors to the garage and climbed into the pristine vehicle, starting the engine and putting the gears into reverse. Trying to remember what Travis had told her about the clutch and accelerator, she released the handbrake, shot backwards out of the garage and stalled.

Calm down, she told herself and tried again. She shot out a bit further this time, but didn’t stall. In first gear and then second, she headed carefully towards the main driveway and drove effortlessly up a smooth grass bank which led round to the side of the house. She nosed the Defender as close to the open window as she could get. It now sat on a high bank, above the low window. The Land Rover was too wide to drive along the narrow gravel pathway which ran next to the side of the house.

Madison turned off the engine, jumped out, walked to the winch at the front of the Land Rover and grabbed the end of the cable. She slid down the bank and fed the cable down through the open window. Then she went back down to the cellar and secured the cable to the metal door, tying it around the large brass door knob. She had no idea if her plan would work, but if it did, it would be quick and save her a lot of hassle.

Once back outside at the Land Rover, she locked the cable tight. She climbed back into the driver’s seat, started up the engine and put it into reverse. Releasing the handbrake, she eased down gently on the accelerator. The vehicle went backwards a few inches and then stopped. Maddy put a bit more pressure on the pedal until the engine roared loudly. She stopped for a moment, drove forward a smidge and then reversed hard again.

The engine growled and then, as Maddy put more pressure on the pedal, it grew more throaty and insistent. The wheels churned up grass and mud. Something was going to give, but whether it would be the engine or the door, Maddy couldn’t tell. Suddenly she heard a loud bang. The cable went slack and the Land Rover shot backwards across the lawn. Before she had a chance to slam on the brakes, the vehicle lurched to a sudden stop and skidded around sideways. At the same time she heard a reverberating clang from the house. Maddy’s heart boomed. Had it worked or not?

She turned off the engine and jumped down onto the grass. Darkness had bloomed and she could just about make out the mess of turf and mud in front of her, where the tyres had wrecked the immaculate lawn. There was no time to worry about that. She had to see if she’d done it or not, to find out what lay beyond the door. She jumped off the high bank, ran inside and grabbed the torch, heading down into the cellar again, fingers crossed her efforts had been worth it.

Maddy held the torch out in front of her, surprised to see her hands shaking. The metal door had been ripped from its hinges, dragged across the floor and up the wall. It had gone as far as it could and now completely blocked the window.

In addition to the hole in the first brick wall, there was now a small, door-shaped hole in the second stone wall. Thick dust swirled, but Maddy ignored her dry throat and walked towards the newly made entrance. She peered inside.

Straight ahead she saw shapes covered with white sheets. On top of the sheets, rested a haunted house-worth of dust and cobwebs. Maddy lifted up the pick axe and used the handle to waft away the thick strands of cobwebs in front of her. To her left she could just about make out some other large objects covered in layers of dust and spider webs. But it was like trying to see through a thick night mist.

She stepped closer and saw something surprising. It was a single bed and next to that, a bedside table on which sat a metal cup, a candlestick and a book. Strange that someone would have slept down here. She drew closer still and saw something else, something so gruesome she couldn’t help but scream a shriek of terror.

She stumbled back out of the room and up the stairs, slamming the cellar door shut, turning the key and locking it with shaking fingers. She made it into the kitchen and stared glassily around her, the grisly image still imprinted in her brain. She had to get out of the house.

Madison tripped and staggered through the hallway and out of the front door, letting it slam behind her. She ran down onto the large front lawn. It was almost pitch black outside now and Maddy would have given anything for a bit of reassuring daylight. Her first instinct was to run the half mile to Morris and Esther’s house. They would sort this out with their no-nonsense approach. But she dismissed the thought almost as soon as it popped into her head. She couldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her at a loss and needing their help.

Maddy sank down onto the grass and hugged her knees to her chest. She knew that what she’d seen wouldn’t hurt her, but she was freaked out just the same. For down there in the scuttling gloom, when she’d looked at the dust-covered bed, she’d seen something odd peeking out from under the covers. She had drawn closer and shone her torch directly at it.

The beam had illuminated the bone white face of a grinning skull. A dead person. A skeleton. Lying in the bed as though asleep.

Now, outside on the lawn, Maddy realised her breathing was rasping and shallow and she tried to take a steadying breath, tried to calm down. She couldn’t tell Ben about this, he’d freak even more than she had. He was pretty sensitive and she didn’t want to give him nightmares. It would certainly give her nightmares, probably for the rest of her life.

How would she ever find the courage to go back into the house? She couldn’t let Ben know why she was out here. He’d be home soon. Oh my God, a skeleton bricked up in the cellar! It was like something you read about or saw in a horror movie. Here she was, all alone in the grounds of a spooky house, no one else around and at least one dead body down there.

She remembered other stuff down there too - things covered over with dust sheets. She shuddered again and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. How could she live here now? With the creepiness of that. She remembered the cellar window was still open with the metal door jammed up against it, still attached to the winch cable. Well no way was she going anywhere near it tonight. It would have to stay like that.

Why had she been so desperate to look behind the door? She should have just left it alone. She could have carried on living in ignorant bliss. But no, she had charged ahead without thinking of any consequences. She shivered. Why couldn’t she get the image of that grinning skull out of her head? It was just a skeleton, it couldn’t hurt her. But why was it there? Why would someone shut another person up in a cellar?

God, maybe her ancestors were a bunch of psychopathic nutters. That would be just her luck. Yes, Maddy, here’s a beautiful house in the country and a few million quid, but your family were murderers and you have to go and live with the corpses of their victims.

Should she call the police? She didn’t want to. Mainly because she knew she and Ben shouldn’t really even be living here on their own without proper adult supervision. They were lucky Vasey-Smith had sorted it for them so no nosy social workers would come sniffing around asking questions. Maybe she should call the solicitor and ask him what to do? Oh God, she felt like her head was going to explode.

If she hadn’t fallen so in love with the place, she would just move out. But then she’d lose her allowance and the inheritance and they’d have nothing. She couldn’t lose all that just for the sake of a skeleton. They couldn’t go back and live with Trevor and Angie. Quite honestly, she’d rather sleep on the streets. She shivered and shuddered again. She’d just sit here until Ben came home and by that time, she might feel brave enough to go back inside. Yeah right.

Chapter Fourteen

1881

*

The small group were mesmerised by their discovery. The underground city was real and the implications of this were only just beginning to sink in. Careers would be made this day.

‘Here is the staircase,’ Alexandre said. ‘Shall we descend?’

They trooped down the long, almost vertical staircase.

‘Stay together, everybody,’ Alexandre’s father called out. ‘We do not know how big this place is. We already know it stretches for some miles and it would not do to get lost down here.’

They passed small rooms, large rooms, tunnels, artefacts and yet more staircases leading downwards.

‘I think we should go back up and work out how we are going to map the area,’ Harold said. ‘The place is so very vast we will need to work out a way to systematically mark out routes and catalogue our finds.’

‘You are right,’ Alexandre’s father agreed. ‘I am starting to get disorientated. Let us return to the surface for now.’

Alexandre blinked and squinted in the bright sunshine as he emerged from the deep hole in the ground. It felt wonderful to breathe in the afternoon air and feel the warmth of the sun on his chilled face.

There was so much to talk about. They sat around the remains of last night’s fire and told Jacques, Isobel, Leonora and Freddie what they had seen. Harold suggested a way to tackle the mammoth task ahead of them.

‘I think it would be prudent to explore one floor at a time to get the measure of how wide an area we are looking at. Alexandre, you walked for several hours before you reached us, but the city may also stretch out in other directions.’

‘Yes, that would be sensible,’ agreed Alexandre’s father. ‘But I am afraid that, for the first time, my curiosity and excitement are overcoming my pragmatism and I am desperate to discover how far down it extends.’

‘I am in agreement with you, Didier,’ said Maman. ‘I am simply dying to find out how deep down these caverns actually are.’

‘Good.’ Alexandre’s father seemed to reach a conclusion. ‘Harold, if you are happy to do it, will you start mapping the first level? In the meantime, Marie-Louise and I will descend to the lower levels to count the number of floors.’

‘May I accompany you, Didier?’ Victoria asked. ‘I too am bursting with curiosity.’ She glanced at her husband as she said this and Harold raised his eyes heavenward.

‘Of course,’ Papa agreed.

‘May we come too?’ Jacques asked, speaking on behalf of himself and Freddie.

‘I do not see why not. As long as you stay close. Leonora? Isobel? Are you coming?’

Leonora smiled and nodded, but Isobel shook her head vehemently.

‘Isobel,’ Leonora said. ‘I need you to accompany me. It will be fun I promise you. We shall hold hands and explore together.’

‘I am afraid,’ Isobel admitted, hanging her head.

‘Then we shall admire you all the more for overcoming your fear,’ Leonora encouraged. ‘Just come down to the first level with me and see what you think. If you do not like it, we shall come straight back up. Besides, if you do not come then one of us will be obliged to stay above ground with you and you will be denying that person the opportunity to satisfy their curiosity.’

Isobel was silent for a few moments and then reluctantly smiled at Leonora. ‘Very well, I shall not be a stick-in-the-mud. I shall be brave.’

Everybody cheered. Alexandre picked his sister up by the waist and swung her around.

‘Let me down, you big oaf!’ she protested, turning crimson with embarrassment. ‘I can just as soon change my mind back you know.’

‘We will just go down for two hours and then we shall return to the surface by six o’clock,’ Papa said. ‘All we will do for now, is try to determine how many levels there are. We shall not be exploring any further than that this afternoon. Is everybody in agreement?’

Everyone noisily voiced their assent. They would be accompanied by Isik and two guards – Savas and Nail. Harold would also take two guards with him and a couple of men from their workforce to help him with room dimensions and cataloguing. Alexandre rose up from his place next to the cold campfire and began to help with the preparations for their descent.

*

Alexandre and the others made their way towards the staircase in the underground church whilst Harold decided to start in the room at the bottom of the shaft and work his way slowly eastwards, the way Alexandre had originally come from.

He enjoyed this type of methodical measuring and cataloguing. It was a satisfying process. The minutes evaporated as he got into his stride. He had worked out a rough key for his mapping system and it was all going rather well. Harold was eager to show the others how much progress he had made, although he knew the task would take many months, if not years to complete.

He pulled out his pocket watch and saw with surprise it was already seven o’clock. The others would be wondering where he had got to. He apologised to the guards and the workers for keeping them so late and they all headed back up to camp.

Once above ground, Harold walked over to the tents where he assumed the others would be now getting ready for dinner.

Strange. The tents were empty.

‘I say!’ he called over to one of the guards. ‘The others and Isik - have they returned?’

‘No.’ The guard shook his head. ‘Agha Kaya ...’ He pointed towards the shaft opening.’

‘I see,’ Harold replied. ‘Thank you.’ Well, they too must have lost track of the time. He did not blame them, it was all too fascinating. They would be up shortly no doubt. He returned to his tent to wash and change.

When he emerged, darkness had already gathered around the site. He strode over to the hissing, crackling campfire. Still no sign of the others. Harold reluctantly concluded that they must have got themselves lost. They would never be two hours late without very good reason.

Worry mingled with irritation. He had half guessed this would happen. It simply did not do to plunge headlong into this type of exploration. Preparation, a system and a slow methodical approach should always be employed if one wanted to avoid situations like this.

Harold sighed. He would have to take some of the guards down with him to go and search them out. They would all be tired and hungry and would, he was sure, now agree to his way of thinking and take it one level at a time, mapping as they went. Once one had a map, one could not get lost.

Four guards accompanied him and Harold showed them that if they got separated for any reason, they should follow the chalk lines on the walls which would lead them back to the surface. As they walked in the direction of the underground church, Harold drew arrows pointing back towards the entrance.

The darkness below ground was absolute and the cold seeped into Harold’s body. No filtering daylight shone through and it felt very different to earlier when they had all been euphoric at their discovery. Harold felt enclosed and claustrophobic. He had never had these types of fears before and wondered why he should experience them now. Maybe it was just worry for his family and friends.

They would laugh about this later on over a glass of raki and a good meal. Harold’s stomach gurgled. He hadn’t eaten for hours. He took a swig of water to help to stem his appetite, but it only seemed to increase it. He pulled some bread out of his bag and started chewing. The others must be ravenous by now.

At last, after what seemed like an age, they reached the great hall of the underground church and Harold ran his chalk along the rock wall, trying to avoid marking the ancient frescoes. It made an eerie scraping, squeaking noise which echoed through the cavernous space. They stopped at the top of the stone staircase and, after looking at each other with some apprehension, carefully made their way to the next level.

‘Victoria!’ Harold shouted, once nearly at the bottom. ‘Leonora! Freddie!’ his voice obscenely loud as he called into the blackness. ‘Shout back if you can hear me!’

They stood in the echoing passageway, waiting for a reply … nothing.

‘I wonder if somehow we have missed each other and they are now above ground wondering where I am,’ he said to the guards with false cheer.

They did not really understand what he said and just smiled encouragingly, fear in their eyes.

‘Aah, yes,’ he said, despite their incomprehension. ‘You too feel some apprehension. I suppose being a guard does not give you immunity from such troublesome human emotions. And now I am rambling. Come, let us continue.’ He strode on ahead, still talking. ‘Didier said they would head downwards and eastwards and so that is what we too shall do.’

They continued on their course, shouting intermittently and waiting for a reply that never came. They found more staircases descending to lower levels and so they kept going. Harold only vaguely noticed things that would have normally had him in paroxysms of excitement – ancient artefacts, tombs, more carvings, frescoes.

Off one particular corridor, several rooms were piled high with human skeletons. It was at this point one of the guards tapped Harold on the shoulder. He pointed upwards, speaking vehemently. He had had enough. They were now about five floors down and if it wasn’t for their lanterns, the darkness would have been without end. Harold saw muted terror in the man’s eyes, but he shook his head.

‘Ten more minutes,’ he said, showing ten fingers to the guard. ‘Ten minutes and then we will return.’

He could not be sure if they understood him, but at any rate they seemed to have already made up their minds. They tried to encourage Harold to come with them, but he refused.

‘I stay,’ said the youngest of them to Harold. ‘I come with you.’ He turned to his comrades and spoke to them in Turkish. It sounded as though they were arguing, but eventually they hugged and kissed each other’s cheeks before the other three turned around and headed back upwards.

‘I Refet.’ The young guard introduced himself.

‘Refet, I am Harold. Teşekkür ederim, thank you for staying and for your bravery. We will find the others now.’

‘Yes, we go. Find your family. Find Agha Kaya.’

They descended to another level and then another. They had been underground now for nearly two hours and it was almost ten o’clock. Suddenly, a loud bang filled up the silence. It sounded like a gunshot, but they could not tell from which direction it came.

Harold and Refet looked at each other and drew their weapons, continuing in the same direction. Harold did not know if he should call out. If it was a gunshot, did it mean the others had fired at an enemy or that someone was firing at them? If indeed it was actually a gunshot.

Then Harold froze. His body prickled with sweat as a scream stabbed the air. A chilling, blood-curdling sound. A woman’s scream of terror. He heard footsteps, more bangs, scuffles, another scream …

Harold’s thoughts swung frenziedly from his wife to his children. He prayed to God the screams had not belonged to Victoria or Leonora. There must be a rational explanation. Perhaps Isobel had taken fright at a ghostly shape which had prompted one of the guards to shoot, or maybe … No. This speculation was not productive. He just had to find them, that was all. The matter would then be resolved and they could follow the chalk lines up and out of this place.

Refet looked at him with concern and Harold realised he was still rooted to the spot. Refet urged him onwards. He was a brave boy, this young Turkish guard. Harold would make sure he told Isik of his loyalty and valour. He smiled at the guard and they continued forward. The noises had stopped.

‘Victoria! Leonora!’ he found the courage to shout. ‘Are you down here? Didier! Freddie! Is that you? It is I, Harold!’

His voice echoed back at him and then faded away into black silence. He tried not to think of the layers and layers of rock and earth above his head, of the fact he was so many feet below the ground in the dead of night with no immediate means of escape. But then he saw his family’s faces in his mind’s eye and he forged ahead.

They came upon another great hall, but the cavernous space made Harold feel exposed and vulnerable after the low confines of the tunnels. He and Refet kept close to the walls. And then they heard another cry that faded away. This one infinitely worse than the last.

‘God help us! Somebody help us!’ It was Isobel’s voice and it came from the other side of the hall.

A long echoing scream wound its way towards them. Harold and Refet ran towards the noise, guns pointing straight out in front of them, the sound of their footsteps magnifying as they charged across the stone floor. They had come to another narrow corridor and had to stoop slightly to enter it. They hunched their way along and peered cautiously into each room ... nothing.

‘Where are you?’ Harold cried out. His voice sounded thin and quavering to his ears. There was no reply. He heard more shouts and screams - a woman’s voice. A scuffling sound up ahead and then silence again.

Refet tapped him on the shoulder making him jump. The young guard pointed up ahead to a dim pulse of light. As they got closer, they saw it came from a lantern discarded on the ground, still burning.

‘They cannot be far away,’ whispered Harold, picking up the lantern and standing it upright. A thought came to him. ‘Maybe there are wild animals down here. Bears or wolves. Be careful.’

They crept along the corridor until they reached a room which contained such horror, they could not believe what they were seeing.

‘No!’ Harold screamed. ‘No! It cannot be!’

Six Hours Earlier

Didier, Marie-Louise, Victoria and Isik led the way down the steep staircase. Isobel and Leonora went next, followed by Jacques, Freddie and Alexandre. Two more guards, Savas and Nail, brought up the rear.

‘I know I have said it before,’ Alexandre’s father said when they reached the bottom. ‘But no one, and I mean no one, is to separate from the group. We are to stay together at all times. Jacques, Freddie, this includes both of you.’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘Of course, Sir,’ Freddie agreed.

Alexandre smiled to himself. It would be a miracle if those two kept their promise.

‘We will proceed in an easterly direction, descending the first set of steps we come to,’ his father instructed. ‘We will keep descending. Then, after one hour, at five o’clock, we will head back up to the surface. Now, Isobel, do you still wish to continue or should one of us escort you back up top?’

‘No, Papa, I will stay. It is not half as bad as I anticipated and I feel quite excited now I am here with everyone.’

‘That’s my girl! Alexandre, you stay at the rear with Savas and Nail.’

‘Yes, Papa.’

‘Good. Then let us proceed.’

They made steady progress, even though they were constantly tempted to stop and examine all the artefacts and chambers they passed. On reaching the sixth level, they entered what appeared to be a large storeroom with many nooks hollowed out of the walls, some containing earthenware containers. In the corner of the room they saw yet another staircase leading downwards, but Victoria regretfully informed the party the time was now five o’clock and they should head back.

‘Can we not just go down to the next level?’ Freddie asked. ‘It seems a pity to leave now, when we could quickly see what is there.’

Tired as he was, Alexandre hoped they would agree. Papa looked at Maman and Victoria, who both smiled and nodded.

‘Very well,’ Papa said. ‘Ten more minutes and then we shall return. I too am most curious.’

Alexandre was not disappointed, for on the seventh level they discovered another great hall, twice the size of the first one. It was more elaborately designed in a cruciform shape - another church. They wondered at the stunning frescoed triple-arched ceiling, the ornate pillars and rows of arches carved into the walls. Alexandre looked around in awe. It felt strange to be in such an ancient place.

‘I cannot believe we are here,’ Papa said. ‘It is absolutely marvellous.’

‘I know, my darling,’ replied Maman. ‘This will be the find of the century. Monsieur Bouvier will be delighted.’

‘To hell with Monsieur Bouvier!’ he exclaimed.

Alexandre grinned.

‘Now I see where our eldest son gets his irreverence from,’ Maman laughed.

His father suddenly frowned. ‘Now where are those blasted boys?’

Alexandre and his parents looked around the hall, but could see no sign of Freddie or Jacques.

‘I knew it was too good to be true. You wait here with the others. Isik and I will seek them out.’

‘Jacques!’ Papa shouted.

‘Papa, we are through here!’ came the reply from a narrow tunnel at the end of the hall. ‘Come and see what we have found! You will not believe it!’

Didier entered the chamber with Isik and saw the two boys gesturing excitedly. They stood next to row upon row of what appeared to be carved stone sarcophagi set up on stone pedestals. Jacques and Freddie had managed to slide one of the lids part way off and were looking at its contents.

‘I thought I issued you with strict instructions not to wander off and not to touch anything,’ Didier said. ‘It is too easy to get lost down here, boys. Jacques, I am surprised at you.’

‘Sorry, Papa, but do come and look. We thought it would be just old bones in here, or a corpse or something, but see, it is a marvellous statue.’

‘Sir, I do not think it wise to linger,’ Isik said. ‘We should leave this place. My other guards will come to search for us if we do not return on time.’

‘Yes, Isik, you are right. I will just take a look at this statue and then we will leave.’ Didier walked over to Jacques and peered down into the coffin.

‘My goodness! It is remarkable. Isik, give me a hand to slide this lid off properly.’

The four of them heaved and pushed until the stone lid tipped onto the rock floor with a scrape and clatter. They were greeted with a most unusual sight. Lying in a cloud of silken material was the stone statue of a man in full dress, wearing a jewelled turban and rich green robes.

‘But I do not understand ...’ Didier fingered the cloth, puzzled. ‘How can these clothes be so immaculate? They appear new. Help me with this other one.’

They stepped over to the adjacent coffin and began to slide another lid off. Yet again, they were confronted with a lifelike statue dressed in rich brocaded costume. Didier leaned in to touch the smooth white stone face and stroke the heavy beaded headwear.

‘Byzantine I think. Yes, this clothing is from the Byzantine era. It is the same costume as depicted in the frescoes. We are talking seventh or eighth century perhaps. Let us look at another.’

‘They are so beautiful, so mesmerising.’ Didier gazed at a bejewelled woman statue with a mustard-coloured robe and golden girdle. She wore a gorgeous headdress and a beaded mantle in deep blue. Her pale sculpted face was exquisite and Didier was hypnotised by her beauty.

‘We should head back now, Sir,’ Isik said. ‘I really do not think we should delay further. We can return tomorrow. If we are too long, my guards will put together a search party.’

Didier did not reply. Isik noticed he was not moving. Something did not look quite right.

‘Sir,’ Isik said. ‘Monsieur Chevalier? Sir!’ He crouched next to him and then jumped backwards in shock. He shouted to Jacques and Freddie. ‘Boys, get out! Return to the great hall. Take the others and start back to the surface immediately. Whatever you hear from this room, ignore it!’

Chapter Fifteen

*

When Ben returned from the cinema, it was eight thirty and Maddy had been shivering on the front lawn for over forty minutes. His friend’s mum drove up to the house in a large people carrier. There were about four or five boys in the back who shouted and waved as Ben jumped out. Madison stood up and waved her thanks to the boy’s mother. The woman buzzed down the window and called out to Maddy.

‘I won’t stop! Got to deliver these monsters back home. Ben was a real pleasure, good as gold. He’ll have to come round sometime. Byee!’

‘Thanks!’ Maddy shouted back.

‘Hey, Mads,’ Ben gushed. ‘I had an awesome night. That movie was immense.’

‘Glad it was good, Ben.’

‘You coming in, Mads? Hey the front door’s locked. You got the key on you?’

‘Uhhh, no. Don’t worry, the back door’s open.’

‘Come on then.’ Ben bent down to pull her up off the grass. Maddy reluctantly let herself be helped to her feet. Well, she had to go in sometime. She couldn’t stay out here all night, could she? She supposed she felt marginally better now Ben had come home. Ben, with his twelve-year-old enthusiastic ordinariness.

Maddy followed him around the side of the house and they approached the taut cable that ran from the open cellar window to the Land Rover. Maddy couldn’t help herself - she gave a small shudder and a scream, pretending she was mucking about. Linking arms with him, she shouted:

‘Come on, Ben. Run!’

Ben laughed. ‘Maddy, you’re a psycho. What you doing? Why are we running?’

‘Dunno, Ben. But come on, hurry up.’

‘What’s the Defender doing up there with the rope?’

‘Oh, I was just trying some stuff out. Don’t worry about it.’

They jogged around to the back door, panting and laughing. Maddy’s laughter was slightly crazed. She took a deep breath before entering the house. The back door led into the utility room and the cellar door. Maddy walked straight through to the kitchen and turned on the light. She closed the utility door behind them. Then she walked into the hall and flicked that light on, followed by the lounge light. She switched on the television and put some crappy home makeover show on. That felt somewhat better - a bit more normality. Every time the image of the skull came into her mind, she tried to push it out and concentrate on ordinary things.

‘You hungry?’ She called to her brother who was in the games room, potting some balls.

‘No, we went to Pizza Hut on the way back. I’m stuffed!’

Maddy returned to the lounge where she stared at the bright images flickering across the screen. Still in shock, she had no idea what she was watching. The minutes ticked by slowly until Ben finally popped his head around the door and announced he was off to bed.

‘Wait for me.’ Maddy jumped up from the sofa as if she’d been electrocuted, switched off the TV and followed Ben up the stairs. It was much earlier than the hour she usually went to bed, but there was no way on earth she was staying down here by herself tonight.

She slept with the light on, which was weird in itself. Usually she liked to sleep in total darkness, but tonight her mind played tricks on her and every creak and rustle she heard, sent her heart racing and made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. She tried to tell herself it was no big deal, all she had found were some old bones and they couldn’t do anything to her. But in the creaking darkness, everything felt menacing and surreal.

Maddy had coped with a lot of things in her life – abandonment, the death of her mother, separation from Ben and a lot of hostility from a lot of different people. She had experienced sadness, anger, frustration and fear. But the feeling rising up in her when she’d seen that grinning skull had been a primal terror that strangled all rationality.

She finally succumbed to sleep sometime after 4am, and endured a series of bad dreams. The remnants lingered with her when she finally awoke, giving rise to strange melancholy emotions. However, it was a relief to see daylight and she showered and dressed, finally walking apprehensively into the kitchen. She hadn’t had any food at all last night and her stomach complained even though she didn’t really feel like eating anything. Maybe she should try to force down a bit of toast or something. Ben was slouched at the table eating cereal.

‘Hey, Mads.’

‘Hey, Benny Boy,’ she murmured.

‘You okay?’ he asked. ‘You look rough.’

‘Didn’t sleep well.’

‘Why don’t you go back to bed then?’

‘No, I’m up now.’

Maddy was just finishing her toast when the doorbell rang. She and Ben looked at each other across the kitchen table. Neither of them moved to answer it. The bell chimed again. Maddy groaned and dragged herself off to answer it while Ben carried on eating. She felt a bad mood descending. After the excitement and subsequent horror of the previous day, she now felt exhausted and depressed, mingled with a pervading unease.

She opened the door and squinted into the sunlight. Travis stood there with a couple of his friends. Oh no, what are they doing here? She wasn’t in the mood to talk to people, especially not people she didn’t even know.

‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Hi, Maddy.’ Travis looked eager. ‘Hope you don’t mind. I thought we’d drop by to see you. These are my mates, Kerri and Taff.’

Maddy looked past Travis and tried to smile at them. She reluctantly realised this could be the perfect distraction to jolt her back into normality.

‘Yeah, come in.’ She held the door open.

‘This place is unbelievable,’ Kerri cooed in a strong Gloucestershire drawl. She had long dyed blonde curls and twinkly blue eyes, set in a round cherubic face. She was quite large and busty and looked like she could be a laugh.

‘It’s wild, man,’ Taff agreed in a broad Welsh accent. He had straight brown hair in a seventies style, that hung over his eyes and skimmed the collar of his suede jacket.

They sat in the kitchen whilst Madison made tea. Kerri wore a royal blue dress which kept riding up her large white thighs and she tugged ineffectively at it to try and cover up some of her flesh. She and Taff were an item and Maddy was sure that bringing them round was Travis’ unsubtle way of having a double date without actually asking her out. But they seemed like a nice couple so Maddy didn’t mind. She started to perk up, the unsettled feelings receding.

‘So, Maddy, when did you say you were gonna have your next party?’ Travis asked for the twentieth time.

‘Ummm, let me think,’ she made a pretence of pondering over the answer. ‘Never.’

‘Come on, Maddy, just think, you could be single-handedly responsible for launching my career.’

‘It’s launched already,’ Maddy laughed. ‘Don’t try and guilt trip me. I’m not going through that hassle again.’

‘Leave the poor girl alone, Travis,’ Kerri reprimanded him.

‘Yeah, Trav, stop bullying her. I heard it was a good night, but you’ll get other chances to DJ, mate.’ Taff stood up and stretched.

Travis ignored them and turned back to Maddy. ‘You could charge an entrance fee next time.’

‘Shut up, Travis!’ they all shouted and laughed at him.

‘Ten points for trying, Travis. But you lose them all for being so ann-oy-ing,’ Kerri added.

‘Fine, fine, I get the message.’

‘Finally,’ Kerri teased.

Kerri was a very straightforward girl with no pretensions. Just really easy going with an outrageous turn of phrase and a very dirty laugh. Taff was so laid back he was in danger of falling over. He didn’t speak much, but he had a dry sense of humour that was right on Maddy’s wave length. They all naturally included Ben in their conversations too, which immediately endeared them to her.

By the afternoon, Maddy had only had a couple of ‘oh no I’ve got a skeleton in my cellar’ thoughts. They spent most of the warm afternoon outside, chatting and mucking about in the maze, interspersed with the odd few bursts inside on the Wii.

At about six o’clock, Maddy offered to defrost some pizzas for them all and they sat in the lounge watching The X Factor, eating and chatting. Ben stayed up until nearly midnight, finally falling asleep on the sofa and Travis carried him upstairs to bed. It was a good night, relaxed and fun. Kerri and Taff were in the sixth form at KG and said they’d keep an eye out for Ben at school.

The Grandfather clock ticked quietly in the corner. It was already two twenty and her visitors showed no signs of leaving.

‘There’s loads of room here if you want to stay over,’ she said, willing them to say yes.

To her relief, they eagerly accepted, so Maddy gave them a couple of rooms. Happy to have some more company in the house and exhausted from her lack of sleep the night before, she fell into a dreamless slumber the minute she closed her eyes.

On Sunday, none of them woke up until lunchtime, when they all had a chatty, enjoyable brunch of fried egg sandwiches on the sunny terrace. Things felt almost normal and Maddy only felt a small stab of worry when Kerri said she and Taff had better get going. Travis kissed her on the cheek, saying he’d had an excellent time and Kerri made her promise to give her a call so they could go out together. She said goodbye and watched the yellow transit disappear from view.

The rest of Sunday never really got going. Ben and Maddy slobbed around in the house for a bit, then she helped Ben with some History and Maths homework. They watched an early evening film and then, suddenly, the day was done.

The bad dreams returned that night and Maddy slept with the light on again.

*

When Ben went off to school on Monday morning, Maddy had to think about what she was going to do. She couldn’t carry on like this, living in a constant state of dread. Her unease was partly because she didn’t know what else lurked in the room.

She had to face the inevitable and go back down there. She would do it while Esther was in the house, and then if she got really freaked out, at least someone else would be around. Esther was better than no one.

Maddy found what she wanted in Morris’ outbuilding – a couple of large halogen lights. If she was going to do this, no way would she do it in semi-darkness. At least these would take some of the fear factor away. She hoped.

As she stepped out of the stone shed, gripping the lights, everything suddenly seemed supernaturally quiet. She paused for a moment in the warm, still air … Then she gave herself a shake and forced herself to go on, her feet crunching loudly on the gravel in the silence of the morning. Maddy hurried past the Land Rover, still parked up on the side lawn, the rope stretched across the pathway. She began to get that unsettled feeling back.

Esther was rootling about in one of the utility room cupboards. She whipped her head round to look at Maddy as she walked through the back door, her sharp gaze settling on the halogen lights she carried. But Esther said nothing. Just sniffed and walked past, picking up the laundry basket and taking it outside.

Madison grabbed the torch with her free hand and unlocked the cellar door. She told herself not be such a wimp, but she almost shook as she descended the stone steps, she couldn’t help it. She held the torch out. Her stomach felt weak and watery.

The opening in the wall looked raw and wrong, like the gap left by a pulled tooth. She found an electric socket nearby, plugged in both halogens, pressed down the switches and bathed the large cellar in white light. That felt better. She switched off the torch, grasped the handle of one of the lights and shone its wide beam at the hidden room. The stone wall itself was fully intact. The door had been ripped cleanly away and the dust had finally settled. In the sweeping light, she now had a clear view of it.

Again, she thought maybe she should call Mr Vasey-Smith and ask him what to do. But then Madison got annoyed with herself. She had wanted her independence for so long and now here she was with her own house and no one to interfere in her and Ben’s lives. She should be able to sort this out on her own without running to an adult every time there was a problem.

Maddy decided she wouldn’t tell anybody anything until she had looked under the dust sheets. She had seen one dead body, so what difference would a few more make? Quite a lot of difference actually, but she wouldn’t dwell on that. If she found more skeletons, then that would be that. At least she would know. She would tell Mr Vasey-Smith and he could sort it out. But if it wasn’t skeletons, well … there might be some interesting stuff down here and she wanted to discover that for herself.

‘Come on, Maddy girl,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Don’t be such a wuss.’

Gripping the halogen light tightly, she forced herself towards the opening. She rigidly avoided looking at the skeleton, and instead stared straight ahead at the white sheets. She pulled on the dusty corner of the nearest one and dragged it off the top of the large object, throwing up cobwebs and dust which swirled and floated like grey candy floss in the flood of light.

Then she walked towards the skeleton with the sheet in her hands. She shook out the large piece of cloth so it billowed out to finally settle back down on top of the grisly tableau, hiding it from view. Maddy felt calmer. Now it was covered up, it didn’t seem quite so terrifying.

She now turned her attention to what had been underneath the dust sheet - a huge rectangular wooden crate, bigger than the ones in the main part of the cellar. The pale wood looked almost new and Maddy caught a whiff of sawdust. She walked around the crate and pulled at all the other sheets, revealing yet more crates. Wiping fronds of cobwebs from her face, she sneezed a couple of times. Apart from the sleeping skeleton and the crates, there didn’t appear to be anything else in the room.

Maddy felt a fleeting surge of courage and decided to go one step further. She went back out into the main cellar and found the crowbar. If she didn’t do this now, she never would. If she found anything horrible, she would run out of the cellar and call Vasey-Smith immediately.

Before she had time to change her mind, she went up to the first crate with the crowbar. To her surprise it wasn’t nailed shut. The lid fitted snugly into the box, but she prised it out easily.

Maddy moved on autopilot. She slid the lid off, holding her breath in a mixture of anticipation and fear at what she would discover. Looking down, she gazed in astonishment at the contents.

Lying, cushioned in blankets was a life-sized statue. But a statue so beautiful she couldn’t turn away from it. Almost lifelike, it lay there like a sleeping beauty - the statue of a young man, dressed in an old fashioned suit.

Maddy touched the face. It felt like stone. She tapped the cheek with her fingernail. It could have been made of porcelain, like an old fashioned doll. It had pale skin and dark wavy hair. The deep-set eyes were closed beneath thick, black brows, the jaw was square, the cheekbones high and regal. It looked like the statue of a nobleman or somebody important. God, it was stunning. Maddy wondered if it had been modelled on a real life person and she wished more than anything that she could have met him, whoever he was.

She finally tore herself away from her gazing and walked over to the second crate. She threw a quick glance over her shoulder to check the skeleton was still covered - it was - and then she prised open the second crate. In it lay another statue, again of a young man, a boy really. This one looked slightly younger than the first, very similar in looks but with fair hair. And again, stunningly handsome.

The third contained another statue, this time of a gorgeous young blonde girl wearing an old-fashioned gown of green and gold. The gown looked so much like real material, with folds and creases that glittered and shimmered in the dusty light. Maddy reached down to touch the dress and was surprised to feel it was real material. So maybe they were like waxworks with real costumes or something? But they didn’t feel like wax, they felt too hard and looked too perfect. They were like life-size dolls with old fashioned clothes. They must be least a hundred years old.

The final two boxes contained more statues, one of a girl and one of a boy. The girl was black haired and the boy had brown curls, also both unbelievably beautiful. The girl vaguely reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t quite remember...

She was drawn back to the first crate and knelt down on one of the dust-covered sheets on the floor. All the statues were incredible, but Maddy’s attention was held by this man. She stroked its hard sculpted cheek again and ran a finger along the deep red lips. She put a hand on its head and was amazed to find its hair felt real and wasn’t carved stone like the skin of the statue.

She hadn’t found hidden treasure, but this was so much more interesting. Maybe the former occupants of the house had images made of themselves. It was a bit of a weird thing to do, but hey, if Maddy looked half as gorgeous as they did, maybe she’d want to make a statue of herself too.

She had it! She knew where she recognised that girl-statue from – it had exactly the same face as the girl in the portrait, the painting she’d discovered in the cellar last week. Maybe she was an ancestor. What a find. Ben would be amazed when she showed him. She’d have to do something about that skeleton first. He didn’t need to know about that.

She really didn’t see how she’d be able to tear herself away from this angel-faced sculpture. It mesmerised her. She wondered what colour his eyes would have been and imagined what it would’ve felt like if he’d gazed back at her. She shivered dreamily.

‘You are too beautiful,’ she murmured, sitting there in a trance, staring. She felt oddly at ease now. The relief of not finding any more dead bodies was huge. She could almost relax. Being in here, now the skeleton was covered over, no longer terrified her. She felt just the memory of fear with the new sensation of pleasure and peace at having found such beauty. She knew it was crazy, but she felt an affinity with these statues. It was almost as if ... as if she knew them.

‘Who were you?’ she asked softly. ‘And what are you doing bricked up in this room?’ She should’ve felt silly, talking to herself, but she didn’t. She felt calm and strangely happy. She couldn’t wait for Ben to come home so she could show him her amazing find.

After she’d had her fill of gazing at the statue, Maddy spent the rest of the morning cleaning up the hidden room. First she detached the Land Rover winch from the metal door. The door was too heavy for her to move though, so she had to leave it propped up against the window on top of the crates. Then, not able to put it off any longer, she knew she had to dispose of the corpse. This was the bit she’d been dreading, but she gritted her teeth and came up with a temporary plan.

With a large broom, she pushed the grisly contents of the bed onto a dust sheet on the floor. Thankfully the top sheet hid the bones from view, but she could hear them knocking and rattling together and could almost feel the shape of them as she swept. She squealed and screamed, then started singing really loudly, looking the other way, shuddering and trying not to think about it.

When the bed was clear, except for the mattress, she picked up the tin cup and candlestick from the bedside table and chucked them into the sheet. She picked up the small black leather book and was about to throw that in too, but changed her mind and put it back on the table. She hadn’t read it yet.

Gathering up the ends of the dust sheet, Maddy tied them in a knot and heaved the whole lot into an empty packing crate. She nailed down the lid and pushed it back out into the cellar, along the narrow corridor and into one of the little side rooms. She would deal with it later. Much later.

Maddy covered the empty bed with another dust sheet and left it there. Then she swept all the dust out of the room, vacuumed in all the corners and scrubbed the floor with warm soapy water and bleach. Finally, she went into the main cellar and opened all the windows as wide as they would go (apart from the one obscured by the metal door).

Later on, she’d get someone down here to fix the strip light. The hidden room had no windows or lighting, but that was no problem, she would just use the halogen lights. Before leaving, she stacked a couple of empty crates in front of the hole in the wall, to conceal the entrance.

It was after 2pm when she finally emerged upstairs, shaky and starving but feeling great. It was as if the whole house had taken on a newer, lighter atmosphere.

Maddy stepped out of her dirty clothes, showered and came downstairs into the kitchen to grab something out of the fridge. There was a tuna salad - that would do nicely. She sat on the terrace and shovelled it in, all the while thinking about the statue of the dark-haired man.

Chapter Sixteen

1881

*

‘You need to get out of here. Now!’

Jacques opened his mouth to protest, but Isik stopped the boy’s words with a glare.

‘What is it?’ Freddie asked. ‘Is Monsieur Chevalier alright?’

‘Go! And do not look back.’

The boys backed out of the room, shocked by the guard’s aggression.

Isik crouched back down and saw Didier leaning over the statue, its mouth clamped onto his neck. A thin line of blood ran into the coffin, soaking into the statue’s blue mantle.

Isik put his pistol to the statue’s head and pulled the trigger. His hand jarred painfully. The bullet seemed to go into the head, but there was no change in its state. It remained attached to Didier’s neck. Isik tried to pull him away from the thing, but he feared he would injure his friend further and was unable to free him.

‘Didier, can you hear me?’

The Frenchman’s eyes stayed closed and he appeared to be in some kind of swoon. He was not struggling, but his face was pale and he started to twist round, slowly collapsing onto the floor. He would be dead soon if Isik did not do something quickly. Just at that moment, the others flew into the room in a whirlwind of noise and panic.

‘What is happening?’ Alexandre shouted. ‘What is Father doing? Papa, what are you doing?’

‘Didier!’ Marie-Louise cried out, running towards him.

‘Stay back!’ Isik shouted. ‘What are you doing in here? Get out, all of you! Run for your lives and do not come back!’ He pushed Marie-Louise away and she responded angrily.

‘How dare you, Sir! What do you think you are doing?’

‘Forgive me, Madame, but I fear for your safety. These statues are not natural. One of them is attacking your husband.’

‘Do not be ridiculous! Let me see.’ Marie-Louise pushed past Isik and bent down towards her husband. She screamed and jumped back in fright. ‘What is it doing? Get it off him! Please, Isik, do something!’

He spoke rapidly in Turkish to Savas and Nail who stood nervously in the doorway. Everyone else crowded closer, trying to see if Didier was alright.

‘Stand back, everybody!’ Isik shouted. His voice thunderous in the stone room.

‘What has happened to Papa?’ Isobel shrieked. ‘What is happening?’

‘Quiet!’ Isik roared once more. His guards joined him by the coffin and the others moved back a little. The guards held out their pistols. Isik aimed at the creature’s heart. The other two aimed at each side of its head. They fired … It was as if nothing had happened. The creature did not relinquish its hold on Didier. Its eyes remained closed and it did not move one inch.

‘Is she alive? What is she? It?’ Leonora asked.

‘I believe the old woman, Havva Sahin, was right. It is a demon,’ Alexandre replied. ‘A demon is attacking my father and we cannot stop it. Well, I shall stop it!’

He strode over to the coffin. His father now appeared limp and lifeless. ‘Give me your knife, Isik.’ Isik handed it across and Alexandre plunged it downwards into the creature’s heart. His hand twisted and burned as the knife point broke and the blade sliced through his palm.

The woman creature sat upright and released her grip on Didier who fell heavily to the ground. Her hand shot out and grabbed Alexandre’s wrist which was covered in dripping blood. With her eyes still closed and her mouth smeared with Didier’s blood, she pulled Alexandre’s wrist towards her mouth and broke his skin with her teeth. At the same moment, the three statues in the opened coffins sat upright. Everybody froze.

The statues sat rigidly in their coffins with no expressions on their chalk-white faces and their eyes still closed.

Isobel and Marie-Louise screamed and began to back out of the room. Marie-Louise tried to drag Jacques with her, but he resisted.

‘Run, Maman!’ he said. ‘I will save Papa and Alexandre, do not fear.’

‘No, Jacques,’ Marie-Louise had hold of his arm. ‘Come with us now!’

‘Sorry, Maman, but no. Run! Take Isobel to safety.’

Marie-Louise looked at her son, her eyes wild with terror, but she went with her daughter who dragged her out of the room and away to safety.

Jacques and Isik tried to pull the demon off Alexandre. He was not yet unconscious and struggled to no avail. Then, for no apparent reason, the demon released her grip on him and sank back down into the coffin.

‘Are you alright?’ Isik asked Alexandre.

‘I think so,’ he replied. ‘I just feel a little woozy. My father?’ He glanced at his torn wrist, now bleeding quite profusely along with his sliced palm, but he did not even register the pain.

Isik shook his head, ‘I am sorry. He is gone.’

Alexandre could not take in the enormity of Isik’s words and he crouched over his father’s lifeless body.

‘Come on, Papa,’ he barked. ‘Get up, we have to go.’ He felt someone take hold of his good hand - Leonora. She looked down at him with a mixture of sadness and fear.

‘I am so sorry, Alexandre. But we must leave. It is not safe here. There are many of these creatures. They will kill us if we linger.’ She had ripped a strip of material from her petticoat and was binding his wounds.

He staggered to his feet, unable to believe his father was actually dead. Everything had happened so quickly. He noticed the three other demons sitting up and realised Leonora was right. They had to get out of there immediately.

Isik and Alexandre lifted Didier’s lifeless body between them and made for the door.

‘We have to kill them!’ Jacques said.

‘There is no time,’ Alexandre replied. ‘They are too strong. We must get everybody above ground, to safety. Stop talking everyone. Move!’

They edged towards the door, trying to avoid the high open coffins with the eerie upright figures who sat stock still.

One of them suddenly leaned across and grabbed Leonora by her hair, pulling her over to him as if she were a rag doll. She screamed in shock and pain. Two of its long fingernails had pierced the skin on her forehead. Thin red lines of blood trickled down over her face.

‘NO!’ Victoria, Freddie and Alexandre shouted out at the same time. Freddie dived back towards her. Victoria shrieked.

‘My baby! Save my baby girl! Do something!’

Alexandre and Isik lay Didier’s body back down on the ground. They leapt towards Leonora with the other two guards. By now, all six men were trying to wrestle her free from the creature, but it had already begun to drink from her neck, its nails still embedded in her forehead. She swiftly faded into unconsciousness, her body bent at an unnatural angle over the stone coffin.

‘She is gone, my friend.’ Isik tried to pull Alexandre away from her body, but he angrily shook off the guard’s hand.

‘She is not yet dead! I know it! I know it …’ He slumped onto the floor and began to sob.

Freddie battered the demon with a rock, but he may as well have been kissing the creature goodnight, for all the effect it had. It flung Leonora’s limp body onto the ground as if she were an empty glass of lemonade and then lifted Freddie into the coffin with him.

‘This is suicide,’ Isik said. ‘I would stay and fight until my last breath if it would do any good. But they are too strong. We must leave. Now!’

Another of the creatures had taken Victoria and, after a brief scream, she too was silenced by its sharp teeth.

There was a loud BANG! The lid to one of the closed coffins flew across the room and smashed into the rock wall opposite. Its inhabitant rose slowly up out of its box and opened its kohl-rimmed eyes, turning its head this way and that. It was a young male wearing a gold headdress, red embroidered robes and a shimmering golden cloak.

Those not already dead or incapacitated stood rooted to the spot, staring at this magnificent creature who could bring about their deaths as easily as crushing a beetle.

The demon opened its mouth and uttered a low hissing sound, making the hairs on the back of Alexandre’s neck and arms lift up. He knew he should run, but his body felt heavy, paralysed, as if turned to stone. So now he was going to die. He knew it just as surely as he knew his own name.

The creature leapt out of its coffin in one single fluid movement. It snapped Alexandre’s head back and sank its teeth into his throat.

Alexandre’s fear dissolved into faded bliss and then … nothing.

*

Only Isobel and her mother had managed to escape from the room and now they stumbled down the narrow corridor in fear for their lives.

‘Maman!’ Isobel gasped. ‘What are we to do? The others are not following! They will die!’

‘Hush child,’ her mother shivered. ‘Isik and Alexandre will save them. But right now, we have to get out of these accursed caves.’

‘Is Papa really …’

‘Do not talk of it. It is a bad dream and soon we shall awake and laugh and joke ...’ She stopped and her voice broke into sobs. ‘My Didier! My husband. It is monstrous. I do not believe what my own eyes have seen.’

‘Maman, we must continue upwards.’

Marie-Louise choked back her sobs. ‘You are right, Ma Petite. We will escape and send back a search party.’

‘What was that?’ Isobel whispered. She stopped and strained her ears.

‘I heard nothing,’ her mother replied.

‘There! That noise?’ She had heard a faint shout, she was sure of it. She listened again but heard nothing.

‘The others?’ Maman said. ‘It must be the others, they must have escaped.’

‘But it could be those creatures coming after us,’ Isobel whispered. ‘What should we do, Maman?’

‘I do not know, child. Wait, while I think for a moment.’ She looked around. ‘Here, come in here and we shall wait as quiet as mice until we know for sure. Then, when the coast is clear, we shall leave.’

She pulled Isobel into a small empty cell-like room. There was a millstone on the inside and they both pushed and heaved with all the force they had, until it rolled into place.

‘We will wait here. Now, what do we have?’ Her mother’s voice quavered. ‘We have two lanterns, some water, some dates and bread and we each have our pistols.’

Isobel crouched in the sealed cavern with her mother, shivering in its grim safety. The minutes passed.

A familiar voice rang out.

‘Did you hear that?’ her mother exclaimed.

‘It is Harold! We are saved.’

His voice drifted down from somewhere above them. He was calling out his wife and children’s names. Maman shone her lantern up to the ceiling.

‘Here! Look!’ She pointed up to a hole in the ceiling. ‘He must be on the level above us. We must go to him. Quickly, help me.’

They heaved the stone away from the entrance and turned towards the staircase.

‘Harold!’ Isobel shouted. ‘We are down here!’

‘Shhh!’ Marie-Louise put her hand over her daughter’s mouth. ‘We do not wish to alert those things to our whereabouts.’

Isobel’s breath caught in her throat. Behind her mother stood one of the creatures, its expressionless face staring ahead at nothing. Isobel extended a shaking arm and fired her pistol. Even from this point blank range, the shot had no effect. She heard a loud, high-pitched scream that seemed to last forever and realised the sound was coming from her own mouth.

Her mother did not have time to even turn around. The creature grabbed Maman’s arm and there was a hollow pop as it dislocated from its socket. She was dragged back down the corridor, her face twisted in shock. The lantern she carried clattered to the floor, its dim light spluttering in the gloom.

Isobel’s scream petered out and now she called out in terror, ‘God help us! Somebody help us!’ The robed creature appeared to fly back along the corridor. It had Maman in its grip and the last thing Isobel saw was the receding shape of her mother’s mouth, like a deep round cavern as her high-pitched scream disappeared into the darkness.

Isobel stood alone in the doorway, shivering and sobbing. She stumbled forwards in the direction the creature had taken her mother. The pain in her heart was like a sharp white throbbing light that blotted out all other feeling.

‘Maman,’ she cried. ‘MAMAN!’ she screamed. ‘Come back! You have forgotten me! It is me. It is Isobel. Do not leave without me!’

She crumpled onto the dusty stone floor and barely even noticed when one of them lifted her into its deathly embrace and carried her back down the corridor as if she were as light as air.

*

Harold held onto the side of the entrance for support, for the view in front of him was so shocking that all the strength in his body left him. One solitary lantern still glowed in the room and he could just make out the rows of high stone sarcophagi. It was like peering into hell. His family and friends all strewn on the floor, misshapen bodies, eyes staring.

The smell of fear and death filled his nostrils as he picked up the limp form of his wife, a wide smear of blood congealed on her neck. He kissed her mouth and rocked her back and forth.

‘Victoria, wake up. Victoria, you must wake up! We must leave and get you to a doctor.’ As he spoke the words, he realised it was futile. ‘My love, my beautiful Victoria ... No ... no. How can this be?’

He laid her down and gathered the bodies of his children to his chest. Leonora’s hair was matted with blood, her neck broken. He kissed her hair and then kissed all of their unyielding lifeless faces.

Refet stood in the doorway, taking in the scene, unable to speak. He saw Agha Kaya’s vacant eyes, his limp, lifeless form. Then he noticed two other uniformed bodies - his comrades. Dead. He walked woodenly over to Harold and shook his shoulder.

‘We must go,’ he whispered. ‘It is not safe here. We go now. They killed by bad creature … or murdered ... a wolf? I don’t know. Maybe the killer … the killer here still.’ He had other thoughts which he didn’t give voice to. Thoughts fuelled by rumours he had heard around the camp.

‘What animal could have done such a thing? Surely no person would do this?’ Harold choked out the words.

‘I not know. We leave now,’ Refet insisted, trying to pull Harold to his feet. The young guard sensed lingering danger in the room. He could not identify it, but he knew it was present.

‘You go,’ Harold said. ‘I will not leave my family.’

Refet gripped his pistol and tried to keep his rising terror in check. He knew they should not remain here, but he felt strong sympathy for this man who had lost his family and friends.

‘You wait. Hold gun. I come back,’ he said, leaving Harold hunched over the broken forms of his wife and children.

A minute later, Refet returned. The young guard walked over to the lifeless body of Isobel, picked her up and carried her out. He had found a small room, that could be closed from the inside with a millstone and he planned to carry all the bodies there for safekeeping. He worked tirelessly.

‘Come,’ he said to Harold who was now sitting vacantly with his dead family around him. ‘We will bring you wife, you children.’

Harold did not heed him, so Refet bent down to pick up Victoria’s body.

‘Do not touch her!’ Harold shouted. He stood up. ‘Please,’ he said more gently. ‘I will carry her. You bring my boy.’

Refet inclined his head and carefully picked up Freddie’s flaccid body.

‘I will wait with them until you return,’ Harold said lifelessly. ‘Then we will take Victoria and Leonora together.’

Finally, the bodies had all been transferred to the small room.

‘They will be safe here,’ Refet said. ‘We go now. We come back tomorrow with help.’

‘I am not leaving my family.’

‘It not good to stay. Please to come back with me. We return in the morning.’

‘No. You go. I want to stay with my family. I will seal myself inside. No one will get in.’

‘I not want to leave you, but if I stay, they send more guards look for us. Not good for people to come here tonight. Too dangerous.’

Harold did not even look as though he was listening to Refet. He stared at the wall, his face contorted in shock and grief.

‘I take one light but leave you all others, you use only one at a time, yes? You have food and water. I return tomorrow. I very sorry for you and you family. I sorry.’

Harold did not reply and reluctantly Refet left the grieving man with his slaughtered family.

‘You push stone to close door,’ he said. But Harold was not listening so he gently shook his shoulder. ‘I cannot go until you close door. Come.’ He helped Harold to his feet and guided him over to the millstone. ‘I go, after you close door.’

Harold somehow found the strength to wheel the circular stone into place and then he sank down next to it. The light from the lantern flickered and danced over the bodies, which Refet had laid out neatly in a row along the back wall of the room.

Harold squeezed his eyes tightly closed. He did not feel as if he belonged to himself, he felt as though his real self had left his body and he had been transferred into hell. He crawled across to his wife’s body and wrapped his arms around her. His tears dripped onto her lifeless face and he lay with his cheek next to hers. He could not process his thoughts and soon fell into a half-sleep breathing in the scent of her hair.

*

Harold awoke some time later. He did not know how long he had slept. The lantern still burned, but the flame was low and the underground chamber had almost succumbed to the darkness. Harold did not care that his body was cold and thirsty; all he felt was the slice of pain as the memories rushed into his mind.

‘Dead,’ he whispered. ‘All dead.’ He gave a half-strangled cry, ‘No! No, no, no. My beautiful wife. My children. How can this be? What evil has befallen us? God, why did you not take me also?’

He took his wife’s cold hand and kneaded it in his own. As he knelt there, sobbing into her chest, he heard a gasp in the darkness.

‘Who is there?’ he asked looking around at the shadows. He felt a moment of acute fear and then he found he did not care. ‘Do you mean to kill me too? Take me then. I am not afraid. I should like to die. You would be doing me a service.’ He heard another gasp and a hissing sigh.

‘Father.’ It was a voice that sounded like his daughter, but with a strange rasping quality to it.

‘Leonora?’ Harold sat up and his heart began to hammer with hope and joy. ‘Are you alive, child?’ He crawled towards her. ‘But you were dead ... Your body was …’

He scrambled to where she lay and felt her cold cheek. In the dim light, he saw her eyes snap open. He could not deny she really was alive. He had been right not to leave them alone. Imagine if she had woken and found nothing but a sealed chamber filled with the dead? She would have been traumatised beyond imagining.

‘Father,’ she gasped again. ‘I am so thirsty.’

‘Wait child,’ he said. ‘I have water.’ He unscrewed the lid to his canteen and held it up to her mouth, tipping the liquid onto her lips. She gasped again, spitting out the liquid. Then her hand shot up and swatted the canteen away with such force it flew across the small chamber and crashed against the rock wall, clanging and clattering to the ground.

She reached out both of her hands and clutched her father’s face. She pulled him towards her in an embrace and sank her teeth into his neck. Harold opened his eyes wide in shock as he realised what was happening. The legend of the blood-drinking demons flew into his mind, but then he relaxed, sinking into a trance-like ecstasy, flattening out his thoughts until they melted into nothingness.

Leonora took only a few draughts of his blood before she began choking. She twisted away from him, clutching at her throat.

‘I want it, but it burns, Father,’ she cried.

Harold emerged from his trance-like state, as the shock of what had just happened hit him.

‘Child, what have you done to me? What have they done to you?’ He touched his fingers to his neck and squinted in the gloom. He saw a small smear of blood on his fingertips and saw blood at the corner of her lips.

‘Leonora, my daughter. What is it you have done?’

He stared into her glassy eyes as she entered delirium.

‘Thirsty. I am so thirsty.’

Harold spun around and saw his son and Jacques had also woken up from death. They tried to reach him and now he knew what they wanted from him. What was he to do? His thoughts were a jumbled mess. His children and his friends’ children were turned into blood-demons and they needed his own life-blood to survive. And what of his wife and his friends? Were they too transformed into creatures?

Harold Swinton reached a sudden moment of clarity and he made the decision to willingly give his blood if it meant he could save his family and friends. But he feared he was only one man and there may not be enough of him to go around. In any case it had not hurt him when he had yielded to his daughter’s embrace. It had been a sublime feeling, like being free and floating into nothingness and it was infinitely better than the searing pain of loss.

Aah, here it was again. Freddie had found him and was sending him back into his trance. But again, after a short time, his son too began to choke and gasp.

‘Fire in my throat,’ he cried. ‘A burning fire! Help me!’

Harold stroked his icy cold forehead, trying to soothe him in his distress.

All of the young ones were now awake and all craved Harold’s blood, but none could stomach it – Leonora, Freddie, Jacques, Isobel and Alexandre.

Next to him lay the body of his beloved Victoria. Was she still dead? Was her neck still snapped? He moved his children. Please let her be healed. Please. But she was unchanged. Still dead and broken on the ground.

They all soon drifted back into unconsciousness. Harold’s beloved Victoria and the other adults remained as they were, dead and cold. Harold too sank into unconsciousness and the dim cave went quiet save for the sound of his uneven breathing. Soon the lantern burnt out and all fell to darkness, cold and silence.

*

Alexandre felt the drumming of the earth, the heartbeat of all humankind in his bones and blood and skin. In his soul. It sang a song to him that he had known forever and in that instant everything became clear. He knew the reason for it all; the key to life and it was so obvious. How could he have not known this simple truth before now? He was becoming one with the earth, his body turning to dust.

And then, as suddenly as it had come, it left. His beating heart slowed, the song faded and the knowledge slipped away like an elusive memory refusing to come to mind. He shook his head as if trying to dislodge something, but he was not trying to dislodge anything, he was desperately trying to regain what he had forgotten. He felt a devastating loss, worse than if his dearest love had died.

A heavy melancholy descended, so profound he felt like he could sleep for a thousand years. In the cold darkness, tears rolled down his face and they stung his cheeks like acid. He closed his eyes and tried not to think. It hurt to think.

It hurt.

God, it hurt.

The acid tears on his cheeks spread throughout his body and he felt as though the skin was being stripped from his body. He could not breathe and his eyes burned white hot with a searing pain.

He tried to speak but his throat constricted, closed shut. Was he in hell? Was this the fate he deserved? Please, God, no! Help me! he silently screamed. Save me! I promise … I promise anything. I will do anything. Just please … make … it … STOP.

Chapter Seventeen

*

‘Mads, I’ve got loads to do. Why are we going down here? Old clothes and pictures aren’t really my thing.’

‘It’s not old clothes and pictures. It’s something much better than that.’

‘Okay then.’

She dragged the boxes away from the opening and switched on the halogen light, beckoning to her brother. Maddy walked over to the crate at the far end. She prised open the lid and slid it off, standing back to let her brother see. Ben peered into the crate. His eyes widened and he stood back in shock, glancing at Maddy.

‘A person!’

‘No, look closer. It’s a statue.’ Maddy smiled and put her face next to Ben’s so they were looking together. She took his hand and guided it down to the hard sculpted face of the dark-haired female figure.

‘Oh,’ he breathed out. ‘Yeah. For a minute ... I thought ... well ...’

‘You thought it was a spooky girl in a coffin,’ Maddy laughed. ‘Yeah, they do look real, but they’re statues. There are five and they’re all amazing. Really old. I think they might even be our ancestors. Imagine that. They could be what our actual family looked like. It’s pretty incredible.’

‘She looks just like you,’ Ben said, glancing from Madison to the statue.

‘Do you think so?’

‘Yeah, it’s weird, but she really does.’

‘It’s just the dark hair, probably,’ Maddy said, trying to see if she could catch any resemblance.

‘The hair and the shape of her face,’ Ben said. ‘It’s a pity her eyes are closed, I bet they’d have been the same colour as yours.’

‘Do you wanna see another one?’

‘Yeah go on then.’

‘Help me prise this next one off.’ Maddy beckoned him to another box and soon they had all the lids off. Ben went from one to the other, studying them carefully.

‘They’re a bit spooky, Mads.’

‘No they’re not, they’re gorgeous.’ Maddy thought Ben didn’t know the half of it. If he thought a bunch of statues was spooky, imagine what he’d have made of a sleeping corpse, tucked up in bed.

‘I might go and start my homework now, if that’s okay.’

‘Yeah, course it is. I just thought you’d like to see them.’

‘Definitely. Cheers.’ Ben wandered back up the stairs and Madison felt strangely deflated. She had spent the afternoon getting quite excited at the thought of showing the statues to her brother, but he didn’t seem to be that bothered.

To her, they were exotic links to the past, like travelling back in time. She’d never really thought about history before, it was just some boring subject you did at school, but now she figured she’d enjoy finding out about the past and stuff, especially when it related to her.

Maddy looked again at the dark-haired statue of the man – her favourite. She put one of her hands on his forehead and combed her fingers through his dark hair, her nails grazing his cold, stone scalp. She wished she knew his name and what he used to do all those years ago. Was he a real person? Or was he created from someone’s imagination? The air smelt of stone, sawdust and bleach. The thump of Ben’s music wafted down the cellar steps and she heard the distant drone of a lawnmower.

Maddy walked between the crates, running her fingers along the edges and studying the faces. She was getting to know them already: the handsome dark-haired eldest, the fair-haired boy and girl who looked so similar to each other, the boy with wild brown curls and the older girl from the portrait. Five statues … and a corpse.

Over the next few weeks, Madison kept finding herself back in the small cellar room. She’d be in the library reading or practicing her driving, exploring the grounds or watching television, but her mind would always return to the chiselled face of her favourite statue. Whenever she thought of it, she couldn’t stop herself making her way down below the house to gaze at him and satisfy her craving.

In her dreams she would encounter him as a living man with his eyes open, looking at her. She worried about the intensity of her feelings and wondered if she might be going a bit mad. She couldn’t concentrate on anything properly. But then, she didn’t really have anything much to concentrate on.

*

Ben’s radio alarm filtered through his dreams. He resisted the urge to turn over and go back to sleep, opening first one eye and then the other. He dressed quickly and galloped downstairs for breakfast. That was odd. Maddy wasn’t down here even though all the lights were on. She was always down here first on school days. Then he saw the cellar door open, light filtering upwards.

‘Maddy!’ he called down the steps. ‘Mads, you down there?’

He descended the steps, but saw no immediate sign of her. He walked in through the small opening to the hidden room. Maddy wasn’t in here either, but one of the crates lay open, revealing that creepy statue Maddy liked and he wondered what she’d been doing down here so early. Well, she wasn’t here now. Maybe she’d gone outside to get something.

He trudged back upstairs and tried the back door. Locked. So she couldn’t be out there. He went into the kitchen and poured himself some cereal.  It was getting near to the time Morris usually picked him up to go to school and there was still no sign of his sister. It wasn’t like her. She usually fussed around him, making sure he didn’t forget his school stuff. It was weird and he felt a small flare of panic in his chest.

Ben raced up the stairs two at a time and opened her bedroom door. She was there! Asleep still. Relief washed over him and he felt stupid for worrying. Her alarm mustn’t have gone off. But that didn’t explain why all the lights had been on downstairs in the cellar and everything.

Ben tiptoed over to the bed and saw her fast asleep, but as he looked more closely, he saw her face covered in a film of sweat and her teeth chattering. She was talking to herself, strange mutterings and whimpers.

‘Mads?’ He shook her shoulder – it was sopping wet with sweat. A car horn sounded outside. Ben rushed downstairs and flung open the front door.

‘Morris!’ he called. ‘It’s Maddy! I think she’s ill!’

‘Let’s take a look at her then,’ he said, following Ben up the stairs and into her room. Madison was still rambling incoherently. Morris took one look at her sweat-soaked brow and called the doctor immediately. Then he called his wife.

‘Your sister’s got a spot of flu, I shouldn’t wonder. Doctor Wilson will sort her out.’

‘Should I stay off school today?’

‘I don’t think you need to do that. I’ll drop you in once the doctor’s been. We’ll have a cup of tea while we wait for him. I’ll make one for Esther too. She’ll be here any minute.’

They went downstairs and Morris busied himself making tea. Ben didn’t tell him that he didn’t like tea. He accepted the drink and grimaced, taking an unwanted sip. Surprisingly, he actually didn’t mind the taste of this milky sweet liquid. It wasn’t anything like the tea Angie used to make. Hers was almost black, with no sugar and tasted how he imagined soil would taste.

He took another large sip as Esther bustled into the kitchen, dumping her large brown handbag on the table. Morris filled her in on Madison’s condition, but she wanted to see for herself. They all marched up the stairs again and Morris and Ben stood by Madison’s bedroom door, waiting for Esther’s pronouncement.

‘Is Doctor Wilson on his way?’ she asked.

‘Should be here any minute,’ Morris replied.

‘Good.’ Esther pulled the heavy covers back, leaving just a sheet over Maddy. ‘She’s burning up.’

‘Hello!’ a man’s voice called up the stairs. ‘It’s Doctor Wilson! The front door was open!’ A tall thin man in his sixties, wearing a dark grey suit, jogged up the stairs and walked across the landing towards Ben and Morris.

‘I was just heading out when I got your call. Is this where the patient is? Good to see you, Morris. Keeping well?’

‘Can’t complain, Doctor. You?’

‘Yes, I’m fighting fit. Esther, nice to see you. Is this our patient?’

Esther turned her mouth up, in what, Ben supposed, was meant to be a smile, but it looked like the corners of her mouth were being lifted with two pieces of string. He guessed she wasn’t used to smiling.

‘She’s delirious and burning up,’ Esther said.

The doctor examined Madison, while Ben and the others looked on.

‘Aha,’ Doctor Wilson exclaimed. ‘She has some lacerations on one of her wrists. That could be what’s caused the fever but I can’t be sure. They don’t appear to be infected but I’ll clean and dress them, give her a tetanus shot and a course of antibiotics. We’ll see if that does the trick. Whenever she feels too hot, cool her down with a damp sponge. Make sure the sheets are kept dry after any sweats she might have. Are you able to stay here, in the house? To keep an eye on her?’ he asked Esther and Morris.

‘There’s tons of space. You can choose whichever room you want,’ Ben said, before either Morris or Esther could respond.

‘Very good,’ said Doctor Wilson. ‘I’ll call back round this evening. Ring me if she gets any worse.’

Over the next few hours, Maddy drifted in and out of consciousness, tossing and turning, crying out, whimpering, talking gibberish or just staring glassily into space. When Ben returned from school, he ran straight up to her room to sit with her and see how she was doing.

At the end of day two, Maddy’s fever eventually broke, but she still didn’t wake. Instead, she fell into a peaceful uninterrupted sleep. At last, on the third day, she finally came through the haze of sleep and opened her eyes.

Three and a half days earlier

Madison lay in bed. She guessed it must be about one or two in the morning, but she couldn’t sleep. The wind whistled around the house, creepers tapped out of time on the windows and she tried and failed to get comfortable, turning from one side to the other.

She was thinking about the dark-haired statue again, but couldn’t bring the image of his face to her mind. She concentrated, but it was no good. Maddy had forgotten what he looked like, which was crazy, as she had only seen him a few hours ago. She knew it was mad, but she felt she had to go and look at him now, to lock the image in her mind. She switched on her bedside lamp, pushed the covers back and walked across the wooden floor of her bedroom.

Madison crept downstairs in her t-shirt. The creak of the stairs sounded monstrously loud in the silent house and she hoped she wouldn’t wake Ben up. She tiptoed across the cold flagstones of the entrance hall and into the kitchen. Once in the utility room, she slipped her feet into her trainers, squashing the backs of them down with her heels, and made her way down the narrow, winding cellar steps. In her sleepy haste, she had forgotten the torch and had to rely on a faint glow of light shining down from the utility room.

She switched on the halogen, illuminating the familiar surroundings. Through the open window, she heard the rustling of leaves. A fox screamed and something clanked rhythmically in the wind.

Madison perched on the side of the crate, gazing at the face of her angel. How could she have forgotten what he looked like? His strong features and square-jawed beauty never ceased to take her breath away. She put one of her hands on his forehead and combed her fingers through his thick, dark hair, her nails, grazing his cold, stone scalp. She felt sleepily content.

The statue suddenly sat bolt upright in its crate. It grabbed her arm with both hands and clamped its mouth onto her wrist, its grip like iron. Maddy was in shock, she couldn’t get away. She used her free hand to try to prise his fingers off, but they encircled her arm like a solid stone cuff. Its eyes were still closed. With horror, she realised its teeth had pierced her skin and were sunk deep into her wrist. But then, even worse, she realised that it actually felt nice ... It felt amazing and her body tingled, becoming light as air.

Dizziness fuzzed her brain and she swooned. But almost immediately, it let go of her arm and snapped back down to its statue-like state. She was losing consciousness and then, like the shutters going down, everything faded to black.

*

Cold embraced her. She felt weak and stiff. Maddy opened her eyes and then had to close them again against the searing light. Where was she? She remembered something vaguely and tried to catch the edge of the memory, but it drifted off into another part of her mind and blackness followed again.

*

She woke some time later and now the coldness and numbness had completely taken over her body, along with an aching weakness. She remembered. The statue! No … Impossible. It must have been a vivid dream. But she knew it was true. It had happened. She inched open her eyes and forced them to adjust to the bright halogen light that bored relentlessly into her brain.

She lay on the stone floor of the secret room. The sighing wind had stopped, replaced by the birds singing their morning song. Maddy carefully stretched out her body, testing each limb to see if she was okay. She was freezing, shivering uncontrollably. Her teeth chattered and her throat and eyes ached. Gingerly she tried to sit, but as she pushed herself up she winced as a stabbing pain shot through her wrist and she came over all light-headed.

Maddy looked down at the source of the pain, viewing her wrist as if it was an alien entity that didn’t belong to her. She twisted it around to view the inner part and saw immediately what she had known she would find – two large messy puncture marks, with dried blood caked around them. She tasted bile in her throat and felt panic. She was weak and struggled to get to her feet. She leant on the crate and looked at him … at it. It looked like the same beautiful statue it had always been. It looked harmless.

Madison staggered to the bottom of the cellar steps, but her legs were too weak to fully support her and when she finally reached the steps, she had to sit to regain her strength. After a few minutes she crawled upwards, screwing up her face in pain every time she had to lean on her wrist, exhausted at the mere thought of trying to make it all the way to her bedroom. But she craved the warmth and softness of her duvet and so she moved at her snail’s pace, inch by inch, through the kitchen, along the hallway, up the creaking wooden stairway, along the landing and finally, blissfully, into her room and her large, warm bed.

She knew she should be thinking things, feeling things and doing things, but all she could manage was to close her eyes and sleep.

*

‘Do you think she needs to go to hospital?’

Ben’s voice sounded small and far away, but it gradually became louder and clearer.

‘It’s just … she’s been like this for ages now.’

‘Doctor said she’ll be fine. Exhausted from the fever. Needs to sleep it off.’ Esther’s voice cut through her brain like a cheese grater.

Maddy lay there, unmoving with her eyes closed. Something had happened to her, something bad. She didn’t want to remember, but her memory rebelled, flashing up unwanted images. She remembered crawling up to bed, and now Ben and Esther were here in her room. She moved her hand under the covers to feel her wrist – it was bandaged. They must have seen! She opened her eyes.

‘There you go, Ben,’ Esther said. ‘She’s awake. No need for hospitals.’

‘Maddy, how are you? We was so worried.’ Ben leant over his sister, examining her face for any further signs of illness.

Madison opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She mouthed the word water and Esther helped her to sit up, passed her a glass and helped her to drink.

‘You’ve been so ill, Mads. Talking in your sleep and everything. You’ve been asleep for three days. Three days! I mean, is that a record or something?’

Maddy tried to take it all in. Three days? It only felt like this morning that she had crawled out of the cellar … The cellar! She had left the cellar door open and the halogen light on. The entrance to the secret room was uncovered. Had Esther been down there and seen the room? Worse still, had she seen what was in there?

That statue was alive and dangerous. It hadn’t killed her, but she was sure it could easily have done so. She thought of all the times she had sat millimetres away from it and she shivered. But it had felt incredible when her wrist was in its mouth … No, don’t even go there.

‘… Maddy. Mads? Are you listening? I was just saying ...’

‘Leave her be now, Ben. She needs rest.’ Esther led Ben out of the room.

‘Sleeping again? She will be okay won’t she?’

Maddy tuned out and fell back into a deep dreamless sleep.

Chapter Eighteen

1881

*

Harold awoke in his tent. His throat burned and his head felt as though someone had sawed through it with a rusty blade. He opened his dry, swollen eyes and looked up, expecting to see Victoria. Then he remembered. Could it have happened? Please God, let it have been a nightmare.

Refet walked into the tent. The young guard sat cross-legged next to Harold and held a tin cup of water to his cracked lips.

‘Did it happen?’ Harold croaked, sipping at the deliciously cool liquid.

Refet nodded twice and lowered his eyes. ‘I am sorry.’

His wife was dead. She had been stolen from him. But his children … ‘Leonora! Freddie,’ Harold cried. He suddenly remembered the rest - what his children had become. He felt Refet’s hand on his shoulder. Thoughts came to him of the legend of the demons. But it was impossible.

He had to know where his children were. Did Refet know of their strange awakening? Or had they remained unconscious, their condition undetected?

‘We have put all bodies into wood ... uh how you call them?’

‘Wooden coffins,’ Harold said quietly.’

‘Yes, cor-fins.’ Refet lowered his eyes. ‘They all in first cave near the ground. You take home.’

Harold nodded and breathed a long sigh of relief. Refet did not realise all was not as it seemed. The dim light must have prevented the guards from seeing the changed nature of the children. They should all be safe below ground. He would go down and see if they still lived.

He hoped they were all risen from the dead and that he would be able to hold his dear wife once more. He tried to sit up, but to move his body, was to feel sharp needles piercing his skin and bones. He groaned with the shock of pain.

‘Stay, stay,’ Refet said. You must get well. You have been ill with fever.’

‘I must see my family,’ he wheezed.

‘They not go anywhere. You must stay. Rest.’

‘But you do not understand …’ Harold tried to sit up again, but this time he almost passed out.

‘I know you want see, but first you rest,’ Refet said. ‘You sleeping three days, but maybe you need more.’

‘Three days!’ Harold ignored the shards of pain in his head and pushed himself up. ‘But they need me, I must go to them!’ He tried to stand and instantly fainted.

Harold drifted in and out of consciousness for two more days before waking again in the middle of the night. This time, the pain was a dull ache throughout his body. Refet slept at the foot of his bed, his deep, regular breaths filling the tent. He was a good man, Harold thought as he pulled on a pair of crumpled breeches and crept past him.

He walked shakily to the ventilation shaft. Two guards sat at its mouth and he motioned to them to lower him down. They looked at each other with worried expressions, but Harold insisted and they eventually complied. The rope cut into his chest and he felt dizzy and sick. He forced himself to continue and not shout to the men to pull him back up. Once at the bottom he had to sit for a minute until he felt strong enough to stand.

The coffins lay in the small chamber. Eight of them. Harold guessed the three containing the guards’ bodies had already been transported back to their families, unless they too were changed.

He prised open the lid to the first one. In it lay the five-day-old corpse of his beloved Victoria. She was quite, quite dead and Harold felt the hot sweat of nausea sweep up from his gut to his scalp. He staggered over to the corner of the room and dry-retched. He did not vomit, but his body shuddered and heaved and his hands shook uncontrollably.

He pulled himself together and tried not to think of the body as anything to do with the vibrant, wonderful woman who used to be his wife. He replaced the lid and sat in the slimy darkness. All hope of being reunited with his beloved was gone forever. He had lost her. But he could not afford to give into his misery now. He had to check if there was still a possibility his children were … if they were … alive?

Harold got to his feet and opened the next box, preparing himself for another awful sight. In it, he saw Alexandre. But this was Alexandre as he had never seen him before and not in a stomach-churning, decaying-corpse way. Before he died, Alexandre had undoubtedly been a handsome youth, but now … now he appeared almost luminescent in his beauty. Pale and flawless.

Harold was transfixed. He nervously put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and tried to shake him awake, but his body felt rigid and hard, like stone. Alexandre did not move a millimetre. He did not even appear to be breathing. There was no doubt then. Something supernatural had occurred and the only explanation was that he had become one of the demons. But surely these kind vibrant children could not have become demonic.

‘My children,’ he whispered. ‘Are you too like this?’

He set about opening each of the coffins. Marie-Louise and Didier were undoubtedly as dead as his wife, but all five children were transformed into these amazing sculpted creatures. None of them woke or twitched a muscle. Harold desperately tried to shake Leonora awake, but she would not rouse.

He fumbled around for a sharp stone and dragged it across his fingertip. His blood dripped onto his daughter’s lips, but still she did not stir.

He finally replaced the lids and called up to the guards to lift him out of the cavern.

Later that morning, after sleeping a while longer, Harold awoke, washed and dressed. Refet smiled to see the Englishman up and about. Over the past few days he had made it his duty to ensure he was cared for properly and had whatever he needed.

‘Refet,’ Harold said as they ate lunch together. ‘I do not believe I have thanked you properly for your part in what happened the other night. I would surely be dead, if not for you. Thank you. I am in your debt.’

‘You are welcome,’ Refet said. ‘But I did nothing.’

‘No, you are too modest. You are a brave man of excellent character and I know Isik would have been proud of you.’

‘He was like father to me,’ Refet said. ‘I still not know what happened down there.’

‘Did you not then discover anything of what occurred that night?’

‘No one want look there. Too frightened. They say … the blood demons.’

‘Do you know of this legend?’

‘I did not know the full story which Bayan Sahin told. But everyone here has always known of the legend of these creatures.

‘What did they do?’

‘They killed people. They evil.’

‘Did they ever transform people? Make people like them?’

‘Yes. They change some. Maybe to make bigger numbers of their kind. Why you ask? You think demons kill you family?’

‘Maybe.’

‘I too think maybe.’

Harold looked at Refet, trying to work out how much to tell him. He decided to stay silent on the matter for the time being,

‘I thank you for the part you played, my friend.’ Harold repeated. ‘I thank you from the depths of my soul.’

‘You too are my friend,’ Refet said, putting his clenched fist to his heart and clasping Harold’s arm. ‘I wish could take your sorrow and throw in river.’

‘Yes, that would be good,’ Harold replied. ‘But I am afraid no river will ever wash away this pain.’

*

Before leaving Turkey, Harold approached Refet with a request.

‘Refet, my friend, please do not feel obliged to say yes, but I have a proposition for you.’

The young guard listened.

‘I may need some help on my journey back to England and then, once home, I will have need of a trusted employee to help me with something most sensitive and secret. I should like to offer you a job, for life, with me in England.’

Refet said nothing, but waited for Harold to continue.

‘I have a large, beautiful house and there is another decent-sized property on the edge of my land that you could have as your own.’

Refet waited, but then when it was clear Harold had finished talking, he spoke.

‘This sounds like good … chance for young man like me, but forgive me, Harold, Sir, I not think you tell me whole truth. You must tell me what secret you hide.’

‘Yes, Refet, you are right. I have not told you everything, for in truth I do not know how you will react to this news and I need to know I can trust you not to betray my family. Do not take that as an insult, for I know you are a trustworthy man. It is just ... well ... what I am about to tell you may cause us to disagree.’

‘I not understand. But I never betray you. You have my word.’

‘Even if what I tell you is so shocking your first instinct is to do just that.’

‘I try to, how you say? Think, before do anything. But I worry now. Why you not just tell me?’

‘Yes, I will tell you. I will tell you.’ Harold said, but then he hesitated. If he told Refet about the children, he had to be sure he would not try to destroy them. He knew they may be potential killers and once he had taken them from the underground caverns, they could be a threat to anyone. He did not know if their human character had changed. But he also knew that, killers or no killers, he would lay down his own life to protect them.

Refet waited for Harold to decide whether or not he trusted him enough to share his secret.

‘My children are not dead,’ Harold finally said. ‘Come with me and I will show you.’

Refet said nothing but followed him down into the dark ventilation shaft to the coffins. Harold opened one of them and on viewing its contents Refet appeared more shocked and horrified than if he had been looking at a stinking, rotting corpse. He found himself staring down at Alexandre who was monstrously, supernaturally beautiful.

‘What is this?’ Refet whispered.

‘Do not worry,’ Harold clasped his shoulders. ‘He will not harm you. He has been changed but he does not stir. See? He is still.’

Refet backed away and took hold of the rope. He said something in his native language and then switched to English. ‘We not safe. I know they were you family, but they gone. These ... someone else. Not same as you family or friends.’

‘Please, Refet. Wait. They may have changed but they will always be my children and I need your trust and your help. Will you help me? My offer still stands. We can try to puzzle this out together.’

‘I go up now. We not safe down here.’ Refet shinned up the rope and pulled Harold up after him.

Harold gave Refet space to think about his proposal. He prayed he would not tell the other guards or try to harm the children, but he did not think he was the sort to do anything rash.

That night, Refet came to Harold and agreed to help him. But Harold knew it was more from a desire to keep an eye on them, than to actually protect them from danger or from being discovered.

‘I will come with you. I feel it my duty. If they do something wrong I must stop them. You understand this?’

‘Yes, Refet,’ Harold understood. ‘That is acceptable.’

*

A few days later, Harold had recovered enough to make the long journey home to England. They loaded up the carts and Harold ensured the coffins were sealed up tight. He did not know for certain if daylight was harmful to them but, according to the legend, the ancient demons had not come out during the day and he did not want to take any chances with his children’s safety. He covered the wagons over with thick sheets.

Once packed and ready to leave, he and Refet sent all the workers back to their homes with their wages and his thanks. Then Harold sent the convoy of coffins on its way to the Port of Smyrna, complete with four armed guards. He and Refet would catch them up later that day or the next, on horseback.

Soon, the sound of creaking wheels and the sight of swirling dust clouds faded into the distance. Harold and Refet could delay no longer. They knew what they had to do.

‘Are you absolutely sure you are alright to do this?’ Harold asked Refet.

‘It must be done.’

‘Very well. But you must be quick getting out of there. Are you a strong enough swimmer?’

‘I excellent swimmer.’

‘Good. So we will do it at twelve o’clock on the dot.’

‘I go now.’

‘Good luck, Refet. I shall see you later.’

‘God willing.’ Refet mounted his horse, dug his heels into its flanks and the sleek grey mare took off at a fast gallop.

Harold watched Refet disappear into the rocky blue horizon. He was alone for the first time in weeks. Alone, completely and utterly, in every sense of the word. He sat at the top of the shaft and wept. He cried for his family, for his wife and his children and, strangely, he cried for his long-dead parents. What he wouldn’t give to be able to sink his head into his mother’s chest and weep like a little boy, to be comforted as only a mother knows how to comfort. But this was all useless wishing. He was alone and had to make the best of it. He had no other choice.

He stood up, wiped his tears and shook himself briskly, fanning his face with his hat and clearing his throat self-consciously, even though there was nobody there to witness his breakdown. He wandered around the deserted site trying not to think about anything in particular, counting down the minutes until he had to do what was required.

When it was nearly time he climbed down the rope, hand-over-hand, until he reached the cool dark chamber. He thought back to the first time he had been here, to when his family and friends had been alive, excited and happy, on the verge of a great discovery. Now it was all in ruins. They were either dead or changed forever and he and Refet were about to ensure that nobody would ever again be able to stumble across the most amazing archaeological find of the century.

He felt cold now that the heat of the sun had left his skin. He rubbed the sleeves of his jacket against his goose-fleshed arms and checked his pocket watch again – a quarter to eleven. Not long now. He had better get started.

*

Refet reached the river a little earlier than anticipated. It was good they were going to do this. It was the only thing they could do, for what had happened could never be allowed to happen again. The legends were a warning and if they had ignored it, then others too might ignore it in the future and suffer the fatal consequences.

He tethered his horse under a willow tree and prepared himself for the dive. He took off his tunic, tied a small wooden box around his waist and said a quick prayer to ask that all would go smoothly. Then he lowered his body into the cold river and headed towards the twin peaks of the fairy chimneys which jutted out of the frothing water. He reached the nearest peak and held on while he got his breath back. Then, when he felt ready, he took a huge breath and dived.

Underwater, all was muffled and quiet after the hectic roar of the river. Refet swam gracefully, undulating his body towards the large white cave. He soon found the narrow entrance at the back which led to the underground lake. As he wriggled through, bubbles of air escaped rapidly from his mouth. Eventually, he surfaced in the dark cavern lake and pulled himself onto the stone shore. He wiped the water from his eyes and untied the box from his waist. It was sealed with pitch to make it watertight and now he cut it open with his knife. Good, everything inside was bone dry. He lit a candle and got to work.

By ten past eleven he was set up. He tried not to think about what lay hidden in this place, but images of his massacred comrades and the two doomed families came unbidden into his mind. The seconds dragged by. Every minute felt like ten as he checked and re-checked the heavy pocket watch that Harold had given him.

The walls of the cavern were green and mossy, and strange pointed stalactites hung down from the ceiling like giant swords ready to parry and thrust. He listened to the drip, drip and ripple of water from the underground lake which echoed throughout the huge cavern.

At five to twelve Refet stood up and prepared himself, stretching and pacing like a caged tiger, flexing his fingers and rolling his shoulders, his taut body suddenly flooding with adrenalin.

Lighting the fuses, he watched them snake away towards the millstone entrances. He slipped like a fish into the underground lake and dove down and away into the narrow underwater tunnel and back through the white river cave. He finally surfaced out in the fast-flowing river and the brightness of the noonday sun.

Refet took huge gulps of air and squeezed his eyes closed against the spray of water and white daytime light that took some getting used to after the black gloom of the caves. He trod water, fighting the current and finally opened his eyes and focused, looking for the river bank.

He was about to head for dry land when he felt a deep rumble beneath him. The water sucked at his legs and pulled him backwards, smashing him sideways into one of the fairy chimneys that protruded from the water. He was just able to reach out and wrap his arm around it.

Refet stayed there for a second or two before he realised the cone-shaped rock was slowly tipping over, sinking into the water. He let go, but found he too was being pulled down into the spinning vortex of water and rocks. The whirlpool spun him around and sucked him under again. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the spinning slowed and stopped. He was thrown back up to the surface like a cork and the water resumed its flow.

Choking and spluttering, Refet let the river take him downstream while he floated on his back trying to get his breath. Then, when he had recovered enough, he struck out towards the river bank, heaving himself onto dry land. He lay there, letting the heat warm his tired, battered body.

After some time, he could not have said how long, Refet finally had the strength to sit up. His clothes were almost dry and he already felt hot and very thirsty. He crawled forwards, scooped some river water into his mouth, stood and walked back upstream. The two fairy chimneys, with their ancient heads above the water line, had disappeared. The explosion had done its job and dislodged them. Good. No clues left as to what lay beneath.

His task complete, he would wait here for Harold. They would leave this cursed place and travel across the ocean to England and his new life. He tried not to think of the other matter that would soon need to be addressed - that of the Englishman’s family. God willing, they would continue to sleep in their coffins and never wake up, but somehow he did not think things would be that easy.

*

Having climbed hand-over-hand back up the rope with the long fuses between his teeth, Harold lit them and let them go. He prayed they would not burn out before reaching the sticks of dynamite he had placed by each of the four entrance ways. Had he calculated correctly? Would the charge be enough to collapse the tunnels completely?

The blast rumbled the earth and soon all that remained of the shaft, was a wide, shallow depression in the ground that would soon blend into its surroundings. Harold had one last swift glance around the abandoned site and shook his head, ruing the day he had ever come to this damned place. He mounted his horse and made off towards the river near Zelmat, where Refet waited.

*

After many days of uneventful, melancholy travel, Harold and Refet found themselves back in England adjusting to a new way of life. The five children remained unmoving in their coffins.

He had arranged for the bodies of Didier and Marie-Louise to be returned to their families in France and had written to say that the children had not been recovered from the rock fall that killed them all. He hated to lie like this, but the truth was too shocking to be revealed and Harold wanted to spare their families from any further pain and worry. He would take on the responsibility of caring for them. It would help to ease his grief and give him some kind of reason to go on. He would do whatever it took to revive them.

Harold made a space for the sleeping children in the large cellar of his country home. He created a beautiful comfortable room down there, hidden by a false wall to prevent discovery by his servants. He constructed large wooden crates, lined with soft blankets for them to lie on. He spoke to them every day and read to them from books and newspapers.

Harold did not sleep well in his huge four poster bed anymore; it felt too big without Victoria and he usually spent most of his nights tossing and turning or wandering around his house in the quiet small hours.

It was the beginning of June and the weather was unseasonably warm for England. Even with all the windows propped open as wide as they could go, there was no breeze and the heat hung thick and heavy.

Harold awoke from a fitful sleep and noted a change in the air. A chill enveloped him and he had the strange sensation that he was being watched.

Chapter Nineteen

*

How did you make sense of something that didn’t make sense? A statue that wasn’t a statue. Was it alive? Was it supernatural? It hadn’t talked or anything. It hadn’t even opened its eyes. Could it really be what Madison thought it was? A ... a ... She couldn’t even say the word in her head without it sounding so far-fetched and ridiculous that she was in danger of checking herself into the loony bin.

And if it was what she thought it was, then why hadn’t it attacked her before now? Was it because this time she had gone down there at night? There were too many unanswered questions, but the main one was, were she and Ben safe? She looked at the bandage on her wrist. She had been in bed for four days now and felt much better, physically. But mentally she was a wreck.

She peeled back the tape and began to unwind the bandage, tensing her body in preparation for what she was about to see under the dressing. The soft skin on her inner wrist was yellowish, bruised and tender. But the marks themselves had healed quickly - now showing as two small triangular-shaped scabs. She took the bandage off completely and decided get up and see Ben. She needed to talk to him about what had happened and find out whether or not Esther and Morris had been into the cellar.

The Foxtons were still here, in a room on the second floor. Esther brought Maddy her meals in bed, changed her dressings and gave her the medicine Dr Wilson had prescribed. She talked a lot; mainly about Ben and the housework, but she delivered it all in her usual abrupt manner - more a monologue than a conversation. Maddy wondered how long they planned on staying. She was grateful for their help, but could do without them being here all the time; it was doing her head in.

‘Hey, geezer,’ Maddy peered into Ben’s bedroom. He was sprawled on his bed doing his homework.

‘You’re up!’ Ben threw his pen down and grinned at her. ‘Are you better now?’

‘Getting there, shortie. Still a bit shaky.’

She got on his bed, pulling her feet up under her. ‘I was really out of it, wasn’t I?’

‘Yeah, you were bad, Mads. Shivering and talking in your sleep and stuff. But I meant to ask you about something weird, cos the morning you got ill, the cellar was open with the lights on, but you were still in bed. Did you go down there or something?’

‘Yeah,’ Maddy said, relieved he hadn’t noticed anything else amiss. ‘I was down there when I started feeling ill and I felt so bad I must’ve forgotten to turn everything off. Did Esther or Morris go down there? Did they see the statues d’you know?’ She asked the question as casually as she could.

‘Don’t think so. Dunno. Mads, are you well enough to help me with this history homework? It about Wat Tyler, this peasant bloke …’

‘Yeah, Ben, sure. What do we have to do?’

Ben spent the next hour or so, talking to her about the fourteenth century peasant revolution and Maddy listened, finding it a welcome distraction from her turbulent thoughts.

*

That night, Madison woke at about three in the morning. She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t get her mind away from what had happened. She knew it was madness, but she felt a compulsion to revisit the cellar and see if the statue creature would wake again. Because, although what had happened was horrific, Maddy couldn’t shake the memory that it was also sublime. She had never experienced feelings like that in her life. It had been like being connected to the cosmos - terrifyingly wonderful. And he … he still drew her to him with his beauty; it was like an addiction.

And so, fighting against the rational part of her brain which screamed at her to stay away, she tiptoed down the stairs towards them, towards him. She unlocked the utility room door and crept down the cellar steps with the torch in her hand. Maddy turned on the halogen light, but nothing happened. The bulb must have burned out. The crates were still pulled away from the opening, so she walked through to the small room in the cold torchlit gloom.

The lid still lay on the ground and Maddy breathed in with apprehension and pleasure as she saw him lying there. She sat too close, terrified he would attack her again, but terrified he would not.

Madison reached out her hand. The same hand that ached from the last time she came down here. She touched his face with her fingertips and marvelled at its hardness, like granite or marble. It seemed impossible it could be alive, in any sense of the word. Had she imagined it? Looking at her wrist, she shook her head, not knowing what to believe. Maddy sat there for a while, staring at his unmoving face.

*

Madison recovered and Esther and Morris returned to their cottage on the edge of the estate. Maddy awkwardly thanked them for looking after her, and Morris stated it was no trouble. Esther said that they were the caretakers and it was part of their job. Life continued as before, with Ben enjoying his new school and Maddy receiving intermittent visits from Travis. She spent large chunks of her time down in the cellar, but nothing else untoward occurred.

The days and weeks sped past and Maddy’s wrist healed up completely, with only two faint scars to remind her of what had happened.

The week before Christmas, Maddy sat in the kitchen warming her hands around a mug of tea, when the doorbell rang. She heard Esther banging around upstairs somewhere, so she answered the door herself, taking sips of her tea. Morris and one of the gardeners stood on the doorstep in the rain, with a ten foot Christmas tree resting on their shoulders.

‘Where d’you want him?’ Morris asked. ‘Chopped him down this morning.’

‘Wow!’ Maddy gasped. ‘Is that for us? For the house?’

‘Well it ain’t for the Wizard of Oz. You gonna tell us where you want him before our backs break?’

‘Oh, sorry. Umm, in the hall? No. In the lounge in front of the big window.’

‘Right. Move out the way then. Come on, Charlie. Into the drawing room.’

Christmas had always been a haphazard affair for Ben and Maddy. It had usually started off okay at Trevor and Angie’s, but too much drink was always consumed, the day ending in shouting or sulking, with much slamming of doors and storming out. Before Trevor and Angie, it had just been completely depressing, with forced fun in care homes from well-meaning volunteers.

This year would be different. She would create a wonderful traditional day, like her mum used to. A proper celebration with a tree, presents, a Christmas dinner, chocolates and crappy TV - Perfect.

Maddy and Ben watched as Morris and Charlie wrestled the wet Christmas tree into place in front of the floor-to-ceiling drawing room windows. It was like a story book tree, perfectly shaped and tapering to a point which almost touched the ceiling. Maddy inhaled the sharp citrus scent of pine needles.

‘Thank you,’ she said as the men stepped back to admire their efforts.

‘You got any decorations?’ Morris asked.

‘Huh?’

‘Christmas decorations – You got any?’

‘Oh. No we haven’t.’ Maddy realised she’d have to get some.

‘Thanks, Charlie,’ Morris said. ‘I’ll be out shortly. You can carry on with the wood.’

‘Oh. Alright.’

‘Yeah, thanks, Charlie,’ Madison said as he left the room.

‘Just going upstairs,’ Morris said. ‘Be back in a minute.’

Ten minutes later, he returned to the lounge carrying a large box.

‘What’s that?’ asked Ben.

‘You said you didn’t have any decorations. Here’s a box full of them.’

‘For us?’

Morris nodded. ‘They’re years old. Belonged to the original owner didn’t they.’ He put the box down on the coffee table.

‘Cool.’ Ben knelt on the floor and opened the lid.

Madison crouched next to him and peered in to see parcels of scrunched up tissue and newspaper. She reached into the box at the same time as Ben and they giggled as they clashed hands. Maddy picked out one of the packages and carefully unwrapped the tissue paper. A small figure dropped into her palm. It was a tiny old-fashioned girl wearing ice skates – an exquisite Christmas decoration.

‘It’s beautiful.’

Ben opened another of the small parcels. His was a silver reindeer pulling a dog on a sleigh.

‘Don’t go dropping them. They’ll be quite valuable I should think.’

Madison and Ben looked up to see Esther standing in the doorway. Her mouth turned up into an unfamiliar smile.

Exquisitely made from glass or porcelain, there were little snowmen, a polar bear, a silver pig in a cart and many others. Some of the ornaments lay in broken pieces, or crumbled as they touched them, but most were still in decent condition and she and Ben spent a magical afternoon on the stepladder, decorating the magnificent Norway Spruce and eating most of the tree chocolates that Esther had bought with the weekly shop.

*

On Christmas Eve, Travis called round to ask if Maddy wanted to come to the pub. Kerri and Taff would be there, along with a whole group of their mates.

‘Thanks, Trav, but me and Ben are getting all Christmassy – slobbing out and watching a film. Maybe another night?’

‘Well, it’ll have to be after New Year. I’m going up to Cheltenham tomorrow to stay with my dad for the week.’

‘Oh. Wait there.’ Maddy left him standing on the doorstep while she went to get his present from under the Christmas tree. She and Ben had got him a couple of rare import twelve-inch records. ‘Don’t open it till tomorrow,’ she said as she handed it to him.

‘Thanks, Mads. I can’t believe you got me something.’

‘It’s from Ben too.’

‘Here. This is for you.’ He handed her a small square parcel.

‘Thanks, Trav.’

‘You’ve got to open it now.’

‘Really?’ she said. ‘I’d rather open it on Christmas Day. I’m not going to have many others ...’

‘Open it now. Go on.’

‘Okay,’ she smiled and suddenly felt about five years old. The parcel had been beautifully wrapped in gold paper with twirly bits of red ribbon. She pulled the ribbon off and ripped open the paper.

‘It’s an ipod,’ Travis said, watching her face. ‘But I loaded it with tons of tracks I know you like. There’s speakers in with it and I’ve also put a load of cheesy Christmas tunes on there, so you can get your groove on to Mariah and Boney M.’

‘Trav, you are such a sweetheart. I love it.’ She leant in to kiss his cheek, but he turned his face slightly and her mouth brushed his lips instead. He stared at her, but she ignored the moment he was trying to create. She pulled back.

‘Ben!’ she called into the lounge. ‘Look what Travis got me for Christmas!’

Ben didn’t hear her though and she was left standing uncomfortably on the doorstep, with an expectant Travis.

‘He’s got the telly turned up too loud,’ she said, talking inanely to try and cover the awkward moment. ‘So, come round after New Year, if you’re free ... and … have a good night tonight. Say hi to Kerri and Taff for me …’

She felt Travis trying to make eye-contact, but she wouldn’t look at him properly. She didn’t want to see the feelings she knew he had for her.

‘Yeah. Happy Christmas, Mads.’

She heard disappointment in his voice. He trudged back to his van and Maddy felt bad. But she liked him as a friend and that was it. She knew she could never feel about Travis, the way she felt about … She stopped herself short. Could she really have feelings for ... it? For a statue.

She shook away the thought. She and Ben were going to relax and enjoy their first Christmas as a family with no outsiders, no social workers or foster parents. They were wealthy with their own house and their lives stretched out before them. Anything was possible now. They could do whatever they wanted. Maybe they could go away on holiday after Christmas. Maybe that’s what she needed. Time away to get some perspective. Away from them ... from him.

*

Was it morning yet? Maddy turned over and looked at the red glowing numbers on her alarm clock. Five forty three. Much too early to get up. She thought she heard something, a creaking floorboard. Father Christmas? She laughed to herself and pulled the quilt up to her chin. Go back to sleep, Maddy.

*

When she awoke again, it was past eight o’clock and she was surprised Ben hadn’t rushed in to wake her yet. He’d been so excited the night before. He’d tried to be all grown-up and cynical, saying that Christmas was manufactured and commercial, but he’d been in such a good mood, like a springy puppy dog, laughing and teasing, he’d barely been able to sit still.

It filled Maddy with love and contentment to see him so happy. She felt excited herself. It was Christmas morning and here she was waking up in this beautiful room, in their picture-book house with no one to tell them what to do. She’d go and see if he was awake.

She pulled a jumper over the top of her pyjamas, slipped her feet into some cosy Uggs, drew back the curtains and looked outside. No snow, but a white frost glittered over the ornamental garden in the weak morning light. It looked beautiful but freezing out there. Maddy stared for a minute or two, watching a bird perched on the side of the lake, pecking in vain at the frozen water.

She remembered Ben and almost skipped to his room, ready to wake him up with a Merry Christmas, but his covers were pulled back and there was no sign of him. She hoped he hadn’t had his breakfast yet. She wanted them to eat together in the lounge and open their presents, like she remembered doing with their mum.

She had bought Ben a small trail bike which she knew he would go crazy over. He had no idea and she couldn’t wait to see his face when he saw it. She’d wheeled it into the dining room last night after he’d gone to bed. Morris wouldn’t be too happy to have a motorbike tearing up the grounds, but hey.

Maddy looked in the lounge … not there. She walked into the kitchen and stared in dread. An icy hand curled around her heart, squeezing it tight.

‘No!’ She could barely get the word out. ‘Ben!’ she screamed and ran to the cellar door, which was unlocked and wide open, throwing out a cold blast into the usually-warm kitchen. She almost fell down the steps, into the dungeon-like depths. It was dark, except for a few ribbons of pale morning light filtering in through frosty windows.

Maddy felt even sicker as she saw the entrance to the hidden room was exposed, the crates pushed aside. Ben lay there on his side, on the cold stone floor in his pyjamas. The torch emitted a dying beam on the ground next to him. She ran across to her baby brother and gathered his icy body to her. She ripped off her boots and put them on his bare feet. Then she took off her jumper and, with shaking fingers, pulled it over his head and arms. His wrist was a mess of blood and she screamed again.

‘No! No, no, no!’ Her frantic thoughts were all self-recrimination - Why did I leave those things here? I should’ve destroyed them! Ben! My Ben, my brother! ‘Please!’ she sobbed and held him, kissing his cold face. Staring at him, willing something ... anything. A faint gurgling sound came from his throat. ‘Ben!’ Maddy stopped crying and her tone became urgent. ‘Ben, wake up. Wake up! Can you hear me, Ben?’

He moaned.

‘That’s it. Come on, we have to get you out of here. You have to come upstairs, into the warm, where it’s safe. Come on, Benny boy, wake up!’

Ben was small for his age, but so was Maddy. She heaved him up, over her shoulder and swayed to steady herself. She briefly glanced at the open crate and saw that thing lying there as if butter wouldn’t melt in its blood-sucking mouth. Its hours were numbered. She was going to come back down here later and impale it. But right now, she had to fix her brother.

She made it to the bottom of the cellar steps before she had to stop. The stone floor was so cold, like blades going into the bare soles of her feet. She sat on the bottom step for a few seconds, gathering her strength, with Ben still draped over her shoulder. Then she heaved herself up again, her legs buckling with the weight and the fear.

Maddy climbed out of the cellar, one slow step at a time, talking to Ben constantly. Telling him to listen to her voice, telling him about the motorbike she had got him for Christmas, that he was going to be fine and that she loved him more than anything in the world.

*

Everything happened to him in pretty much the same way it had happened to her. The sweats, the hallucinations and delirium. Madison called Dr Wilson herself, telling him she thought Ben had got what she had had and could he come and give him whatever he had given her to make her better.

Dr Wilson took one look at Ben’s lacerated wrist and glanced up sharply at Madison. She said they’d been doing some renovation work and he’d cut himself, like her, that they both came from the same clumsy gene pool. She knew the doctor didn’t believe any of it. But he didn’t comment.

Morris and Esther came round about half-an-hour after Dr Wilson had left. Maddy was annoyed. He must have told them about Ben. What happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?

‘Looks like he’s got the same flu I had,’ Maddy told Morris and Esther. She saw the look that passed between them. Well, let them think what they like, she thought. It’s none of their business anyway and I haven’t got the energy to worry about them now.

‘You don’t need to stay,’ she continued. ‘You should go home and enjoy the rest of your Christmas. Me and Ben are fine here.’

Morris nodded his head in acceptance, but Esther spoke up.

‘We’ll pack a bag and stay in the room upstairs for a few days, until his fever breaks.’

‘No honestly. We’ll be okay,’ Maddy said.

‘I’ll go downstairs and have a quick tidy round. Morris, you bring us a few clothes and the wash bag, while I tend to things here.’

‘Right, then. See you shortly,’ he replied.

Esther swept out of the room before Maddy had a chance to protest further. To be honest, she found she didn’t actually care what they did. She felt too worried about Ben, who was still white hot and sweating buckets. So, this was to be their first Christmas at Marchwood. Not quite the day she had planned.

Why had her brother gone down there? What could have made him go into the cellar? And she would have to do something about those creatures. They’d had a hold over her for too long. She had to get rid of them and start to live her life properly.

She’d wasted hours mooning around over that thing. Was it just because it was so beautiful? Was she really that shallow? She had to kill it, before it did any more harm. She just prayed her little brother would come out of the fever soon. Dr Wilson hadn’t seemed overly worried. He’d been more concerned with the cause of the fever.

Madison spent the whole of Christmas Day and Boxing Day at Ben’s bedside. He hadn’t shown any signs of improvement and Maddy swung from being hysterical with worry, to calmly telling herself this is what she had been like and she hadn’t woken up for three days.

On the morning after Boxing Day, Dr Wilson said if Ben’s condition hadn’t improved by the evening, he would recommend he be moved to hospital for intravenous antibiotics. Maddy started praying and playing the game where she bargained with God: If you make my brother better, you can send me back to foster care, you can take all this wealth away and I’ll work in Angie’s supermarket for the rest of my life, I’ll be really nice to Esther, even if she’s being a total bitch.

Something must have worked, whether it was Maddy’s prayers or Dr Wilson’s treatment, or just that things had run their natural course, but by that afternoon Ben’s fever broke and he now slept peacefully. Madison changed his sheets again and looked at his small pyjama-clad body. He looked so vulnerable lying there and, not for the first time, she felt like it was all her fault. She had to face the truth that she knew what those things in the cellar were. She’d been kidding herself now for too long. She should just admit it … they were vampires.

There were five vampires sleeping in the cellar. One of them had sucked her blood, one of them had sucked her brother’s blood and she had to do something about it.

*

The minute Morris and Esther left the house, Maddy gritted her teeth and marched down into the cellar with a new halogen light. Ben was still asleep upstairs. He hadn’t opened his eyes yet and Maddy’s rage was returning. It was rage against herself as much as it was against the vampire who had done this to her brother. Fury engulfed her and she wanted to shatter its stone body into a million bits.

She shoved the empty crates away from the entrance and picked up the pick axe, trying to clear her mind of everything but the pulsing anger, trying not to see his beautiful face in her mind. She pushed off the lid to the crate and caught a blurred glimpse of dark eyebrow and white cheek, but she steeled herself against him, swinging the axe above her head with two hands.

She aimed for his chest and brought the metal tip of the pick axe crashing down. The shock of the impact travelled up her arms, to her shoulders and into her teeth, which shook painfully in her mouth. She let go of the axe and looked through half-closed eyes at the carnage she expected to see.

She opened her eyes wide and then frowned in disbelief. His jacket and shirt were torn. She knelt down, ripping the material apart to reveal a perfect, gleaming chest - there was not a single mark on him. Not a scratch or a nick - nothing. She yelled in frustration and wielded the pick axe again. She ignored the burning in her arms as she attacked him with fury.

After a minute she ran and got the sledgehammer, trying to smash any part of him she could. When her energy was truly spent and her muscles screamed in pain, she looked and saw that apart from his torn suit, he … it was still completely unharmed.

Madison sank to the ground in exhaustion. It hadn’t even tried to fight back. It had just lain there and absorbed the blows. What was she going to do? She pushed herself up onto her feet and walked out of the room, thinking hard.

That afternoon, she came better prepared. She felt faintly ridiculous, but she wasn’t dealing in the realms of normality and she was ready to try anything. Thinking about all the vampire movies she had seen, she made a list of all the things that were supposed to kill them – garlic, crosses, a stake through the heart, daylight. She was almost embarrassed to be considering these things, but what other options did she have? She was dealing with something supernatural that couldn’t be harmed with a pick axe or a sledgehammer, so she had to improvise.

She went up to the crate and put bulbs of garlic inside, around the creature’s body and face, watching intently for any signs of revulsion or discomfort. She put a small gold cross on its forehead, half expecting the metal to burn into its skin, like in the movies. Nothing so far.

Standing in front of the crate she held out a sharpened piece of hardwood and positioned it on its chest exactly where she thought its heart should be (if the evil bloodsucker actually had a heart). She held it in place and raised the hammer, banging it down hard onto the wooden stake with all the force she could muster. The stake snapped without even making a mark on his skin. So that was the ‘stake through the heart’ theory out of the window. What had she expected? That the creature would disappear in a puff of smoke or disintegrate into dust? What now?

‘Yes!’ she said out loud. ‘I know. I know just what I’m going to do with you.’

She raced upstairs and outside into the chilly afternoon air. Although the sun was shining, traces of frost still clung to the more shaded areas of lawn. But Madison barely noticed the cold. She was on a mission to destroy and she was absolutely sure she would succeed this time. Her 4x4 sat in the garage and she hopped in; this time having absolutely no trouble with clutch control and steering. Over the past couple of months she had been taught very patiently by Travis and she now felt entirely confident with her new driving skills.

Madison roared out of the garage and took the Defender onto the driveway, as close as possible to the huge front door. She jumped out, released the winch and pulled the cable through the house and down into the cellar. She hooked the cable on to the front of the crate, then ran back up the stairs and outside to the purring Land Rover. She locked the winch, hopped back in and reversed slowly.

She was going to try and tow the crate outside. She had to get that vampire out of the house and out here, under the sun’s rays. Surely that would destroy it. Why else would it have been bricked up in a dark cellar, safe and sound? She drove backwards for a few yards, feeling the resistance, and then the vehicle stopped dead. She didn’t want to put too much pressure on the accelerator, in case the handle ripped off the crate.

Maddy ran back down to the cellar and saw the problem - the crate was stuck at the bottom of the steps. She looked down at the beautiful vampire. It still slept. She heaved the end of the crate up onto the first and second steps. There! That should do it.

The house sat in an elevated position, commanding a south westerly view over the valley and the sun was already bleeding down into the trees. She would have to hurry, before it sank out of sight and the daylight disappeared. The sun would put an end to him. It would put an end to all five of them. She locked the winch and reversed the vehicle again.

Down in the cellar, the crate was slowly and awkwardly dragged, jolted and bumped up the winding steps. It burst through the utility room door, into the kitchen and smashed against the kitchen table, knocking chairs flying. It slid quickly and smoothly along the flagstones in the entrance hall, rushing inexorably towards the front door. It flew over the three curved entrance steps, finally landing with a thump and a crunch onto the sweeping driveway. It now lay still, beneath the setting sun.

Madison leapt out of the Land Rover with the pick axe in her hand.

‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,’ she whispered over and over to herself. But she didn’t let herself think of the terror, she just charged at the crate. If that thing was awake, she had to be fully prepared to attack it, in case the sun had no effect.

Inside the crate, the vampire was indeed awake. Eyes wide open, jerking uncontrollably as if electrocuted. Its back arched, arms and legs flailing wildly. The sunlight was altering the creature’s appearance. Its sculpted white skin became darker, more human. As Maddy approached, the vampire threw itself out of its crate and crawled across the gravel driveway. It dragged itself up the front steps and into the house.

Shocked that her plan had actually worked, the sight of this live creature terrified her, made her eyes widen, her heart hammer and the blood almost freeze in her veins. But she kept the image of Ben in her mind; of him lying on the cellar floor after the vampire had attacked him and she knew she had to destroy it. Anger warmed her blood and made it flow again.

‘Oh no you don’t!’ Maddy yelled, as it clawed its way into the house. ‘Get back out here!’

She pursued it into the entrance hall and raised the pick axe above her head, ready to strike.

The vampire half-crouched, half-leant against the wall in the entrance hall, still shaking and convulsing, its features contorted in shock. As Madison approached with the axe, it moved down the hallway, using the heels of its feet and the palms of its hands to propel itself backwards, away from her. It went until it could go no further and was backed into a dark corner, next to the closed door of the dining room.

He was a large figure and Madison was just five foot two, but she felt powerful and vengeful as she stood above him.

‘Non!’ he cried. ‘No! Please ...’ He appeared terrified and cringed backwards against the wall. ‘Je vous en supplie! I beg of you!’ His voice was hoarse and he spoke with an accent. He stared beseechingly at Maddy.

She ignored his cries for mercy, closed her eyes and swung the axe downwards.

Chapter Twenty

1881

*

Alexandre opened his eyes. He lay in a blissfully darkened chamber - a cellar. And he could sense a human male sleeping in the house somewhere above him. He felt Leonora awakening nearby. The others still slept.

Standing up, he felt weightless. He flexed his limbs. They were powerful, supple and responsive, like he could climb a mountain in a single leap. His whole body tingled. He flicked open the lid to Leonora’s box to see her staring up at him. She hissed. She actually hissed! Alexandre opened his mouth to say something, but was shocked to hear a hissing sound come from his own lips. He put a hand to his mouth and tried again.

‘What is this?’ his voice sounded foreign to his ears, low and vicious, a harsh whisper. ‘You are different. We are different.’

‘I feel strong,’ she said. ‘But I am also frightened.’ Leonora stood in a single fluid motion. Her dark hair tumbled in waves down her back and her pale skin glowed with radiance and vitality.

‘You look wonderful,’ Alexandre said.

‘And you.’ Leonora stared at him.

‘Do you remember?’ he asked, knowing she did.

She replied with a tilt of her head.

‘Perhaps we are in hell. I thought I had died. Are we demons? Like the others?’

‘If we are demons, then we must be in hell,’ she replied. ‘But I do not feel evil. I feel the same, only stronger and ... better somehow. And if we are in hell, it looks remarkably similar to Marchwood House, where I grew up.’

‘Do you feel the thirst?’ he asked, knowing she did.

She nodded and looked up, beyond the ceiling. ‘First there is someone I must see. My father is upstairs.’

‘Aah,’ Alexandre nodded, realising this must be the human male he sensed earlier. ‘So we are in your house?’

‘In England, yes,’ she confirmed.

‘You go,’ he said. ‘I will wait for the others to wake.’

*

In his bed, Harold felt no fear, only anticipation that he might finally see what he had been hoping for, for so long. When he opened his eyes he was not disappointed.

She was almost ethereal. Her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders, her pale face luminescent in the darkness. He realised her hand was stroking his brow. It felt cool.

‘Father,’ she whispered. A soft sighing sound, like the wind rustling the leaves in the trees.

‘Leonora.’ He sat up slowly. ‘How do you feel? Are you well?’

‘Father, I am well. Where is Mother?’

‘I am sorry, my angel, she is …’ Harold choked over the words, unable to tell his daughter her mother was indeed gone from them.

‘Do not cry, Father,’ Leonora sat on the bed next to him. ‘Mother is gone?’

He nodded.

‘And you have brought us home,’ she said.

He nodded again, half afraid of this composed creature who was his daughter.

‘Alexandre is awake but the others still sleep. They will wake soon,’ she said. ‘We just needed time to recover and adjust to our new lives.’

‘How do you feel?’ Harold whispered, as his heart hammered in his chest. It was madness to feel such fear from his own flesh and blood, but he could not help it. She was so … magnificent.

‘I feel as if the world has given me all of its gifts at once,’ she replied. ‘As though I have the power of the moon and the stars at my fingertips.’

‘Well, that is good,’ Harold said.

She laughed at his words; a melodic tinkling sound, like the pealing of silver bells. ‘Yes, Father. That is good.’

‘What will you do now?’ he asked.

‘Why, we can do whatever we wish. But we cannot bear the light of day, that is all. What would you have us do?’

‘I do not know. I am just happy you are well. I despaired you would stay unmoving for all eternity. There is just one thing I need to know. Do you ... Do you ...?’

‘You may ask it, Father. Or would you rather I just told you?’

Harold nodded.

‘I know your question and the answer is yes. We do need blood.’ She confirmed his fears. ‘It is to us what bread and water is to you.’

‘Do you wish to drink from me again?’ Harold asked. ‘You know you do not even need to ask ...’

‘Father, no!’ She looked like a teacher scolding an insolent child. ‘I am sorry we took from you before, but we were not ourselves. No, we will find sustenance elsewhere.’

‘Please,’ he said. ‘You will not kill anybody will you?’

‘I hope we shall not, but in truth I cannot yet be certain. I do not feel quite in control.’

Harold felt a dread-tinged happiness. ‘Just, please do not hurt Refet. He is here in England with us. He lives in the Lodge House.’

‘Refet!’ she exclaimed. ‘He is here in England? How wonderful. Of course I would not dream of harming a hair on his head.’

‘Good, good,’ Harold said, relieved. He was on new ground here and he did not know how his daughter’s altered state had affected her mind or her moral compass.

‘I believe the others are waking. I will see you soon, Father.’ And, with that, she was gone, like a piece of gossamer snatched up by the wind and whisked away.

*

One by one, they awoke and discovered different ways to adjust to their new lives. Harold realised they would never willingly or consciously harm him and he relaxed in their company, enjoying looking at their beauty and listening to their sighing voices.

Refet learned to be around them, but he could never fully trust them. He could still see the aftermath of the underground massacre in his mind and, although these creatures may not currently wish him ill, they were certainly capable of it. He treated them with respect, the way you might treat a pet dog that has been bred to hunt and kill.

Freddie gently told his father what had befallen them in the cavern and Harold wept all over again at the way in which his wife and friends had been so brutally murdered. But it was now clear that all five of them were adjusting well to their new lives as vampires, for that was what they were.

Harold purchased numerous books on the subject of demons and mythical creatures and the word ‘vampire’ was the closest description to what his children had become. They craved human blood, they could not go out in daylight and nothing appeared to harm them. Their new bodies were strong and their senses razor sharp. Now they had awoken, they no longer resembled statues and could almost be mistaken for normal humans – beautiful, pale, luminescent humans.

Leonora and Freddie assured their father they felt the same love for him as they always had, despite the fact his blood sang out to them. But Harold still felt slightly distanced, especially from Leonora who grew colder and ever more aloof. Perhaps also, the loss of Victoria had damaged his family.

*

Alexandre did not fully understand how he had been made. And why the five of them and not their parents? They had a loose theory that their youthful bodies had saved them from death and that their parents’ bodies had been too old to survive the trauma of having the blood drained from their bodies.

Maybe Harold had not been killed or transformed, because his blood had not been completely drained. They had just taken a little; enough to render him unconscious for a few days but not to kill him. Or perhaps they, as new vampires, did not have the ability or power to turn anyone.

Alexandre became pensive and withdrawn. He was not upset or angry at what had happened, but felt surprised and somewhat melancholy at the turn his life had taken. There had been too much unfinished business in his human life. Avenues he had yet to explore and opportunities left unexploited. Journeys he would never now be able to take.

His feelings confused him and he could not have articulated them if he tried. He felt … loss. That was the simplest way to explain it, but it did not fully cover the range of emotions which flooded his new body. He thought about the possibility of returning to Paris with Jacques and Isobel; returning to the only home he had ever known. But he knew it would only exacerbate these feelings of loss and the three siblings agreed it would be better to stay in England, at least for now. They were orphans, and France would feel wrong without Maman and Papa.

The death of Alexandre’s parents could almost be counted as a blessing, given what had happened. Maman could not have borne it - to see what her children had become and Papa would have been saddened by the future they faced. A future of blood-filled nights in darkened corners; of cold skin and sharp teeth. Outsiders. Creatures of legend and myth, never belonging, never changing, just enduring.

No, his parents were better off dying with the image of their human flesh-and-blood children in their minds. This was the whirl of thoughts Alexandre’s mind contained. They spun around, forming and reforming but always resulting in the ever-familiar hollow feelings of loss.

Leonora became more detached as the nights went by. Alexandre sometimes felt her eyes on him, but when he turned to face her, she was always looking elsewhere; still as inscrutable as ever. She only spoke to him when necessary - polite but distant.

He remembered Cappadocia, where she had bandaged his bleeding palm with her petticoat and held his good hand in hers. She had spoken to him with tenderness and concern, comforting him in the wake of his father’s death. But all that gentle warmth had left her. She was as cold and hard as her new vampire body. Her pale eyes gave nothing away. She was obedient to her father, patient with her brother and solicitous to the rest of them, but her old personality appeared to have been leached away. Maybe in time she would soften a little? Maybe.

As summer turned to autumn and autumn to winter, something was going wrong. Alexandre felt alternately strong as a god and then weak as a kitten. He did not understand it. One minute he had enough strength to fell an oak tree, but then he would be overtaken by a great lethargy that left him incapacitated for hours, sometimes days. The others were the same. They tried drinking more, but their appetite for blood decreased along with their energy.

Harold was pinched with worry. He feared they were dying and was desperate to find out what was wrong.

‘I think it is better this way,’ Refet said. ‘How long you think before people in village start to realise there is something odd here? Already is talk of foreign strangers and rumours about this house. I think is better they sleep longer, awake shorter.’

‘Well I know your feelings on the subject, Refet, but do not forget these are my children we are talking about.’

‘I know, I know, you children! They not children anymore. You know this.’

‘When I want a lecture from you, I will ask for one!’

‘Yes, yes. You only want me speak when I say something you want hear.’

‘You are right, Refet. I do not wish to hear that it is better if my children fall into a coma and die. On this, you are right.’

‘You know I not mean this. I only say …’

‘Yes, you are only being sensible. I know. But I could not bear to lose them all over again.’

‘I know. I sorry.’

‘No, I am sorry. You are a good man to put up with all this mad nonsense.’

‘You not so special. My life full of mad nonsense before I met you.’

‘I am sure it was, Refet, my man. I believe this world is full of more mad nonsense than you or I will ever know.’

*

The vampires slept more and woke less. And then, one day, they just never woke up. Harold continued to talk to them and to read to them, ever hopeful they would rise and speak again.

After some years, he purchased a new machine called a gramophone and played music to them, sure this would provoke some reaction. Very occasionally, one or other of them would grab his wrist and drink from him. These episodes usually left him weakened and delirious, but he noticed no change in any of them. Their eyes remained closed and their bodies stayed still as stone.

He thought of them all as his children now and cared for them equally. He thought often about why they had transformed and not his beloved Victoria or Didier and Marie-Louise. Could it simply be because they were children, younger and stronger than the adults who had perished?

Harold read voraciously of vampires and ancient legends, to see if he could discover what his children had become and why they remained unconscious. But all the information he came across was fictitious and brought him no nearer to discovering the truth.

So many questions and no answers. It was frustrating and disheartening but he would not give up hope. He had no other family and worried constantly about what would happen to them when he died. He would have liked to travel back to Turkey, to speak with the old woman, Havva Sahin. Perhaps she would be able to cast some light over what had happened. But he daren’t leave his children for too long. He decided to write her a letter.

Refet married a local girl. They had children together and seemed happy working for Harold, sometimes keeping him company in the evenings. He made Refet promise that when Harold died, he would continue to look after the house to ensure no harm befell the children. Refet said he would be happy to take on this role, but that Harold would probably outlive them all.

After some months, on a wintry November morning, a letter arrived. It was the letter Harold had been waiting for and he took it into the library, sat at his desk and sliced open the envelope with shaking fingers.

My Dear Mr Swinton

I am so sorry for the loss of your wife and friends. I had the pleasure of meeting Agha Isik Kaya and he struck me as a good man, God rest his soul.

Your children have become blood demons. They are vampyr. There is nothing you can do but be thankful they sleep. Keep them in the dark, in the ground and speak of it to no one. I will keep your secret.

Peace be with you.

Havva Sahin

Was that it? Was that all she could tell him? He already knew what they had become and he already knew he must keep it a secret. He had hoped she might be able to offer him a cure, or at least some useful information. Her letter was nothing more than a polite confirmation. Harold resisted the urge to tear it into little strips and throw it onto the fire. He now realised he would have no help or enlightenment and that he may never be able to revive his children. He had reached the end of the road.

During the first year, when Harold had returned from Turkey with the sleeping children, he had been approached by a firm of London solicitors who had offered their services. He had an odd feeling they knew something of his affairs, but he had politely declined their offer. He already dealt with a local firm whose services were perfectly adequate.

Now, after Havva Sahin’s letter, he could no longer afford to let things slide. Harold had an urgent desire to put everything on a more legal footing. He did not wish to deal with his local firm, so he dug out Mr Fairchild’s business card. The London solicitors were called Hamilton Blythe and he set up a meeting for the following week.

Mr Fairchild had been very forthcoming. He seemed to take the words out of Harold’s mouth before he spoke. Yes, it really was all most satisfactory. He could die now without the worry that he had not done everything he possibly could to ensure the welfare of his charges. Of course, he had not mentioned the children, but Fairchild seemed to know he had some hidden agenda. Even so the solicitor had been discreet and had not asked any awkward questions.

They would begin to search for any living member of his or Victoria’s family. No matter how distantly related, the Swinton estate would be willed to them. If he died before they located anybody, it would be held in trust for one hundred years, giving them that period of time to find somebody. After this time, if no relative was traced, the money from his estate would be given in its entirety to a children’s charity and the property itself would be left to rot.

To ensure Hamilton Blythe did everything within their power to trace his family, Harold decided to award them a generous bonus if they were successful. But with a condition: For the relative to inherit the estate and for the solicitors to earn their bonus, the relative must live in Marchwood House for a minimum of ten years, after which time they could do what they liked with it – sell it if they wished.

In this way, Harold hoped they would discover the hidden room and help find a cure for the children.

In the meantime, Refet and his family would be caretakers of the house and paid a generous salary. They would pass on the legacy of guardianship to their descendants. As long as they upheld their side of the bargain, they would have the right to remain in the Lodge House.

Harold had thought long and hard about the possibility of leaving the entire estate to Refet and his family, but despite everything, he was at heart, a traditionalist and Marchwood House had been in his family for generations. He wanted family to inherit.

*

Over the years, Harold’s face and body grew older. His hair greyed, the skin on his face sagged and developed a criss-cross of lines and crevices. He became frail and hunched, his movements awkward and slow. But the faces and bodies of his demon children stayed youthful. No age blemishes or wrinkles sullied their still countenances. Neither laughter nor worry line marred their beauty. They remained unchanged, unmoving, unconscious.

Harold finally succumbed to old age in 1922 and died in his sleep aged ninety one. In his final days, he did not wish to be apart from his children and so slept in the hidden room where he spent his last remaining weeks. He wrote in his journal by candlelight and he talked to the occupants of the large wooden crates as though they could hear his every word.

After his death, he wanted Refet to seal him into the room with his sleeping children. He did not know what would happen in the future. Whether a long-lost relative would be found to pick up the threads of this strange saga or if strangers would take over his house.

A few days before he died, he summoned enough strength to lock and bolt himself inside the room. And so he finally breathed his last breath and closed his eyes to join his wife and friends on the other side. Refet built a false wall in front of the original one and both stayed intact for ninety years.

Harold’s body remained in its bed, gradually decaying to nothing but bones. The five children lay untouched for decades in their comatose state, unaware of years passing and times changing. Shrouded in darkness, stillness and silence, they were together, but cut off, alone.

*

One day, Alexandre’s unconscious mind felt a change. He still slept, locked inside himself, but part of his brain noticed a minute shift - a lightening in his surroundings. A freshness and sweetness of air which turned his black universe into a brief warm moment. It left as quickly as it had come. But soon the feelings returned more often and he sensed he was less alone.

Still he didn’t stir, he remained a prisoner trapped in his century-long coma, only half emerging from the deep, through dark layers of stiff unconsciousness.

One black night, he sensed the sweetness so close he could almost touch it. He felt the sweetness come to him. It flooded his body and infused his limbs. It gave him a brief moment of sharp clarity, but the feeling left him as quickly as it had come. He had a muted vision of himself trapped beneath a thick layer of ice, hammering and shouting in silence, powerless to break free. Without coherent thought or feeling, he experienced brief flashes of changes around him. But for most of the time, only blackness.

Suddenly, in a light-shocked instant, the darkness splintered, banished by a crippling brightness. Too much of it. Unbearable pain. A thousand volts of electricity through his body. He was on fire. Burning from the inside out. He could not open his eyes for behind his eyelids was a light so evil and bright, he felt it would sear his brain and blind his very soul.

Exposed, he could see no dim, dark haven of escape. The heat was intolerable. Through the overwhelming pain, he felt the solidity of his body again. He had to force himself up and out of this chamber of torture, but the light had blinded him.

He used his base animal senses to throw himself out of his container. He dragged himself across sharp stones of fire and ice, willing himself to flee from the white heat. It took all of his diminished power to subdue his own body and order it under control.

He crawled for what seemed like an eternity until he finally found himself away from the glare of death and in the relief-giving gloom of a cool place. As he lay, exhausted and in agony, he felt as though his body had been turned inside out. He retched, but his throat and mouth were dry. From the distance, he heard a voice, like a buzzing fly, getting closer.

The sound grew louder, turning from a buzz, to a hum, to a voice, to a scream and when he looked up he saw a beautiful, but terrible angel devil creature rushing towards him with a gleaming axe. Terror numbed his brain. He scrabbled to get away from the approaching demon, using his weakened limbs to try to escape.

It was difficult to gain any purchase on the smooth stone floor. He skittered backwards as far as he could go. Trapped against a wall. Cornered. He had to do something before the creature brought its axe down upon him. He begged for his life.

‘Non!’ he cried and then he realised the creature had not screamed at him in his mother tongue of French, but in another language. He recognised it. Not Latin or Greek. Not the language of the Gods, but ... English.

Her voice was rasping and guttural, not a dialect he was familiar with. She was enraged with him, but he had no idea why. Had he done something wrong? He did not know her, did he? He would never forget an encounter with such a magnificent creature and yet, there was something familiar he could not quite put his finger on.

Her legs were clad in black and she wore an indecently short dress with great leather buckled boots. She had dark hair in a plain style, but her pale eyes flashed like a she-wolf.

He thought quickly and amended his words, ‘No! Please … Je vous en supplie! I beg of you!’ His voice sounded strange to himself, weak and hoarse. He knew the essence of himself, but he had difficulty remembering who he actually was - his name, his status, his life.

Suddenly, he saw the glint of metal and heard the swish of the axe as it fell, but strangely he felt no fear, felt no pain. He caught the weapon easily and now held it in his hands. He had stopped it dead. It had not harmed him.

It was then he realised who she looked like. He remembered a name and a face from his past.

‘Leonora? Is it you? He shook his head. ‘Non, ce n’est pas toi.’

She looked at him with fear in her eyes, pulling desperately at the axe. But Alexandre did not need to exert himself at all in order to keep hold of it. She screamed something at him, but he could not make out the words.

‘Why did you attack me?’ he asked, starting to recover. He still felt weakened and in pain, but his body had stopped shuddering and jerking. He was more in control.

‘Why d’you think?’ she spat the words at him, still tugging uselessly at the axe.

He suddenly had a blinding flash of realisation and remembered. He was at the house of Harold Swinton. He was in England. And then, the true horror of what had happened hit like a sledgehammer all over again. He was no longer human. He was a vampire.

As soon as he remembered this, the thirst came upon him. The girl creature who stood above him, smelled like a heavenly angel and he would have to be strong to resist her. She spoke to him and he thought he heard her say that this was her house.

‘This is not your house!’ he exclaimed. Had something happened to Harold and to his family? His family! Where were his brother and sister? ‘Why are you here?’ he asked.

‘I don’t have to explain anything to you!’ she retorted. ‘You need to tell me who you are.’ She still tugged at the axe, staring at his face. He looked back at her in confusion but he was no longer afraid.

‘If I release this weapon, will you refrain from your attack? It is too exhausting to talk whilst you are trying to kill me.’

He saw her think for a moment. She nodded her head in assent and so he let go of the axe. He saw she still gripped it tightly, but she was true to her word and kept it lowered.

Alexandre sat up and put the palms of his hands together, interlocking his fingers and bowing his head.

‘I must think,’ he said to himself, dizzy with the scent of her. Then he looked up and stared into the girl creature’s eyes. ‘The others? They are …’

‘There are four others like you,’ she snapped. ‘They’re still down in the cellar.’

‘The cellar? Bien. This is good, I think. You are a strange girl, no?’

‘Strange! Me? Yeah, that’s a good one. What are you? What are you doing here?’

He smiled at her outrage. ‘Very well, I am tired, but we shall sit somewhere together and I will tell you about myself. Yes. I will tell you my story and you will tell me yours.’

He had to resist his thirst and speak to this girl to find out what had happened. For he realised she was no angel or demon, but merely a strange and beautiful human made of flesh and of … blood.

Chapter Twenty One

*

‘Two thousand and eleven? Two thousand and eleven! But that is more than a century.’ He choked out the words. ‘I have been asleep for one hundred and … one hundred and thirty years.’

Madison watched as several emotions disrupted his perfect face. He seemed pretty gutted, but she still didn’t trust him.

‘What of you?’ he continued, his voice stilted with emotion. ‘Does this house now belong to you and your family? Harold must be dead of course. Poor dear Harold. What a sad and wretchedly lonely life he must have led.’

‘I’ll listen to your story and then you and your vampire family need to get out of my house.’

They stared at each other for a moment.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will tell you my story and if you then still wish me to leave, I will abide by your decision.’

Madison nodded, briefly. She found it hard to look at him without catching her breath at his beauty.

He said his name was Alexandre Chevalier. He told her a condensed version of his life and how he had come to be asleep in her house and, despite herself, she listened in fascination. If he was to be believed, he deserved her sympathy, not her fear and anger. Her emotions skittered all over the place. Could she really kick him out if he’d suffered all that? But then again, he could just be a really good liar.

‘And now you have heard how I came to be here in this place, in this time, won’t you please tell me a little of your own life.’

She paused. She knew she should just tell him to leave, but part of her wanted him to stay. His voice, his face … He was mesmerising. Alright. She’d just talk to him for a while longer. She needed more time to make up her mind.

‘My name’s Madison Greene. I live here with my brother, Ben and I’m pretty sure the Harold you told me about, is Harold Swinton, my ancestor.’

‘But that is incredible! You are Harold’s relative? A descendant. This means you are related to Leonora and Freddie. So that is why I thought you were she. You look so alike.’

‘Leonora,’ she repeated the name. ‘Yeah. Ben, my brother, he said she looked like me.’

‘Well, he is correct. You have the same beautiful pale blue eyes.’

She was annoyed to find herself blushing. He really was exquisite. Broad-shouldered and tall, his black hair swept back in dishevelled waves from his aristocratic face. Now his skin wasn’t so pale, he looked almost completely human.

‘What are you gonna do? I mean, now you’re awake and everything. I guess you can stay here for a bit, if you want to.’

‘You are sure? You will allow me to stay?’

‘Yeah, you can stay. For now. What about the others? Are you going to wake them up too?’

‘The others,’ Alexandre said suddenly. ‘Please. Will you excuse me for a few moments? I must go and see the others. I can feel them, but I have to look upon them with my own two eyes. They are down in the cellar?’

‘You were all in there before ... before you woke up.’

‘I must see them!’ He stood up, suddenly agitated. ‘And I must confess I feel somewhat strange at discovering I have slept for so long. I need some time to …’

‘… to get your head around it. Yeah, I can relate to that.’

‘Your language is strange. It is ‘modern’ I suppose. It is hard for me to follow. Forgive me, I must go.’

He left.

Madison sat on the sofa, her tiny frame unmoving. The clock ticked. The room was dark and still. She pushed her hair away from her face. She was scared. Terrified to be honest. She must be crazy to be so drawn to him, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

He hadn’t felt threatening when he spoke to her, but now he had gone … well, now she could see the true enormity of what had happened tonight.

It was all completely insane. And what on earth would she tell Ben? How would he react? Oh, by the way Ben, you know those statues? Well they’re not statues, they’re vampires, but they’re really friendly once you get to know them. He’d need therapy. Come to think of it, she could probably do with some too. Only they’d both get shoved in the nut house if they started saying anything remotely near the truth.

The darkness in the lounge felt all consuming. Her body had grown numb and cold. She didn’t know how long she had been sitting there. She got up and switched on the main light and a couple of lamps. But even that didn’t make things any more normal; if anything, it felt weirder to see all the usual stuff in its usual places, when everything was so un-usual.

She wondered when and if Alexandre would return and what would happen when he did. He was so beautiful and she couldn’t seem to act normally around him. She had been either completely tongue tied, babbling inanely or really rude.

She was restless. She needed to do something, but what? She knew there was no way she’d be able to concentrate on anything as mundane as watching television and anyway, she was feeling a bit creeped-out being downstairs on her own, not knowing whether or not he would reappear at any moment.

She made the decision to go upstairs. She wasn’t going to sit around waiting for him to return. No. She walked up the wooden staircase and went in to see Ben, who was snoring lightly.

She turned on his bedside light and sat beside him. Then she lay down next to him on top of the bedclothes, closing her eyes and letting her mind focus on normal things, plans she had for the future. Maybe one day she and Ben would go on holiday, somewhere warm and exotic - a beach holiday with lots of water sports. Or perhaps she could get a horse and learn to ride – that was something she’d always dreamed of doing.

She tried not to let any of her thoughts veer down dark paths. She really did not want to think about Alexandre; it was too terrifying and her mind was in turmoil. She turned onto her side and drew her knees up towards her stomach, listening to Ben’s slow rhythmical breathing. She tried to let her mind think nice thoughts: holidays … warm beaches … a horse … a vampire. She fell asleep.

*

Once in the cellar, Alexandre opened up the crates and gazed at the sleeping forms of Isobel and Jacques with their cherubic faces and blonde curls. The twins’ hair was as fair and blonde as his was dark. He smiled at the thought of his lively brother and over-dramatic sister, but the smile left his lips as quickly as it had formed.

How was he to revive them? Would he ever hold a conversation with them again? Why had he awoken, but not them? What had happened to him to jolt him from his slumber? Would they wake next? Alexandre looked across at Freddie, who appeared happy even in sleep. He walked to the next crate and stared down at Leonora, her porcelain face framed with a dark glossy mane of hair. Yes, she was still beautiful, but she left him strangely cold now.

Of course he still cared for her, but she was such hard work, so serious and judgemental. He needed … Well, he did not really know what he needed. It was all just too bad. What had happened to them all? Why had they changed into these strange creatures, so powerful, but so trapped and alone?

He walked back to the crates where his siblings lay, side-by-side.

‘Little sister. My brother. Why do you still sleep? Why won’t you wake? It is I, Alexandre.’

He picked up his brother by the shoulders and shook him lightly. ‘Wake up, Jacques. Wake up!’ He shook him harder and then lay him back down. It was useless. They were hard and unreachable. What was he to do?

Alexandre sat on the floor and wept. He cried blood tears into his arms. He wept for his dead parents and his sleeping siblings, for his lost century, his old life, his country, his friends - all those things he had once complained about.

He had called his old life boring. Well, he would take back that old life now in a heartbeat. He would never complain again. He would appreciate everything he used to have if only he could reclaim it. But it was all gone. Lost to history. Alexandre felt scared. He felt weak and alone in this cold damp cellar with his unreachable family. He had become a creature not of this world. A vampire. And there was only one thing that could soothe him now.

In the darkness, in his fear and confusion, Alexandre headed outside. The air helped to stem his rising panic. He needed to get to grips with what had happened. He was living in the future. His century had disappeared, his family and friends either long since dead, or in an unreachable sleep. He moved beyond the grounds of Marchwood, shocked at the similarities and the changes.

Reaching the outskirts of the local town, he saw that it had not changed too much - the same public houses, one of the same name, some different. Furniture stores, selling antiques but most of the merchandise looked modern to Alexandre’s nineteenth century eyes.

He saw the blurred shapes of frighteningly modern automobiles in metallic futuristic colours with bright beams of white lights and unfathomable speed. They contained harsh looking people with unnatural hair and faces. There were no horses on the streets and the people all dressed in shockingly indecent attire. Shiny black roads were covered in painted lines and bright lights shone everywhere. Even the air smelled different. Not so earthy, more industrial.

No time to ponder all this; he had to drink. He found a drunken old sot in a dim alleyway, who most would’ve found repulsive. But the stale odours and the tattered clothes were not repugnant to Alexandre. The fragrant blood called out above all else. Alexandre saw only the helplessness and harmlessness in this lost soul, and the sweetness ... He would take from him what he so desperately craved.

He drank greedily, the anger and grief still coursing through his body. As he took his fill, his emotions steadied and he felt himself calming and steadying. His equilibrium returned. Alexandre realised he had taken too much from this poor human and he laid the tramp down on the alleyway floor.

He now felt regret at the way he had taken his fill. He had fed selfishly without thinking about the man, only about easing his own pain and ridding himself of his misery. The man still lived, but had drifted into unconsciousness, hopefully dreaming beautiful thoughts of better days.

Zinging energy surged through Alexandre’s body and he remembered what it was to be a vampire. He had not fully realised how weak he had been. He would be able to speak to Madison properly now, give her his full concentration without the distraction of her … human-ness.

He left the alleyway and looked around properly. This was a disturbing era he had woken up to. He could not believe his own world had passed into history, never to be lived through again. He would have to learn all that he could about this … twenty first century. Twenty first century!

His clothing would have to change, but from what he had briefly seen before, the fashions today left much to be desired. Everybody looked bedraggled, dull and half-dressed. Isobel would have a fit. He thought about how outraged she would be at having to go out in this bizarre modern clothing and then he remembered she would not be going out anywhere.

He made his way back to Marchwood House and it only took him a few moments. To those who saw him, he appeared to be just a fleeting shadow on the wall or a half-glimpsed figure in the distance. A long-forgotten memory of someone or something.

*

The following morning dawned clear and cold. Madison had fallen asleep in her clothes, on top of Ben’s covers. She was freezing and rubbed her arms quickly to try to get the circulation going, but she still felt numb. She really would have to sort out the heating in this house. She realised Ben was no longer in bed and she shouted out his name, but her voice sounded hoarse and all she could manage was a quiet croak.

‘Ben!’ She ran out of the room in a panic and clattered down the staircase in her boots that she still wore from yesterday. ‘Ben! Where are you? You okay?’

The events of yesterday evening flooded into her brain. Had she really tried and failed to kill a vampire? Where was he now? Was he still in the house? And where was her brother? ‘Ben!’ she shouted really loudly this time as she approached the kitchen. He had been unconscious for days and now he was missing. ‘God,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Let him be alright. Please. He’s just a boy.’ She shouted again, ‘Ben!’

‘God help us, child,’ Esther said to Madison as she walked into the kitchen. ‘Do you have to shout so loudly?’

Ben was there, sitting in the kitchen opposite Esther.

‘Ben! You’re okay!’ Madison ignored Esther.

‘Yeah, sis.’ He smiled up at her worried face. ‘I’m great. Feel fine.’

‘I didn’t know where you were.’

‘What?’ he said. ‘Do I have you let you know every time I go into a different room now?’ He raised his eyebrows and looked at Esther who had stood up and began busying herself with the kettle, refusing to be drawn into their conversation.

‘You know what I mean, Ben,’ Maddy retorted. ‘You were unconscious for days and then you weren’t there anymore.’

‘I was sleeping and then I got up to have breakfast,’ he replied. ‘And anyway, why were you sleeping in my room last night?’

‘Just wanted to make sure you were okay. Have you seen anyone else since you’ve been up?’

‘Like who?’

‘I dunno. Anyone.’

‘No, I haven’t seen anyone except Esther. Why? Should I have?’

‘No.’ Maddy thought quickly. ‘The doctor. I meant have you seen the doctor?’

‘He’s on his way,’ Esther said. ‘Be here any minute. But this lad looks right as rain now. Doctor Wilson asked me to ring him as soon as he woke up.’

‘Great,’ Madison said. ‘Well, little bro, I’m really glad you’re feeling better.’

‘I can’t believe I missed Christmas. I mean, why did I have to get ill then? Our first Christmas in our own place.’

‘I know. It’s a bummer but don’t worry. We’ll have a belated one with all the trimmings and presents and everything.’

‘Wicked,’ Ben said through a mouthful of scrambled egg on toast.

‘Don’t go in the dining room,’ Maddy warned. ‘Your present’s in there and I want us to ... Hey!’ she shouted as he jumped up from the table and dodged past her.

She chased after him, but it was too late. Ben pushed open the dining room door and there it stood in all its shiny glory, gleaming in the corner with a big red bow around it.

‘Oh wow! A trail bike!’ he gasped.

Maddy forgot her annoyance and just enjoyed the look of happiness and excitement on his face as he skidded across the room still draped in its redundant Christmas decorations.

‘Merry Christmas, shortie.’

*

Alexandre felt the previous evening had proved most unsatisfactory in terms of finding out exactly what had happened to wake him from his long sleep. He had meant to quiz Madison further, but he hadn’t been able to think properly. The date, the lost years – these revelations had blurred his mind.

He wondered how exactly he had come to be outside in the daylight. He remembered the agony of it and his undignified struggle to find his way back to the darkness and then seeing her with the axe poised above his cowering head, ready to strike. He did not really blame her for that. She had quite understandably thought him dangerous. But he needed to know the details. Had the daylight woken him up? Had it jolted him out of his coma? Would it work on the others?

Last night, after his hunting trip, he had hoped to speak with Madison, but she had retired to bed and so instead he had slowly wandered through the sleeping house, remembering his bygone era as if it were yesterday. He now saw strange machines and objects in the rooms. Alien things - boxes and flashing coloured lights, large square units and small shiny intricate devices.

He had sat for a while in the drawing room until he felt the creeping approach of dawn and then reluctantly he had taken himself back down to the room in the cellar.

Now he looked miserably at his grey surroundings and sat on the edge of Isobel’s crate. When Harold had been alive, the house had been fitted with shutters to keep out the daylight. In this way, they’d had the run of the place at any time of day. Harold must have brought their sleeping bodies down into the cellar some time before he died and sealed them away.

It was just all too depressing to contemplate. He could feel despair washing over him again. No friends, no family, no freedom. And the last thing he felt like doing was sleeping. Thoughts and questions whirred through his mind. His body felt strong and full of energy, but the daylight made him a prisoner.

The room appeared clean, but had an unusual feel about it. There was none of the comfort and luxury he remembered. Just bare walls and floor and the hospital stench of chlorine. He wondered at the empty bed and then noticed a black leather-bound book on the bedside table. A bible?

The pages were yellowed with age. Not a bible, but someone’s handwriting. Alexandre began to read. It was a journal of some sort ...

… and so I watch them, unable to help. I miss Victoria and feel sure she would have known what to do for the best. She was always more practical than I …

Harold’s journal! Alexandre skipped ahead to the last entry:

I am ninety two years of age. The pen shakes in my hand and my eyes are almost useless in this dim candlelight, but I must write of the __

And here the entry ended. Alexandre closed the book. Harold was dead. He would never see his parents’ friend again. The man who had cared for him and his siblings as though they were his own. Poor Harold. He must have watched over them for the rest of his lonely days.

Were he and the others now immortal? In all these years they had not aged a day. Would they live forever? It was a frightening thought. Please God, let the others wake up. He felt a creeping loneliness slide between his ribs. He climbed into his crate and closed his eyes, willing sleep to blot out the panic. He might be immortal, but human emotion now threatened to overpower him.

*

Madison did not go down into the cellar. She tried to keep her thoughts on her brother and his recovery, but Alexandre ran through her mind constantly, like a backing track on a continuous loop. Of course, Ben wanted to take his motorbike out straight away, but both Madison and Doctor Wilson expressly forbade it and, to Ben’s disgust, he was forced to delay his desires for at least a week - Madison hid the keys.

Esther still hung about the place and she and Maddy sniped constantly at each other, in subtle competition with each other over who was the best qualified to care for Ben during his grouchy recovery stage. All in all, tensions ran high throughout the house and in the end Madison couldn’t stand the atmosphere any more. By mid afternoon she conceded defeat and left Ben in Esther’s grumbling care, deciding to go out despite the bitterly cold weather.

She shrugged on her thick puffa coat, a woolly hat, gloves and a scarf to cover her mouth and nose. The lemon bright sunshine gave no heat and the wind spat out an icy northern blast. Madison walked for fifteen minutes and then gave up, turning back and making her way over to the Land Rover.

She decided to drive slowly around the estate and listen to some tunes on her iPod. She needed something to drown out the jumble of thoughts that refused to order themselves. If only she had somebody to talk to about all this. She couldn’t make sense of anything by herself and didn’t know what to do for the best.

Was she stupid to stay in this place with its secrets and dangers? But where else could they go? This was her place as long as she lived in it. If they moved out, they would lose everything, but maybe that would be better than this constant strangeness.

She started up the engine and motored across the front lawn. Morris would give her the evils, for making tracks across the grass, but he was the least of her worries. She would head down to the woods, see if the river had frozen and then she’d drive back. Half an hour’s worth of loud music and beautiful scenery would help her to relax before night fell and he returned.

Was he down there in the cellar now? She hadn’t dared to go and look. The very thought of it made her heart stand still and her stomach disappear through the floor. She pressed play and a wall of guitars and drums quelled her panic. She put pressure on the accelerator and shot off down the hill towards the dark smudge of woods in the distance. Brown rabbits bounded out of her way and birds flocked together overhead, gloating and secure in each other’s company. She reached down and felt around for the plastic shape of her sunglasses to shield against the metallic glint of winter.

Before long, Madison reached the river, turned off the engine and the music and jumped down onto the slippery bank. The grey brown river still flowed, although a few sheets of ice floated near the edges. A couple of ducks huddled on the far bank and eyed Madison hopefully in case she’d brought them any tasty titbits.

‘Sorry, birdies,’ she said, as a green-necked drake stood up and waddled towards her. ‘I forgot to bring bread today. Next time, I promise.’

The duck looked across at Madison. He quacked a couple of times before realising he wasn’t in luck and waddled back to his mate, plopping down disappointedly next to her.

As Madison cruised back up the tree-lined avenue, the sun cast dappled shadows on the tarmac. Bright, dark, bright, dark, bright, dark. Maddy’s sunglasses gave everything an unreal quality, like she was looking at an old, jerky movie reel. Bright, dark, bright, dark. She had turned off her music and instead, heard the tyres hissing along the road and the engine humming in time. Bright, dark, bright, dark. The avenue of trees came to an end and she drove into brightness again.

Back home to her house of secrets. Excitement and anticipation overlaid a gut-clenching fear that wouldn’t be pushed away. She stopped trying to blot out her thoughts and decided to give in to them, to see if it lessened her anxiety. She was undeniably besotted with Alexandre, but he also terrified her to the point of numbness. He was a vampire for God’s sake. A mythical being from another century. He was also heartbreakingly beautiful and she felt sick with nerves when she was near him. But was that because of what he was or because of who he was?

Her home, her refuge from the world was now an unpredictable place. Alexandre had a prior claim to the house and there was no way she could ask him to leave. Anyway, she didn’t think she wanted him to leave.

And what about the others? The ones still sleeping. What on earth would happen when they woke up? Because she knew they would wake up at some point. It was surely only a matter of time. Alexandre awoke, so it followed they would too.

She did want to meet her ancestors – a real family she could call her own. She and Ben wouldn’t be alone anymore, but it would be beyond weird to have ancestors the same age as them. She supposed it might be like having cousins. And it would be great for Alexandre to get his brother and sister back.

But if that happened, Marchwood House would definitely not be hers and Ben’s anymore. Leonora and Freddie Swinton had a much stronger right to it than she did. Well, legally they were dead with no rights to anything, but she wouldn’t be able to stand in their way if they wanted to reclaim it. To have it to themselves.

She’d just have to hope they’d all get along, like one nice big happy family. But Madison had long passed the point of believing in fairy tales. And what about Morris and Esther? How would she keep the existence of five vampires a secret from them? It was going to get ridiculously complicated.

She sat there in the Land Rover, on the driveway. Nervous. The sun was setting fast and she knew he’d make an appearance soon. She’d have to tell Ben. Warn him beforehand. She took a deep breath and opened the Land Rover door.

Chapter Twenty Two

*

‘Yeah, that’s hilarious, Maddy,’ her brother said.

Esther had finally gone home and night had almost fallen. Madison and Ben sat in the lounge half-watching a repeat of Only Fools and Horses. The log fire blazed as they slouched on the sofa. Ben in his pjs with a quilt pulled over him.

‘Ben, I’m deadly serious.’ Madison scooched up closer to him. She’d just told him a condensed version of what had happened yesterday - that the five statues in the cellar were not statues, they were vampires. One of them had woken up and they would probably see him tonight.

‘Mads, what are you like?’

‘I’m not ‘like’ anything. His name is Alexandre and I don’t think he’s dangerous. He’s French.’

‘A French vampire?’ Ben looked at her. ‘Does he suck blood and turn into a bat?’

‘Ben, I promise I’m not winding you up. I just don’t want you to freak out when you meet him. I wanted to warn you first.’ Maddy knew she wouldn’t get him to believe her. He would only believe his own two eyes. ‘How are you feeling now anyway? You look tired.’

‘I’m alright. Bit knackered though.’

He was doing pretty well, considering he’d only just woken up properly today, after being so ill for days. He’d slept after lunch and Esther had wanted him to stay in bed, but he’d ignored her and had come downstairs to watch TV.

‘Maybe you should go back to bed. You can meet Alexandre tomorrow.’

Ben rolled his eyes at his big sister, then he leaned his head back onto the sofa and closed his eyes.

‘You know what? I know it’s early, but I am gonna go to bed. I can’t keep my eyes open.’ He blinked and yawned loudly, dragging himself upright. ‘Night, Mads. Do I need to take any garlic with me?’

‘Night, Ben. No garlic required. D’you need anything? Any water?’

‘Nah, see you tomorrow.’ He sloped out of the room dragging his duvet with him and she heard the boards creaking as he walked up the stairs.

Maddy pointed the remote at the TV and clicked it off. Now what should she do? Ben didn’t believe her and she supposed she couldn’t really blame him. She wouldn’t have believed her either. At least she didn’t have to deal with his reaction tonight. She chewed her thumbnail. Would Alexandre even make an appearance? Or had he gone? She should really eat something but she didn’t feel vaguely hungry.

She stood up and walked towards the lounge door and then changed her mind and sank back down onto the sofa, pulling her legs up under her. She chewed her other thumbnail and wished for the thousandth time she had somebody to talk to about everything.

A copy of the NME sat on the coffee table. She flicked it open and skimmed through the articles. Her brain registered the familiar band names without taking in the details. It was no good, she couldn’t concentrate. This couldn’t go on. She was a nervous wreck. Vomiting was a definite possibility. She tossed the magazine back onto the coffee table and leaned back, stretching her arms above her head. It was properly dark outside now and she switched on some side lamps. They cast a warm glow around the room. The fire crackled and spat.

Madison jumped. What was that? It sounded like … yes. Someone was knocking softly at the lounge door.

‘May I come in?’

Madison’s heart pounded but then, when she actually saw him, she relaxed a little. He smiled enquiringly at her with soft brown eyes, not at all scary or threatening. Just, insanely gorgeous.

‘Um, yeah,’ she said, straightening up on the sofa. ‘Yeah, come in. Sit down.’

‘Thank you. I hope I did not startle you. It must feel strange to know I am in your house.’ He sat on the sofa opposite and leaned forward.

‘Well, it does a bit. But it’s okay.’ She accidentally smiled at him.

Alexandre looked at Madison. She was quite outrageously dressed in skin-tight blue trousers and a close-fitting woollen top. Her clothes looked like the thick undergarments a labourer might wear and yet the effect was very pleasing. She looked extremely becoming with her pale skin, short dark hair and those beautiful blue, black-rimmed eyes. Like a Russian wolf.

‘I must apologise for my disappearance yesterday,’ he said. ‘But I was not quite myself. I had to … gather my thoughts.’

‘That’s okay. It’s probably weird for both of us.’

‘I must confess I still feel out of sorts. My century has vanished. I am not so familiar with your world. It unnerves me somewhat.’

‘Yeah, you and me both.’

He smiled back. He did not understand what she had said, but realised she’d spoken in the spirit of friendship.

‘So,’ she said.

‘So,’ he replied. They both smiled.

‘Your brother … He is upstairs? Have you told him about me?’

‘He’s gone to bed. He hasn’t been very well and he doesn’t believe you exist.’

‘Aah, of course. Nobody in their right mind would believe I exist. I am sorry to hear he has been ill. I hope he is recovering well.’

‘Do you really not know why he’s ill?’

‘Should I know?’

‘Oh my God!’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘You really don’t know, do you?’ She stared at him to gauge his reaction.

‘Know what?’

‘When you were still asleep, unconscious, you drank my blood and I got ill with a fever. Then, a few weeks later, on Christmas Eve, you drank Ben’s blood and he collapsed too.’ Madison felt a flash of returning anger.

‘No!’ He stood up and put his hands over his mouth. ‘But I am mortified. Horrified. That was not something I did to you purposely, you must believe me. I have no recollection of this.’

‘That’s the reason I tried to kill you. Why I dragged you outside into the daylight.’ She hadn’t meant to blurt all this out. The last thing she wanted was to make him angry, but she couldn’t help herself. Her mouth always ran away with her. It was like some form of Tourettes, she thought to herself, the need to always tell it like it was.

‘Aah,’ he said. ‘It was you. I wondered how I came to be outside in the light.’ He sat down.

‘It was only because you … well, you hurt my brother and I couldn’t risk it happening again. I was angry, you know?’

‘Yes. I know. I understand why you did it. But please know I would not ever willingly harm you or your brother. I am not an evil creature. I am not like those others.’

‘Others?’

Alexandre ignored the question.

‘But I think the daylight revived me somehow.’

‘Yeah, it did. I thought you were gonna fry. But instead, you woke up.’

‘The best laid schemes ...’ Alexandre said. ‘Well. Thank you for reviving me, even accidentally.’

‘You’re welcome, I suppose. But it looked pretty painful. That sunlight doesn’t look so good for you.’

‘Not good at all. I thought I had descended into the fires of hell. But I believe it must have re-energised my body, shocked it back to life somehow.’

‘D’you think daylight would work on the others? On your brother and sister and Leonora and Freddie?’

‘I have been pondering on this, but until I know for sure, I cannot take the risk. It could as easily kill them as wake them.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘Your language is quite different to the English I know. There are many words and phrases I do not understand. Your words run together quickly. They blur.’

‘That’s ‘cos you’re a nineteenth century geezer and this is 2011. You’re gonna have to learn the language.’

‘Will you teach me?’

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Everything.’

‘That might take some time.’

‘It appears time is something I have an abundance of. You know, I hoped you would visit me today. I cannot tolerate daylight and so was forced to remain all day in that dingy cellar.’

‘Weren’t you asleep? Don’t you, like, sleep in the day and get up at night?’

Alexandre smiled at her. ‘Well, yes, a little. But it is not the most comfortable of rooms for a nap.’

‘So what did you used to do during the day? Before, when you were here and you were all awake?’

‘Harold made our lives as comfortable as possible. He shuttered the windows which meant we could roam about the house by day without fear. Not that I am suggesting you do such a thing. I realise I am not your responsibility.’

‘We could sort something out. Maybe you could have the top floor, or we could re-fit out the cellar. I could get someone in to do it.’

‘You would really do that for me? For all of us?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Thank you, Madison. If there is anything that I can do for you, please let me know.’

‘You can help me convince my brother you exist, without freaking him out too much.’

‘I will do my best not to … freak him.’

She laughed.

‘You are mocking me, Mademoiselle.’ He arched an eyebrow.

‘Yeah, Alex, I’m afraid I am.’

They looked at each other for a moment and then Alexandre broke the silence.

‘I must tell you I feel relief,’ he said.

‘Relief?’

‘Yes. Relief that you are who you are.’

‘Not quite understanding what you mean.’

‘Well, I am fortunate. You could have reacted towards me in quite a different manner. You could have been unwelcoming and hostile. You could have been frightened and defensive, or hysterical. But instead you have been kind. Friendly. Humorous. I am relieved.’

‘You’ve got a short memory,’ she said, tucking her hair back behind her ears. ‘Yesterday I was hostile and hysterical and today I was nervous and frightened.’

‘Frightened? Today? Really? I am sorry if I caused you to feel this way. You must know neither I nor my family would ever purposely do anything to harm you. I am as indebted to you as I was to Harold.’

‘Well, I was nervous before I met you again this evening. But you do seem pretty normal, for a vampire. And I’m glad we can talk like this.’

‘You know,’ Alexandre said, realising something. ‘In my time, it would not have been at all proper to be sitting alone with an unaccompanied female. It would have been quite scandalous.’

‘What? Just sitting talking?’

He nodded.

‘Yeah, course it would. All that Victorian prim and proper-ness. No one bothers about all that anymore.’

‘That is a good thing. It was very restricting and very boring and it landed me in much trouble.’

‘Yeah, I bet it did.’

‘You know, Madison?’ Alexandre smiled.

‘What, Alex?’

‘I am not feeling quite so sad anymore. You have cheered me greatly. Will you tell me more about your century?’

‘I don’t really know where to start. There’s so much going on now. Did you have cars back then?’

‘Cars? Like carriages on a train?’

‘No. You sit in them and drive them around the roads.’

‘Aah, you mean automobiles. Yes. But they were not so popular – too noisy and too expensive. Horses are far better.’

‘Yeah, well everyone’s got a car now and they’re still noisy and expensive, but I think they look a bit different than they did back then.’

‘I saw many last night. They are fast and very smooth and shiny.’

‘Planes too,’ she continued. ‘Aeroplanes? You can travel on them. They fly through the air and go to different countries.’

‘They carry passengers?’

‘Yep. You can go anywhere in the world.’

‘How many days would it take to reach America on an aeroplane?’

‘Not days. About nine or ten hours I think.’

‘Incredible! I do not believe this! Less than half a day? You must have been at least twice around the world already.’

‘Me? No. I haven’t been anywhere.’

‘But why ever not? If I had been born into this time, I would have spent all of my time travelling on aeroplanes.’

‘A little something called ‘money’. It’s not exactly cheap to fly and anyway, I never had the chance. Travelling’s for rich people, unless you go into debt.’

‘But you live here, in this beautiful house. Forgive me for being so personal, but you must be wealthy. Unless standards have changed so much and this is now basic accommodation.’

‘There’s nothing basic about this place. No, the thing is, we only just moved here. We used to have nothing.’

‘I am sorry. I did not mean to pry into your personal affairs. I am merely curious about how people live now.’

‘Fair enough.’ Maddy stared at his animated face. He looked almost like a normal human being. She kept forgetting what he was. He seemed young and naïve and this only endeared him to her even more. His thick wavy hair occasionally fell into his eyes and, out of habit, he kept pushing it back, even when he didn’t need to. She noticed he used his hands and arms a lot to demonstrate what he was saying, maybe that was a French thing.

Madison relaxed back into the sofa. Nerves still twisted inside, but she loved talking to him like this. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to have a proper conversation with someone, even if that someone was a century-old vampire.

‘So, tell me more,’ he continued. ‘What other advancements have been made?’ He leant back and stretched his long legs out onto a tapestried footstool.

Madison picked up the remote control and pressed the power button. After a second or two, the 42’ plasma screen flashed into life. An advert for crisps was running. Alexandre jumped up off the sofa and turned his head quickly from left to right. He hissed and looked at once threatening and terrified. Madison was shocked by his lightning reaction and she too leapt off the sofa. She stood by the door, ready to run.

‘Whoa! You made me jump, Alex.’ She exhaled, looking at him warily. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to freak you out. No need to panic, it’s just the television.’ She pointed to the screen. ‘Television. You watch stuff on it.’ She sat back down, her heart still thumping wildly.

Alexandre studied the television and walked towards it. He touched the screen with his fingertips.

‘I do not understand. There are real people inside the picture. They move. They speak. Are they trapped?’

‘No,’ Maddy laughed. ‘It’s called television or TV. It’s just images, like a moving photo.’

‘Are these then moving photographs of your family, or your friends?’

‘No. It’s like, umm. It’s hard to explain. Like, you know, stories or a play. Instead of going to the theatre, you can watch it on the TV.’

‘Amazing!’ Alexandre sat back down and stared at the screen. ‘This play is not so interesting. It appears to be about somebody cleaning their house.’

‘No!’ Maddy laughed again. ‘It’s an advert. They’re trying to sell you stuff to clean your house with. In the middle of programmes, they advertise things.’

‘Advertisements. I see. Very enterprising.’

She clicked off the television and silence descended.

‘I am a child again. I know less than nothing.’ Alexandre frowned. He felt stupid.

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s all enough to freak anyone out. Maybe that’s enough info for one day.’

‘Info?’

‘Sorry, information. Maybe we should just talk about normal stuff. About your life. Paris. Tell me about Paris. All I know about Paris is that the Eiffel Tower’s there.’

‘The what?’

‘The Eiffel Tower. I might not be super-intelligent, but even I know that Paris is where the Eiffel Tower is.’

‘I am sorry, but I have never heard of this tower you are talking of.’

‘Hang on.’ Maddy jumped up, ran out of the room and came back a few minutes later with a small white machine. She sat down again and her fingers expertly tapped at some buttons. She leaned across and showed him an image on the contraption.

‘A small television?’ he asked, pointing to the picture.

‘Not quite. It’s called a laptop. I’ll explain in a minute. But tell me, is this or is this not The Eiffel Tower?’

The image showed a tall metal construction.

‘I have never seen this ugly building before,’ he said. ‘When was it built?’

‘I dunno. Hang on.’ She tapped some more buttons and Alexandre saw writing appear on the screen. ‘Yes. It’s nineteenth century. It was built in 1889.’

‘That explains it - I was last in Paris in 1881.’

She put the laptop down and looked at Alexandre. He had his head in his hands and he looked like he was trying hard to keep it together. Madison came and sat down next to him. She put a hand on his shoulder.

‘Hey, Alex, don’t worry. I’ll help you settle in. You’ll be fine. It’s just a bit weird for you, that’s all. We’ll work it out together, okay?’ She tried to give his shoulder a comforting squeeze, but it felt like stone beneath his jacket. ‘Alright?’

He nodded and looked sideways at her through his dark lashes, trying to smile.

They talked through the night. Madison was tired, but she couldn’t bear to drag herself away from him. He was so astonishing to look at and to listen to and he was funny and clever and vulnerable. She felt as though he valued her opinions, that she made some kind of difference to his state-of-mind. She wanted to banish his sadness, to be the cause of something better for him. She couldn’t put it into coherent thought. It just felt good to be around him and when he looked at her she felt so alive it almost hurt.

*

Madison awoke sometime the following morning. Still in the lounge, she lay on the sofa, covered over with the quilt from her bed. She pulled it up to her nose and smiled to herself. She must have fallen asleep at some point and Alexandre must have brought her quilt down and covered her with it. She hoped she hadn’t dribbled or snored. God, she must look a right mess. Her eyeliner would be smudged right down to her chin.

She heard voices outside; probably Morris talking to somebody or other. Sunlight filtered in through a gap in the curtains. She smiled to herself again and hugged her knees up to her chest. Alexandre. She said his name in her head, squeezed her eyes closed and recalled his face, his dark hair and his broad shoulders. She opened her eyes and saw … Esther.

‘Morning,’ the housekeeper said. ‘Fell asleep watching the box did you? Bad habit to get into. No good for your back, lying on that sofa all night.’

‘Thanks for the advice,’ Madison said, sitting up. The mood had been broken.

‘Don’t mind if I Hoover in here do you?’ Esther said without waiting for a reply. She pressed a button and the loud drone of the vacuum cleaner filled the room. Maddy sighed and left the room, dragging the quilt behind her.

She went back to bed and slept for most of the day. Even Ben didn’t wake up until early afternoon. That evening, Madison decided the inevitable could not be put off any longer; Ben and Alexandre would have to meet.

Chapter Twenty Three

*

Madison caught her breath as the door opened and the hesitant figure of Alexandre walked into the lounge. They greeted each other with nervous smiles. Ben looked up briefly before turning his attention back to the TV.

‘Ben, could you pause that for a second. I want to introduce you to someone. Do you remember? The person I told you about.’

Ben sighed and stopped the film.

Maddy stood and motioned to her brother to get up too.

‘Ben, this is Alexandre. Alexandre, Ben.’

‘Pleased to make your acquaintance,’ said Alexandre, extending his hand.

‘Yeah, hi. You’re the vampire statue right?’

‘That is correct. But you do not need to think of me as such. I am also a person like you.’

‘Mads,’ Ben turned to her. ‘Do you really think dressing some bloke up in a posh suit and asking him to speak in a French accent is gonna make me fall for it?’ He looked up at Alexandre. ‘It’s a good try, mate, but I’m not stupid.’

‘You do not believe me?’ Alexandre smiled.

‘Uh, no-o.’

‘Very well, what can I do to convince you?’

‘Ben,’ Maddy said. ‘Look at him. Don’t you recognise him? He’s the statue from the cellar.’

Ben looked. ‘All I can see is a bloke who’s dressed in the same lame clothes as that statue, but he ain’t a statue. He’s a person. Can I watch the rest of the film now?’

‘No. And don’t be so rude. I’m going to prove to you that Alex is a vampire. Alex, help me out here.’

‘Very well,’ Alexandre said, smirking. He transformed his face into a snarl and his top lip curled back to reveal a set of very sharp fang-like incisors.

‘Wow! That’s seriously sick!’ Ben stood on tiptoe to try and get a closer look. ‘Are they real? I’ve seen guys like you on documentaries. When did you get it done?’

Maddy had been quite unnerved by Alexandre’s display of teeth and she couldn’t believe Ben still wasn’t convinced.

‘Ben, he didn’t ‘get them done’. Those are his real teeth.’

‘Show me some super-vampire strength and I might believe you.’ Ben crossed his arms and stared at him with a cynical look in his eyes.

‘Very well,’ Alexandre smirked. He put his forefinger under the arm of the sofa and raised it up on its side, balancing it on his finger.

‘Cool! You’re strong, I’ll give you that. But a sofa isn’t exactly the heaviest thing in the world. What about lifting up Maddy’s ride?’

Alexandre lowered the sofa gently back onto the floor.

‘Ride?’ he asked.

‘He wants you to lift my Land Rover up. My automobile.’

‘Aah, good.’ Alexandre smiled and clapped his hands together. Come then.’

Maddy turned off the TV and they went outside into the cold woodsmoke air. Madison hopped up into the Land Rover and backed it out of the garage onto the gravel drive where Ben and Alexandre waited. Alexandre walked over to the enormous vehicle as Maddy jumped out.

‘Be careful, Alex,’ she said. ‘Don’t tip it over. I love my wheels.’

Alexandre looked at Ben with a gleam in his eye as he lifted the front of the vehicle up with one hand and kept it there. ‘Do you believe me now?’

‘No way!’ Ben laughed and jumped up and down. ‘You are the strongest dude ever! Where did you get him, Mads? Awesome!’

‘Does this mean he believes me?’ Alexandre asked Madison. He lowered the vehicle back down onto the gravel without dropping it so much as a millimetre.

‘No,’ she scowled. ‘It just means he thinks you’re strong. You’re gonna have to do something more drastic.’

‘I am beginning to feel like a performing monkey. Very well. Ben, would you be so kind as to fetch me an axe.’

‘An axe? What you gonna do with that? Murder me and chop me up?’

‘You have an active imagination. No.’

‘Just get the axe, shortie.’

‘Okay I’m going, I’m going. In the shed, right?’

Maddy nodded. While he fetched it, she looked at Alexandre and shrugged her shoulders. ‘Well, I didn’t expect that reaction. I thought he’d freak out big time, as soon as he saw you. I mean, to me, you look kind of supernatural.’

‘I do not know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment.’

‘Oh, I didn’t mean …’

‘Do not worry. I will convince him.’

‘What are you actually going to do with the axe? I don’t know if I’m comfortable with this.’

‘It will be fine.’

Ben reappeared. ‘Got it,’ he said. ‘What now?’

‘Follow me,’ replied Alexandre, leading them back into the warmth of the drawing room. Madison’s and Ben’s cheeks were flushed from the cold night air, but Alexandre’s face stayed marble-white. ‘Use the axe to chop this small log on the hearth,’ Alexandre said to Ben.

Ben took a breath and raised the sharpened axe. He brought it down heavily and split the log lengthways.

‘What now?’ he asked Alexandre.

Alexandre lay on his side next to the split log and rested his arm on the stone hearth. He used his eyes to show Ben what he wanted him to do.

‘You want me to chop your arm off?’ Ben asked. ‘What is it? A fake arm?’

‘You are a very cynical young man.’ Alexandre sat up, took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeve. ‘Does that look real to you?’

Ben nodded at the pale muscled perfection of Alexandre’s arm. Both he and Madison were impressed. Alex lay back down on his side and put his bare arm in place.

‘This is a bit weird, Maddy,’ Ben said. ‘Sure you’re not just completely off your heads?’

‘Totally sure, mate. Just do what the nice vampire asks and we can all relax.’

‘Okay,’ Ben said. ‘I’m gonna do it. You sure about this?’ he asked Alexandre.

‘Not too hard, you might hurt yourself,’ the vampire replied with a wink.

Ben raised the gleaming axe and brought it down very softly, wincing. The axe made no mark.

Madison had a flashback to two days ago when she’d really tried to harm Alexandre. She recalled her wild anger as she’d hacked at his chest with the pick axe, failing to make even a graze on his skin.

She shivered, feeling uncomfortable and guilty for the hatred and blazing fury which had consumed her. She could not quite believe how she could have so completely changed her attitude towards him in such a short space of time. From terror to … something else.

‘You can try a little harder,’ Alexandre smiled encouragingly at Ben. He raised the axe again and brought the blade down with slightly more force this time. The axe clanged and bounced off Alexandre’s arm.

‘Wow!’ Ben said, dropping the axe and shaking his arm.

Alexandre smiled.

Ben looked from Madison to Alexandre. ‘What an awesome trick! Can you teach me that? How did you do it? Is that a David Blaine thing?’

‘Ben!’ Madison said. ‘It’s not a trick. It’s his arm and a real axe. He really is that strong. Try again.’

‘No, that really hurt my wrist,’ Ben rubbed it with his other hand. ‘It’s a good trick, but my arm’s pretty sore right now.’

‘I apologise,’ said Alexandre, standing up.

‘No worries, man. It was worth it to see such a cool stunt.’

‘Ben!’ Maddy said again. She turned to Alexandre. ‘Help me out. How do we convince him?’ She ran her fingers through her hair in frustration.

‘Watch me, Ben,’ said Alexandre, standing by the hearth, looking intently at the boy. Ben looked at him, and then, suddenly he just wasn’t there. Ben spun around. Alexandre had vanished from the room and there was a tapping on the window. Ben and Maddy looked out to see Alexandre smiling on the other side of the glass. Then, an instant later, they saw him standing in the middle of the front lawn, two hundred yards away. In the time it took for Ben’s jaw to drop, Alexandre was back in the lounge, sitting composed on the sofa.

‘Whoa!’ Ben sat down heavily in an armchair. That was too spooky. How did you … I mean how is that even possible?’

‘Ben,’ Maddy crouched down in front of him and tried to get him to look at her. ‘It isn’t possible. That’s what I’ve been trying to explain to you. I swear to you on everything I love, he … is … a … vampire.’

‘Right,’ Ben said, looking worriedly at Alexandre. ‘So, do you … drink blood and stuff?’

‘Yes, but I will not harm you or your sister and I do not ever kill. I just take what I need to survive.’

‘Whoah! This is off the scale. Can you fly?’

‘I do not think you could really call it flying, but I can move very quickly, as you just witnessed.’

‘What about garlic?’

‘Garlic? I used to like garlic in my food, but I do not require that type of sustenance anymore.’

‘Garlic’s no good,’ Maddy said. ‘No effect whatsoever.’

‘What can kill you then?’

‘Ben!’ Madison exclaimed. ‘You can’t ask questions like that. That’s so rude.’

‘It is quite alright,’ Alexandre laughed. ‘Daylight. Daylight would probably kill me.’

‘What about a stake through the heart?’

‘Ben! No. Don’t ask any more of those kinds of questions. That’s horrible.’

‘I’m only asking. He’s a vampire. You’ve got to ask a vampire those kinds of things, right?’

He turned to Alexandre who shrugged and smiled.

‘Those are basic vampire questions,’ Ben continued. ‘You’re a girl, Mads, so you wouldn’t know.’

‘Please don’t be afraid to tell him to shut up and mind his own business,’ she said to Alexandre. ‘I thought he’d be scared and we’d have to reassure him. I didn’t realise he’d just be rude and obnoxious.’

‘You are forgetting,’ Alexandre said to her. ‘I have a younger brother, so I am very used to this. And I like his frankness. He can ask me what he likes.’

‘Um, excuse me,’ Ben interrupted. ‘I am still in the room you know.’

‘I apologise,’ Alexandre said. ‘You know, you and my brother would get on like a house on fire.’ He turned to Madison. ‘When Jacques and Freddie wake up, I fear we will not get a moment’s peace.’

‘Do you eat?’

‘No. I do not require food.’

Ben accepted Alexandre’s existence with eagerness and an endless stream of questions. How fast can you run? Can you feel pain? How long will you live for? Do you bleed? What sort of stuff did you do in the nineteenth century? Was it really boring? He asked absolutely everything that came into his head and he, Maddy and Alexandre spent the whole evening talking, laughing and being amazed by the bizarre circumstances which had brought them all together.

*

The following day, Madison decided that if Alexandre was serious about embracing the twenty first century, he would have to look the part. So, as soon as the sun had set, she ventured down into the cellar and knocked on the door to his room.

‘Welcome to my beautiful home,’ Alexandre said.

‘Ooh, twenty first century sarcasm,’ said Madison. ‘You’re learning. But I agree,’ she said looking around her. ‘It’s pretty gross down here. We’ll have to bling it up a bit ... um, I mean make it a bit more comfortable.’

‘I would be very grateful. I may be a vampire, but it is not the cheeriest place to spend the day.’

‘We’ll get to it. But right now we’ve got something much more important to do. Follow me.’ She walked up the stairs into the kitchen, put on her coat and picked up her bag. ‘You haven’t been in a car yet have you?’

‘No.’

‘I found these in the shed. I think they belong to Morris and I’m really sorry but you’ll have to put them on.’ She handed him some old gardening clothes. ‘It’s just … I can’t take you out in that suit you’re wearing. People will think you’re in fancy dress and you don’t want to draw any more attention to yourself.’

Alexandre held out the scruffy cords and faded blue sweatshirt she’d given him. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. ‘Now, Madison. I know you do not expect me to put on these ... these revolting garments.’

‘I’m feeling your pain, but yes, Alex, I’m afraid I do expect you to put them on. But only so we don’t get stared at, which we will if you go out wearing your nineteenth century stuff. Because, Alex, my friend, the sales are on and we are going late night shopping.’

A car horn sounded outside.

‘And that’s our taxi. Quick, I won’t look. Put them on and we can go.’

Alexandre sighed and got changed. Maddy looked him up and down, liking what she saw.

‘Nice. Let’s go.’ He followed her out into the icy night and then into the dieselly warmth of the yellow taxi. Maddy stole a glance at him. Even with Morris’ hideous work clothes on, he still looked like something out of a film set.

‘You going into Bath then?’ the taxi driver asked.

‘Yeah, please,’ Maddy replied.

‘Nice house you got.’

‘Thanks.’

The driver started talking into his radio and Alexandre looked at Madison for an explanation.

‘I’ll tell you later,’ she mouthed at him.

‘Very well,’ he replied.

Maddy wore a short denim skirt and she caught him looking down at her legs. He looked away quickly into the darkness outside his window. Maddy smiled.

*

‘We’ll keep it simple. I wouldn’t normally shop here because it’s a bit vanilla for my taste, but I’m pretty sure you’ll look amazing in everything.’

They walked down the crowded high street with all the other late night shoppers until they reached the white painted façade of Gap. She held his arm and steered him into the brightly lit store. He winced under the hot lights.

‘You okay?’ she asked.

‘I am well. It is merely that these lights are insufferably bright.’

She looked at Alexandre, trying to work out if he blended in with the other shoppers. The answer to that question was most definitely, ‘no’. But not because he was a vampire. It was because he was the most stunning being she had ever laid eyes on.

Well over six feet tall and broad shouldered, Alexandre was a study in beauty. He gave off an aura that drew all eyes his way. The female shop staff were already making a beeline for him and she pulled him over to a quiet corner.

‘I think we need to get this done as quickly as possible or you’re gonna get mobbed.’

Alexandre looked at her with incomprehension.

‘Right,’ she continued. ‘Jeans.’ She grabbed a pair and held them out in front of him. ‘Too short.’ She flicked through the denim stack and found a longer length. ‘Take those, and those.’ She grabbed a couple of inoffensive hoodies, a cable knit jumper, some long-sleeved and short-sleeved t-shirts and bundled them into his arms.

He followed her to the changing rooms, where one of the female sales staff pointed him to a free cubicle, her jaw almost hanging off its hinges in admiration. She narrowed her eyes at Madison who made to follow him in.

‘How many items have you got?’ she asked.

‘None,’ replied Maddy. ‘I’m with him.’

‘You can’t go in unless you’ve got something to try on.’

Maddy grabbed a pair of men’s jeans off the rack in front of her.

‘One item,’ she said to the girl.

Maddy stood outside Alexandre’s cubicle.

‘How’s it going? Do they fit okay?’

He pulled back the curtain and stood there looking as miserable as it was possible to look.

‘I loathe these clothes. They are labourers’ clothes. Am I going to work in the fields?’

‘Alex, take my word for it. You look good.’

‘I fear you are mocking me again, Mademoiselle.’

‘You don’t need to fear anything. You look hot.’ The dark blue jeans and grey hoodie were perfection. His black tousled hair and nineteenth century sideburns suddenly looked bang up to date. ‘Don’t bother trying on the rest. They’ll fit you no problem. Let’s just grab some underwear and socks. Keep that stuff on.’

She picked out a navy military style coat in wool and a couple of beanies, just because she liked them. She knew he didn’t feel the cold, but he had to look the part.

He stood morosely by the till while she paid.

‘Trainers next and I think you’d look cool in a pair of biker boots.’ He trailed round with her while she made him try on Converse baseball boots, a pair of Vans and some grungy black biker boots.

‘Oh this is tedious,’ he groaned. ‘Can we please do something more interesting? Everybody looks as though they are in a trance, going in and out of these over-illuminated buildings, trying on hideous garments.’

Madison stared at him and laughed. ‘Oh, you are so the typical bloke. What a surprise. Who would have thought it? ‘Alex hates shopping’. Well join the rest of the male population. Anyway, you’ll be pleased to know, we’re almost done.’

‘Almost! But we have bought up the entire street. What could possibly be left for us to purchase?’

‘Just a couple more things.’

He followed her into a crowded bookshop.

‘Wait here,’ she said, pointing to a faded blue sofa. He sat down - an island in an ocean of shopping bags. Madison went straight to the History section. She picked out several hardbacks detailing European history over the past couple of centuries, including one of purely French history and one of English history.

‘You might find these interesting,’ she said.

He took them from her and examined the covers. ‘You are a very thoughtful person,’ he said. ‘I am sorry I have been such a ...’

‘… such a moody git,’ she finished.

‘Yes, a ‘moody git’. Do you forgive me?’

‘Nothing to forgive. Come on, let’s pay for these and go home.’

*

Maddy remembered what Alexandre had said about Harold using the shutters during the day to keep the daylight out and so she reinstated them. She told Esther they must remain closed at all times and she also told her that a friend would be staying indefinitely. To Madison’s surprise, this elicited nothing more than a nod. Funny, as Esther usually had something to say about everything.

Madison hired a team of builders to completely gut and transform the cellar into a luxurious suite of windowless rooms with a lounge, five bedrooms and two bathrooms. They would also put in a separate entrance, so when the others awoke, they would be able to come and go as they pleased.

While all this was going on, Alexandre would stay on the top floor of the house. He carried the other four upstairs, sealing their crates shut so they would be safe from the light and from prying eyes. But first, another matter needed to be addressed. One that really worried Madison.

She stared out of the lounge window and realised she couldn’t put it off any longer. She would have to tell Alexandre about the bones she’d found in the cellar; the skeleton she had been so terrified of when she first discovered the hidden room. It was obviously the remains of her ancestor, Harold Swinton, but because he was a friend of Alexandre’s, she felt totally embarrassed about how she’d bundled him into a crate and shoved him out of sight.

When she finally plucked up the courage to tell him, he was immediately sympathetic.

‘Do not take it too much to heart,’ Alexandre said, watching her pace around the lounge. He stood in front of her and put a hand on her arm. ‘Your reaction was perfectly normal. Isobel would have screamed the house down and run for her life.’

‘Yeah, no offence to Isobel, but she’s a Victorian chick and I’m supposed to be an enlightened street-wise hard-ass, not a wuss.’

‘I maybe understood about three words in that sentence,’ Alexandre replied.

‘Translation – I’m embarrassed at being so scared of a skeleton and ashamed I treated Harold like that.’ She covered her face and cringed as she remembered her over-reaction to the discovery of the skeleton.

‘You did not know who it was. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You live with five vampires; you’re the bravest girl I know.’

‘That’s true,’ she nodded and half-heartedly smiled. ‘But at the moment, I’m also the only girl you know.’

‘Poor Harold,’ Alexandre said. ‘He does need to be given a proper burial.’

‘His tombstone’s already in the chapel,’ Maddy said, sitting down. ‘It’s got his name and the dates on it. But how can that be true when his skeleton’s here in the house?’

‘He must have been given a false burial. Refet must have arranged for a funeral without his body.’

‘That makes sense.’

‘I will go to the chapel tonight and put Harold where he belongs - with Victoria,’ Alexandre said.

‘Leonora and Freddie’s tombs are there too. I think their dates of death were the same as Victoria’s. I remember thinking how sad it was they all died so young.’

‘Oh how Harold must have suffered,’ Alexandre said. ‘To have buried his wife and had to pretend his children were also dead.’ He sucked in his breath. ‘I suppose he decided death was the only plausible explanation for their disappearance from society.’

‘So, can you go into churches then?’ Madison asked, changing the subject slightly.

‘Yes, I believe so. Why do you ask?’

‘It’s just, with you being a vampire, all the books and stuff say you can’t go into holy places.’

‘Do you think I am damned?’

‘Do I what?’

‘Do you believe I am unholy?’

‘No. I’m just saying in films and things, I’m pretty sure vampires can’t go into churches.’

‘What happens if they do?’

‘Um, I dunno. They explode? Or crumble into dust. Something like that.’

‘I see. Maybe then, if you would not mind, it should be you who takes his body into the chapel. For it may be too dangerous for me. I have no wish to explode.’

Madison’s felt slightly ill at the thought of taking Harold’s bones into a crypt and opening up his sarcophagus on her own.

‘Sorry,’ Alexandre laughed. ‘I could not resist. Your face is so funny.’

‘You sod! I was only trying to look out for you.’ She beat him on the arm. It was like punching a granite wall.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ he laughed. ‘Don’t hit me, I might crumble into dust.’

‘Shut up, Alex. You’re not funny.’

*

Marchwood House had been rebuilt in the eighteenth century but the family chapel was far older. The mellow stone building sat several hundred metres away to the south, surrounded on three sides by a low privet hedge. Alexandre walked up to the wooden door and turned the circular iron lock. The door creaked open.

Madison’s words of churches and vampires echoed in his ears and even though he had mocked her theories, he still felt some trepidation as he stepped across the threshold. He paused. No, he felt no different. He did not explode or crumble to dust. All was well. He thought how Madison would laugh if she knew she had unsettled him like this.

Once inside, he took in the whitewashed walls, chequered flagstones and dark wooden pews. There was also a raised gallery with carved wooden balustrades. It was a simple, peaceful place.

The crypt was not underground but situated at the entrance to the chapel where eight stone sarcophagi sat in plain view. Alexandre found the one he wanted. It had the names of both Harold and Victoria Swinton engraved upon it. They had chosen to be buried together.

Alexandre wondered about his own parents. Where had they been buried? And had there also been a fake funeral for him and his siblings? How had he ended up so far from home, in this small corner of England?

He lifted the lid easily and placed Harold’s bones inside. He hoped Leonora and Freddie would not mind that he was doing this for their father without them. But they could still have their own ceremony for him when they awoke.

Now Harold was at last with his beloved Victoria, Alexandre closed the heavy white lid. He placed white lilies on top of the tomb – Madison’s idea.

‘Goodbye, my friend. Thank you. I pray Leonora and Freddie will wake safely and when they do, I shall care for them as you did for me.’

Chapter Twenty Four

*

Madison was interesting, exotic and exciting, not like any other girl he had met before. She had Leonora’s confidence and beauty, without being judgemental and complicated. Her outrageous sense of humour sometimes shocked him, but it always made him laugh. She was also an excellent teacher, patiently explaining all the day-to-day minutiae he needed to cope with modern living. She teased him about his formal dress-sense and laughed when he made linguistic mistakes, but he enjoyed this light-hearted banter; it made him feel normal.

She was exactly what he needed. Without her he would be lost, unanchored and adrift. Together, with Ben, they were becoming a tight little unit - a family of sorts. All alone in the world, save for each other.

He read the history books she had bought him from cover to cover. It was like reading his future before it had happened, only to realise it was not his future; it was a past that had happened without him. Despite his sadness over this, he also felt tremendous excitement as he read about all the great inventions and discoveries of the twentieth century. Disgust and disbelief engulfed him as he learnt of the two world wars. He still could not believe he had slept through everything.

Alternately depressed and elated, Alexandre travelled a rocky landscape of emotions that never levelled out. Only when he talked to Madison, did he feel remotely calm.

By the time the clocks went forward in March, Alexandre was ensconced in his new luxurious underground pad. He helped Madison design the layout and décor, keeping most of it French nineteenth century in style apart from the new mod cons like plumbing, lighting control pads and a state-of-the-art integrated home cinema and mp3 system. Although he now had access to all the information he needed, via his own laptop, he still preferred to read books and rapidly built his own library collection.

His main addiction though, was watching films. He couldn’t get enough of them and purchased DVDs ten or twenty at a time from the local store. They took him away from his own thoughts and he completely immersed himself in their magic. He fell in love with Brigitte Bardot, Audrey Hepburn and Scarlet Johanssen. He was thrilled by action adventure films, caught up in dramas and fascinated by documentaries and war movies. The comedies made him laugh until his head hurt; his favourite being the slapstick of Laurel and Hardy.

He could not believe the level of freedom available to film makers. Things that would have been considered scandalous or immoral, most certainly involving long prison sentences, were now considered normal mainstream entertainment.

Isobel, Jacques and the others remained in the cellar with him, still unconscious in their crates. Guilt stabbed at him, that they still slept whilst he lived his life, but he could not bring himself to risk their lives trying to wake them up. And then, if he did make the decision, which of them would he choose to revive first? No, better to wait until a more clear-cut solution came along. Alexandre didn’t know it, but just such a solution would not be long in presenting itself.

*

Back in January, Ben had returned to school with warnings of absolute secrecy ringing in his ears. Madison was paranoid.

‘For a start, nobody would believe you and for another thing ...’

‘Okay, okay, I know!’ Ben protested for the umpteenth time. ‘You don’t have to go on about it. I’m twelve, not two. I do know how to keep a secret you know. What d’you think I’m gonna do? Rush up to my mates and say, guess what? I’m living with a vampire!’

‘Sorry but yeah, Ben. That’s exactly what I thought you might do. It’s tempting to think, oh I’ll just tell Dan, he won’t tell anyone and before you know it, you’ve got half the school camping out in the garden, pretending they’re vampire slayers or something.’

‘Cheers for the vote of confidence. I’m not a complete moron you know.’

‘Sorry, Ben. I know you’re not. I just worry, that’s all. And it’s better to be over-careful.’

‘God, it really isn’t.’

She smiled at his expression. ‘Okay, I promise I won’t mention it again.’

‘Hmm.’

That conversation had taken place over three months ago and it was now a dark and gloomy April afternoon. Madison sat curled up in her favourite spot – the comfy window seat in the library. Ben was still at school and Alexandre was downstairs somewhere, so she had opened the shutters to let some forbidden light in through the glass.

As far as Madison knew, Ben had been true to his word and not mentioned Alexandre’s existence to anyone. Madison too, had kept the knowledge to herself, but anyway, she had no contact with anyone else, apart from the odd moody exchange with Esther and Morris who went about their business paying no attention to what she did.

During all this time, Travis had never called round once. Madison felt bad for not contacting him after her awkward rejection of him on Christmas Eve, but she couldn’t think about that now; there were too many other things on her mind and it was easier not to. She’d ring him soon and make amends. He was a good friend and she didn’t want to lose him.

Keisha and Lois occasionally rang, and they were still on at her to have another party. Maddy kept fobbing them off, saying she’d come and visit soon, but she didn’t really mean it. That world seemed far away now. She was happy and secure in her new life.

She put down her book and stared out of the library window. The sun tried and failed to put in an appearance between the thick scudding clouds. Today the wind was king, snatching at the new green leaves on the shivering trees.

Suddenly, a flash of white lightning forked its way over the dark green lawn and Madison jumped as the loudest clap of thunder shook the house from its eaves to its foundations. Now, big splats of rain dropped from the darkening sky, exploding like marbles against the window pane. Maddy rested her forehead against the cold glass and stared out into the unexpected storm.

She remembered the last thunderstorm. It was on the day she had been suspended from school and had argued with her foster parents. The day she’d thought her life was finished. Now look at her. In charge of her own destiny, caring for her brother, money in the bank and nothing to worry about ever again. Well, she knew that wasn’t strictly true. There was plenty to worry about, she just wasn’t going to think about the other four vampires in the cellar. She would enjoy the one she had.

Maddy strained her eyes to see through the wall of rain. It was pelting down, but she thought she saw lights in the distance coming up the driveway. Yes, car headlights streaming through the rain. She wondered who it could be. It was too early for Ben to be coming back from school.

Madison wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. Her house had become a secure haven against all outsiders. She’d turned into a bit of a recluse these days, not wanting to engage with anyone other than her brother and Alex.

A taxi pulled up onto the driveway and a large black umbrella emerged. She got up from her cosy spot, pulled the shutter closed and headed out into the entrance hall.

Madison opened the front door. The man wore a smart navy three-quarter-length coat over his suit but the umbrella still shielded his face. His shoes were black and shiny, speckled with small blobs of rain. He turned away and shook his umbrella before closing it and turning back to face her.

‘Madison! It’s good to see you. I must apologise for arriving unannounced.’

She stared into the smiling face of Mr Vasey-Smith and was immediately transported back to the supermarket, where she had first set eyes on the solicitor and when her life had begun to change. Such a lot had happened since then.

She hadn’t given Trevor or Angie too much thought since she’d been here, even though they had given her and Ben a home for three years. Any respect and gratitude she had had for them, disappeared the minute they had let her and Ben go for the price of a nice house and a bit of cash. On the one hand, she was glad they hadn’t kicked up a fuss, but she also felt let down by their quick abandonment, especially of Ben. She had thought Angie, at least, had loved Ben like a son.

All these thoughts flashed like unwelcome intruders through her mind as Mr Vasey-Smith stood on the doorstep in the rain. She stood back to let him in.

‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Um, how are you?’

‘Very well, thank you.’

‘Come in,’ she continued. ‘Do you want a drink or something? I can make us some tea. Or I’ve got a cold drink …’

‘Tea would be just the thing,’ he replied. ‘No sugar. Thank you.’

Soon they were sitting in the lounge sipping their tea and eating biscuits. Madison wondered why he had come. She hoped there wasn’t a problem. She suddenly felt apprehensive.

‘Is everything okay? I mean with the house and everything. We can still live here can’t we?’

‘Oh yes, of course,’ he replied. ‘The house is yours, as long as you live in it. Nothing’s happened to change that.’

‘Oh, good. For a minute, I thought you’d come to tell me it had all been a mistake and I had to go back and live with Trevor and Angie.’

‘No, no. Goodness no. What an unpleasant thought.’

On hearing this, Madison relaxed a bit.

‘No,’ he continued. ‘I just happened to be in the area and thought I’d pop in and see how you’re doing before catching my train back to London. Have you and Ben settled in alright?’

‘Yeah. It’s been great. Ben loves his new school.’

‘Good. That’s good. Everything else alright? No problems at all?’

‘No. We’re fine. Thank you,’ she replied. It was quite nice to see the man who’d helped change her life for the better. She was grateful he’d actually taken the time to come and see how they were. It was more than her foster parents had done anyway. ‘Ben’s happier here than he’s ever been and we really feel at home. It’s great. Everything’s great.’ She realised it actually was. Happiness had crept up on her and made itself at home.

‘Not too lonely here for you? It’s a big place. You’re not rattling around too much?’

‘No. It’s completely amazing having all this space to ourselves. We’ve spent loads of time exploring.’

‘Find anything interesting?’

Maddy smiled to herself at this question. He’d send her off to the nuthouse if she told him what she’d actually found here.

‘There’s a lovely river at the bottom of the grounds,’ she said. ‘And there’s a weird little tower you can climb up and see around for miles.’

‘Ah, one of the estate’s follies.’

‘Yeah, it’s amazing. Kind of like a lighthouse with no light. And I love the little chapel here. It’s very beautiful.’ She heard a car door slam. ‘Oh, here’s Ben. Morris sometimes picks him up from school, but I’m seventeen in a few months so I’ll be able to take my driving test and drive him myself. I can’t wait. Hang on, I’ll just go and tell him you’re here.’

She walked out into the entrance hall to see Ben stripping off his wet coat. He hung it on the peg, but it slipped off and lay in a soggy heap on the floor next to his muddy shoes and school bag.

‘Hey, bro, we’ve got a visitor,’ she said loudly.

‘Can I just get some nosh? I’m starving. Who is it?’

‘Do you remember Mr Vasey-Smith, the solicitor?’

‘Yeah, cool. Hang on I’ll just get a packet of crisps and I’ll come in. You in the lounge?’

‘Yeah,’ she replied. And then she mouthed to him. ‘Remember, don’t mention Alex.’ She pointed down at the cellar.

Ben rolled his eyes and zipped his mouth closed. He pulled a rude face and went off into the kitchen. She returned to the lounge.

‘Everything alright?’ the solicitor asked her.

‘Yeah, he’s just always hungry when he gets back from school. He’ll be in, in a second. He’s such a gannet.’

‘That’s teenage boys for you. How are the Foxtons?’

‘Oh, Esther and Morris are okay.’

‘Good, good. Aaah, Ben! Very nice to see you again.’ He stood up and extended his hand. Ben put some crisps in his mouth and wiped his hands on his school trousers before shaking hands. He finished chewing before speaking.

‘Hello. How are you?’

‘Very well, Ben. I just thought I’d pay you a flying visit to see how you’re both doing. I’m glad to see you so happy and settled. Madison tells me you like your new school.’

‘Yeah, it’s good.’

‘Have you made many friends?’ Mr Vasey-Smith sat back down.

‘Yeah, they’re all pretty sound,’ Ben nodded and sat next to his sister.

‘Horrible weather though isn’t it? They didn’t forecast this thunderstorm. It’s blowing a gale out there.’

‘Mmm,’ Madison and Ben both agreed.

‘Well,’ the solicitor stood up again. ‘My taxi is waiting outside and so I’d better get going. Sorry I couldn’t stay long but I really don’t want to miss my train.’

‘It was nice of you to come and see us,’ Madison said, relieved he was going. She liked him but found it hard going, trying to make small talk.

‘So,’ he said, putting his coat on. ‘Have you had any friends to stay with you yet? Shown off your new residence?’

‘Umm, no, not really. We had a party when we first moved in. But it turned out to be a bit of a nightmare.’

‘Yes, hosting events is not for the faint hearted,’ he smiled.

‘Yeah. I won’t be having any more parties for a while.’ She saw the solicitor out into the stormy afternoon. His taxi waited on the driveway, the cab driver immersed in a newspaper.

‘Goodbye, Madison. Thank you for the tea and conversation.’

‘Thanks for coming.’

He climbed smartly into the cab and closed the door, giving Madison and Ben a short wave through the rain-stained window. Ben went back inside to watch TV and Madison stood in the doorway watching the taxi’s red tail lights disappear from view as the wind whipped her hair and the rain lashed her face.

After Vasey-Smith’s departure, Madison went downstairs to see Alexandre. She knocked on the new door at the bottom of the cellar stairs.

‘Come in!’ she heard him call. She turned the knob and walked into his lounge. He lay on his front on a rug on the floor, watching yet another film. ‘Madison,’ he laughed. ‘You have to watch this film with me. It is … what is your word? Hilarious. These gentlemen are dressed as women and they are fleeing from …’

‘Yeah, Some Like it Hot. Great movie, but can we watch it later?’

‘You look worried. What is it? Is it the man who was just here? Did he do something?’ Alexandre looked suddenly fierce. ‘Do you want me to find him?’ He turned off the television and leapt up.

‘Slow down, chill. No, there’s nothing wrong - I don’t think. It was the solicitor, Vasey-Smith. You know the one I told you about. The one whose company tracked down me and Ben, about Harold’s will and everything.’

‘What did he want? There is a problem with the will?’

‘No, nothing like that. That’s what I first thought, but he said he just wanted to see how we were getting on.’

‘But that is kind. That is a normal thing to do. You are young and he was concerned.’

‘Yeah I know. It’s just, I told him about a party I had and I still feel like I’m this irresponsible child and he’s the disapproving grown-up. And I’ve just had a thought, maybe Esther or Morris mentioned you were here and now he might think you and me are … you know.’

Alexandre looked taken aback. ‘I find I still cannot get used to your straight talking.’

‘Believe me Alex, that ain’t straight talking. If you wanna hear straight talking you should meet my mate, Lois.’

‘Maybe in a few years when I am more acclimatised. But if this Vasey-Smith thinks these things, there is nothing you can do about it. Are you worried for your reputation?’

She laughed. ‘No, not really. It’s better he thinks I’m a slut than I’m living with a vampire, right?’

‘Uh, a little less straight talking if you please. Come. Watch the rest of this film with me.’

‘I think you’ve already watched a century’s worth of films. Your eyes’ll go square.’

‘Really? Square? This can happen?’ He put his hands to his eyes and looked doubtfully at Madison.

‘Really. Too much telly equals square eyes. Everyone knows that.’

He frowned for a moment until he saw the smirk on her face.

‘Yes and too much lying equals death by tickling. Everyone knows that.’ He grabbed her around the waist and began tickling her under her arms until she squealed for mercy. He ignored her cries. ‘Sorry, Alexandre, are the words I am looking for,’ he said, unrelenting in his tickles.

‘Sorry, sorry! Alex, I’m sorry. Stop, please.’

‘Now, will you please watch this film with me?’ He lay back down on the floor and beckoned her over. As she lay down, he hit the remote and Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis resumed their antics on screen. Alexandre smiled at Madison. Her heart did a front flip followed by a back flip and she forgot all about Vasey-Smith.

*

‘I can’t believe I haven’t brought you here before,’ Madison said as they queued to get into the large grey building. A blue neon sign glowed above their heads, couples held hands and groups of youths jostled each other and joked as they waited to get tickets for the fairly tame action movie that Madison had decided wouldn’t be too hardcore for Alexandre’s nineteenth century tastes.

‘So this will be like watching it at home, but on a bigger screen?’ he asked. ‘What is the point of that? What difference does a bigger screen make? Why would you watch with a group strangers? If you have the choice, surely it is better to watch in the comfort of your own home?’

Two and a half hours later Alexandre emerged from the cinema with a look of wondrous rapture on his face.

‘Enjoy that did ya?’ Madison asked, knowing it had probably been the most amazing sensory experience of his life.

‘But I had no idea you could experience something so … so ...’

‘Intense?’ she offered.

‘Yes, yes. Intense. Unbelievable! It was completely thrilling, as if I were there myself.’

‘It wasn’t that good, mate,’ a young lad called out. He and his mates laughed at the awestruck Alexandre. Maddy stuck the Vs up at them and led Alexandre out of the cinema by his arm.

‘But that plane journey at the end was terrifying. I do not think I am so keen to travel on an aeroplane anymore.’

Madison laughed. ‘It’s just a film. Apparently flying is the safest way to travel.’

‘Hmmm,’ Alexandre didn’t sound convinced.

*

When does day turn into night? And when does night turn into day? Is there a single severed second where it switches from one to the other? Or does it just shift gradually by degrees? Alexandre knew the answer to all of these questions. His body knew just when shimmering daylight would fade into black sanctuary and when the cool darkness would again be shot through with bright danger. He knew these things. They defined him.

The days grew longer and this meant more confinement. His patience became as short as the nights, and his temper bubbled beneath a surface of forced calm. As soon as the sun set each night, he came slamming out of the cellar and out of the house, before returning to see her. He needed to be in the open air for at least an hour, to shake off the claustrophobia that pressed in on him.

Madison tried to think of things to amuse him during the day, as he hardly ever slept, but it was difficult. After his initial love affair with films, he grew fed up watching television. The internet gave some kind of distraction and ate up the hours, but he found the sheer volume of information could be quite overwhelming. Reading books was always pleasant, but no substitute for living a life.

June came along and the nights were so short, he could only venture out between the hours of nine thirty at night and four thirty in the morning - a mere seven hours out of every twenty four. On the twenty first of the month, the longest day of the year, Alexandre left the house at dusk and did not return until 1.30am Madison paced inside, her stomach in knots, worrying about his whereabouts and his fragile state of mind. When he finally returned they sat together at the kitchen table. His mood was morose.

‘You’re just on a bit of a downer,’ she said. ‘You miss your friends and family. It’s natural to feel pissed off. The days will start getting shorter soon and then you’ll feel better. I promise.’

He spoke slowly: ‘I miss my friends, I miss my family, I miss my country and I miss my freedom.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I miss the daylight and I want to go back.’ Despair clouded his dark eyes.

‘Back?’

‘Yes! Back! Back, back, back! To my time and my home. Back to before I turned into this ... monster.’

‘You’re not a monster.’ Madison was dismayed by his anger and distress. She knew he felt frustrated by his circumstances, but she had no idea how deeply his feelings cut. ‘Is there anything I can do?’ she asked, feeling inadequate.

‘Sometimes,’ he said. ‘I wish you had succeeded that day.’ He clenched his fists.

Madison didn’t want to hear this.

‘That day when you tried to kill me. It would have been better if you had finished the job.’

‘You don’t mean that, Alex. Don’t ever say that. I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you. Maybe we should think about trying to wake up the others? Maybe … maybe if you had them with you, they’d cheer you up. I know what it’s like to get down. I know. But we’ll get through it. Together. Alright, Alex?’

‘I like it when you call me Alex. It reminds me of Jacques. He always called me this. He was the only one who …’ He angrily wiped away a tear and Madison scraped her chair closer to his and put her arm around his hunched shoulders.

‘We’ll work it out. Whatever’s making you feel like this, we’ll sort it. We’ll fix it. Yeah?’

‘If not for you, I do not think I could be responsible for my actions. I can see how easy it would be for those like me to eventually turn into monsters. I hope it is not inevitable.’

‘Nothing’s inevitable,’ she said and kissed his porcelain cheek. He turned to her and kissed her on the mouth. Madison opened her lips and sank into his kiss. She felt the deep pull of desire as he lifted her off the chair and drew her close to his body. She felt his anger and despair and passion and she knew he needed this from her.

He lifted her easily into his arms and took her upstairs into her bedroom. A half-moon shone through the open window, onto the wooden floor. Alexandre lay her down onto the unmade bed and gazed at her. She stared back up at him, her lips parted and her breathing heavy.

‘I love you,’ he said. ‘I have never felt this sure about anything.’

She smiled at him tentatively, forcing herself to be brave and say the words back to him. She had said them to him often enough in her head, but to say them aloud was to leave herself exposed and vulnerable, even though he’d spoken first.

‘I love you too,’ she finally said. ‘I really do, Alex.’

He lay down on his side next to her, propped up on one elbow and he kissed her cheek.

‘That kiss was incredible,’ he said. ‘I could kiss you like that all night.’

‘Please,’ she said. ‘Kiss me like that all night.’

He straddled her and pushed her arms back above her head, lowering himself down. She felt the weight of him as he kissed her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, her lips. She gently bit his bottom lip and pushed his mouth open with her tongue to feel his deep kisses again. She moaned and arched her body into him. But then he suddenly rolled off her and opened his eyes, realising he had probably gone too far.

‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘You are irresistible to me but that is no excuse for my behaviour.’

‘Forgive you? For what?’

‘I have taken advantage. I love you and I do not wish to disrespect you.’

‘Alex, you are the most respectful person I know. Haven’t you ever heard of mutual consent?’

‘I am older. I am a man. I have made too many mistakes in the past. I do not wish to make these mistakes with you.’

‘Listen, Alex. If you were doing something I didn’t want, I’d tell you about it. You haven’t done anything I didn’t want you to.’

Maddy rolled on top of him, still in awe of his astonishing beauty. But he was more than just this stunning creature – he was kind, generous, vulnerable and funny. He was everything to her. She smiled and kissed him again. Alexandre responded immediately, but then he groaned and lifted her off him. He ran a finger down her cheek, kissing her hair and she ran her hands across his hard stomach.

‘Please stop, Madison. I fear I am completely unable to resist you.’

She stopped instantly and drew her hands up to her cheeks. ‘Is this a rejection then?’ she asked, feeling sick and slightly humiliated.

‘Madison,’ he said sitting up. He looked at her but she refused to catch his eye. ‘This is the opposite of a rejection. Did you not hear me before when I said I loved you? I have never said that to anyone, because I have never felt this way about another living soul. I love you. Why won’t you look at me? I cannot tell what you are thinking when you look the other way.’

She finally relented and looked up.

‘I want this more than you know. But there is much to consider and now I only have myself to answer to. Please give me some time.’

She lay down and curled into a ball. He spooned himself around her and kissed the back of her neck.

‘Why don’t you sleep now? I will stay with you for as long as I can.’

‘I won’t be able to sleep,’ she said in a small voice.

He stroked her arm and inhaled the apple scent of her hair, listening as the sound of her breathing became more even and slow. He knew she was not entirely happy with him, but maybe tomorrow she would see he had been right not to rush. That kiss had been so intoxicating, it had taken all of his willpower to end it. He knew it was the right thing to do; to stop it there. He did not trust himself otherwise.

His depression had entirely vanished. He was transformed, in love and the feeling was reciprocated - she loved him too. Maybe the world was not the bleak place he had inhabited only hours ago. Maybe there could be something good in it for him, something wonderful.

‘Sleep well, Madison,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘I love you.’

She slept.

Chapter Twenty Five

*

Alexandre left her bed at around 4am, his mind a blur of thoughts and emotions. Was he doing the right thing? Or was he being selfish? He tried not to think about what his parents would have said. But it wasn’t that simple. He lived in a different era now where different rules applied. What he had done was apparently not scandalous at all, but normal.

What had Madison said? Mutual consent. He liked that. Yes, what business was it of anybody else’s? Neither of them had to answer to anyone, which was a blessing and a curse. All they had done was fall in love and kiss. And what a kiss! She was unbelievable. How could he curse his bad fortune at becoming a vampire, when it had led him to her? Maybe this was meant to be.

*

Madison woke up about seven. She felt strangely happy and then she remembered why. She and Alexandre. It had happened. They had kissed and it was everything she’d thought it would be. Of course she’d thought about it before, but she’d never believed it would actually happen. He was from another era, he was older than her and he was a vampire. She hadn’t even known if vampires had those kinds of feelings or if they were just all about the blood. Well now she knew they most definitely did have those feelings. And had he said … Yes. He said he loved her. He loved her – Madison Greene.

What did this mean for them now? It could be difficult, what with them living together already. And what about Ben? What would he think about it all? But then Alexandre had said he needed time. Maybe he was right. Maybe a bit of time to think about it was a good thing. Yeah right. No way she needed to think about anything. She loved him and that was it. Nothing more to say.

As soon as she had showered and dressed, she made her way downstairs. It was another glorious day and Ben sat in the kitchen shovelling down his cereal.

‘Can you give me a lift, Mads? I think I missed the bus this morning and I’m gonna be late.’

‘Yeah, come on then. I’ll have my breakfast when I get back.’ She plucked a large red apple out of the fruit bowl and took a bite.

Madison had just turned seventeen and had only needed half a dozen driving lessons before passing her test first time around. She was elated by the freedom. Now she no longer had to rely on taxis and buses or lifts from Morris.

Stepping outside, the sun warmed her cheeks. It was going to be a scorcher and Madison felt so happy she didn’t know what to do with herself. She had to try to stop smiling. Ben would wonder what had gotten into her.

Climbing into the Land Rover, Maddy put the radio on. Melancholic strings and a haunting melody filled the interior, so she searched for another station until she found a bouncy, happy indie track that suited her mood - something she could sing along to.

Even the small birds which darted in and out of the overgrown hedgerows looked like they were smiling.

‘God, you’re a bit chirpy this morning, Mads.’

‘Sun’s shining, Ben.’

‘You haven’t got school.’

‘Shut up, you love school!’

‘Rather be out on my bike.’

‘It’s nearly summer holidays.’

‘Not for a whole month yet. How’s Alex? Haven’t seen him for a few days.’

‘Yeah, he’s okay. He doesn’t really like the long days though. He can’t go out and it’s doing his head in.’

‘Does he really drink blood, Maddy? I mean I know he does, it’s just that it’s weird. He’s Alex, you know. He seems so normal.’

‘I know, mate. It is strange, but it’s not his fault. He was a regular person once.’

The air con kicked in and Maddy angled the vents towards her face, enjoying the cold blast on her warm skin.

‘Will the others ever wake up d’you think?’ Ben asked.

‘I dunno. I kind of hope they do and I kind of hope they don’t. It’s good the way it is and it could get really complicated if they’re all awake and living here. But they’re Alex’s friends and family. He misses them.’

Maddy thought about it. If they did wake up, what would they think about her being with Alex? Would they resent her?

She dropped Ben off outside the gates and headed back home, nerves building, desperately wanting to head straight downstairs to see Alex. But what if he’d changed his mind? What if he was cold towards her? She didn’t think she could bear it if she couldn’t fall straight into his arms.

Maddy swung into the driveway and made her way up the tree-lined avenue to see Travis’ yellow van parked in front of the house.

Travis sat in the kitchen with a cup of tea, talking away to Esther like she was his best mate or something. As soon as Madison sat down, Esther left the room.

‘Mads, long time no see,’ he said with a wary smile. ‘Hope you don’t mind me dropping round. Just wanted to check you were still alive.’

‘Course I don’t mind. It’s so good to see you. How you doing, geezer?’

‘Not bad. Got myself a regular gig at The Glasshouse. Just wondered if you wanted to come up one Friday night?’

‘That’s amazing. Yeah, course I’ll come.’

‘Kerri and Taff’ll be there this Friday and I know they want to see you. Kerri keeps bugging me to get you to go on a girls’ night out with her.’

‘Cool, how are they? I’m really sorry I haven’t been in touch. Me and Ben just had a quiet one over Christmas and then things just got crazy busy and ….’

‘No worries, Mads. I know what it’s like. You can bring your boyfriend if you want.’

‘What?’

‘My brother saw you at the cinema with a bloke.’

‘Oh, yeah. That’s Alex. He’s French.’ He’s French? What a moronic thing to say.

‘Yeah, well bring the French dude, that’s cool.’

‘I’ll really try and get there,’ she said, not wanting to commit herself. ‘But if I don’t make it this Friday, then I’ll definitely come another week.’

‘Whatever, Mads. It’ll be good to see you out and about. Are you free now? D’you wanna go out somewhere? Have a laugh?’

‘Normally I’d say yeah, but I’ve got some stuff to do today. I’ll ring you and we’ll sort out a time, alright?’

‘No worries, I’ve got things I should be doing anyway. Laters.’ He downed the rest of his tea and got up, drumming the wooden table with his fingers and jingling his van keys at the same time.

‘So good to see you, Trav.’ She leaned forward and gave him an awkward peck on the cheek. He grinned at her and headed out of the front door, jumping into the driver’s seat and starting up the engine. His van grumbled away down the drive, the engine noise almost drowned out by a fat thumping baseline. Madison smiled at the black smoke belching out of the exhaust pipe and then she turned away into the house.

Travis had been really friendly and hadn’t mentioned their last awkward meeting on Christmas Eve. Maybe now things could go back to normal between them. Everything seemed to be falling into place. Life felt good. She hugged herself and opened the cellar door. She would go and see Alex before she lost her nerve.

Maddy walked down the familiar stone steps and lifted her hand to rap on the door. Before she had a chance to knock, the door opened and Alexandre stood in front of her. His beautiful chiselled face, smiling.

‘I thought I would have to wait down here all day. What have you been doing that was more important than coming to see me?’

‘I was nervous,’ she admitted. ‘But I had to take Ben to school and then I had an unexpected visitor.’

‘I know. A young gentleman caller. Do I need to be jealous? Will I be forced to use my vampire powers?’ His eyes narrowed in mock fierceness.

‘Are you gonna make me stand outside your door all day?’ Madison asked. ‘Or can I come in?’ She felt electric currents flow between them. Anticipation.

‘So who was this boy?’ he asked, leading her by the hand to one of the sofas. Her hand felt like it was on fire and she barely heard his words.

‘Just Travis,’ she replied. ‘A friend. He’s invited us to a gig actually.’

‘A gig?’ They sat down next to each other. Almost touching, but not quite. She moved her knee slightly, so it rested against his thigh. More electric currents.

‘Yeah, he‘s a DJ and he’s got a gig at a local club.’

‘A musician?’

‘Kind of. He plays records.’ She didn’t even know why she was talking about this. Right now she didn’t care about Travis or records, but she couldn’t seem to stop talking. She babbled inanely to stop herself from jumping on top of him, kissing him …

‘Records?’ he interrupted her train of thought. ‘I do not understand.’

‘You know what records are, right?’ she said, thinking shut up about records! But carried on anyway. ‘They’re like an old version of CDs.’

‘Yes, I understand. But you said he plays them?’

‘I know it sounds weird.’ She didn’t even care what she was saying anymore. ‘But it’s a bit more tricky than just playing a record. You have to be able to mix the right kinds of tracks together and not break the flow of the beat.’ What is this crap I’m spouting? ‘And you have to have great taste in music. I mean, most DJs nowadays don’t play records anymore, but Travis is old school. He likes a nice bit of vinyl.’ I don’t give a shit about vinyl I just want you to kiss me, she screamed in her head.

‘It sounds complicated and peculiar, but I will take your word for it. Right now though I am afraid I do not care about any of that.’ He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her.

Finally! Madison thanked every God known to man, as her body melted into him. She put her arms around his neck and gave in to feelings that set her nerve endings pulsing and made her insides disappear. He gently pulled back and looked into her eyes.

‘So,’ she said huskily. ‘I’m glad you didn’t take too long to think about us.’

‘I am still thinking. But kissing you helps me to think.’

‘Good,’ she smiled. ‘Carry on thinking.’

*

That Friday, Travis’ set didn’t start until eleven. The queue spilled into the road, but Maddy and Alexandre strolled past it and up to the two large doormen in their tightly fitting suits.

‘Madison Greene plus one,’ she said to one of them. He found the name on his sheet, looked them up and down and lifted the rope. They walked through the crowded bar to the VIP area where Maddy nodded to a few familiar faces. Ben was staying at a friend’s house, so she could relax and enjoy the night without stressing.

‘There’s Kerri … I think,’ she said, spying her over in the corner, talking to a group of glamorous girls. Madison only just recognised her. She was dressed to impress, poured into a silver micro dress, low-cut in the front, backless and reaching down just as far as it needed to. Her hair was all blonde waves cascading down her back and she wore towering spike heels that would have crippled Maddy for life.

‘Hey, Kerri,’ Madison called out.

Kerri’s face lit up at the sight of Madison and she squealed to her friends.

‘It’s Maddy! This is Madison, who I was telling you about. She’s a top girl!’ She stood up and hugged her. ‘You look amazing.’

Maddy wore a tight gunmetal grey dress that started at her throat and came down to her knees, with a draped, low-cut back. She had on strappy grey sandals that she could just-about walk in and her hair had been cut into a sleek black graduated bob which highlighted her perfect cheekbones. Alexandre wore an immaculately tailored dark suit and all eyes were drawn to both of them.

‘Hiya!’ Kerri said to Alexandre. ‘I’m Kerri. Maddy’s forgotten to introduce us.’

‘Sorry, sorry. God, I’m so crap. Alex, this is Kerri. Kerri, Alex.’

‘You are well fit!’ Kerri said in her Gloucestershire drawl. ‘Maddy, is he the reason we haven’t seen you for ages? Well I forgive you. I think I’d fall off the face of the planet if I had him to occupy my time.’ She laughed.

‘Thanks a lot Kezza.’ Taff walked up behind her and pretended to be annoyed. ‘Hi Madison.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘Alright, mate. I’m Taff.’ He held out his hand to Alexandre who shook it and smiled.

‘I’m Alex. I am pleased to meet you.’

‘Come over and sit with us, Trav’ll be here in a bit.’

They sat around a low circular table and Taff went to get them some drinks. Alexandre asked for a beer, even though he wouldn’t be drinking it. Kerri introduced them to her friends who all seemed to be as loud and bubbly as her.

Madison found out that Travis had downplayed the evening to her, as he was actually supporting the headline act, a big-name DJ from Manchester.

‘Wow, that’s amazing,’ Maddy said.

‘Yeah,’ Kerri agreed. ‘It was your party that did it. Loads of people said how good the DJ was that night and the club actually tracked Trav down and offered him a trial night. Now he’s got a regular thing going. Okay, enough talking, come and dance.’ She tried to pull Madison to her feet, but Maddy resisted. She didn’t want to leave Alexandre on his own.

‘You go,’ Alexandre said to her. ‘I like these people. I will be fine.’

‘Sure?’ she asked. He pulled her to him and kissed her. She instantly wished they were somewhere else, somewhere private where that kiss could continue.

‘Sure,’ he replied.

‘Put her down. I’ll bring her back later,’ Kerri called over her shoulder to Alexandre while dragging Maddy away by the hand.

Madison danced with her new friends. She felt elated. Here she was with the most gorgeous, handsome man on the planet. He loved her and she loved him. It was like a chick flick cliché but she didn’t care. Life didn’t get much better than this. Maddy didn’t recognise this tune but she knew she would remember it as the soundtrack to a perfect moment of happiness.

She noticed two blokes dancing a bit too close to them, so she and Kerri moved off slightly to the side to avoid them. But it looked as though they were intent on sleazing up against them. One of them brushed his hand across Madison’s back and she gestured to Kerri that she wanted to move to a different spot.

‘I need a wee anyway,’ Kerri said to Maddy. ‘Coming?’

Maddy nodded and they escaped to the Ladies.

‘Ugh, what a couple of pervs,’ Kerri said when they reached the loos.

‘Why do I always attract the weirdos?’

‘Uh, hello! Alex is not exactly what I’d call a weirdo,’ Kerri said.

‘You know what I mean. If I’m on a bus or a train, you can guarantee the creepy nutter will come and sit his arse down right next to me.’

Kerri laughed. ‘Ditto! We better not go out together again. We’ll end up attracting a meeting of Freakshows Anonymous.’

‘D’you think it’s safe to go back in the water?’

‘Yeah, they’ll have moved on to someone else by now.’

They used the loos, re-applied some lipstick and made their way back out to the other girls. After a couple more tracks, Maddy grew anxious about Alexandre and she started to make her way back to the VIP area. As she threaded her way through the crowd, she felt a hand grope her. She turned around and recognised one of the sleazy blokes from the dance floor.

‘Can I buy you a drink?’ he asked.

‘No, but you can keep your dodgy hands to yourself,’ she spat.

‘No need to be rude,’ another voice said. Madison spun around and saw the other man. They were both in their late twenties, not unattractive, but with no sense of style whatsoever and Maddy could tell they were total creeps.

She tried to push past them and continue on her way. The last thing she wanted was to start any trouble and she definitely didn’t want Alexandre to see what was going on.

‘Where are you going?’ the shorter one asked.

She ignored him and tried again to walk past.

‘It’s rude to ignore people,’ he said.

‘Yeah, we’re just being friendly,’ the taller one added.

Maddy sized them up. They were pretty solidly built and looked like they could handle themselves. They didn’t seem the type who would run away from a fight. She prayed she could get rid of them before Alex spotted them.

‘Look,’ she said. ‘It’s nice you want to chat, but I’m not interested. So please. Can you just go and find someone else to talk to? I’m already with someone.’

‘But we don’t want to talk to anyone else,’ the short one persisted. ‘We want to talk to you.’

‘She does not want to talk to you,’ Madison was both relieved and worried to see Alexandre arrive at her side. ‘I believe you owe the lady an apology.’

‘Who are you?’ the taller one asked.

‘Apologise,’ Alexandre repeated.

‘Leave it, Alex,’ Madison tugged gently at his arm. ‘They’re just a couple of losers.’

‘You are right,’ Alexandre agreed. ‘Let’s go.’ They began to walk away.

‘Hey, mate!’ the taller one called to him. ‘Mate, okay. You win. I’m sorry.’

He came up to Alexandre and put his arm around his shoulder, patting him in a placatory manner. But then he reached up to Alexandre’s head and yanked it backwards, trying to punch him through the jaw with his other hand. Alexandre instinctively anticipated each move before it happened and threw the man to one side without breaking a sweat.

The shorter one pulled out a knife and waved it in front of Alexandre. People around them had begun to notice the fight breaking out and a couple of girls screamed when they saw the knife. The area around them cleared.

The short one tried to stab Alex in the chest, but Alex took the man calmly by the neck and held him off the floor, away from him. In the meantime, the taller one had recovered. He also had a knife and tried to stab Alexandre in the back. But the knife failed to pierce his skin. It slipped down and cut the man’s hand.

Alex threw the shorter man across the floor where he smashed into the side of the bar. Alexandre reached his hand around behind him and picked up the other man by his shoulder. He tossed him casually in the same direction as his friend.

Six bouncers suddenly appeared through the crowd and two of them picked up the dazed men from the floor. Alexandre remained unharmed and unfazed, standing calmly, like a marble statue.

Madison had been hysterical while the men had attacked him, screaming at them to stop and calling out Alexandre’s name. Now she ran to stand protectively in front of him, crying and shouting uselessly at the bouncers.

‘He didn’t do anything! Those blokes just attacked him!’

‘Can you move out of the way please,’ one of them said to her, walking slowly up to Alexandre.

‘It is alright, Madison,’ Alexandre said and then he turned to face the approaching bouncers. ‘Please, I do not wish to hurt anybody else.’

The suited men smiled to each other at his words. They’d heard it all before. As the first one approached Alexandre from the right, Alex’s hand shot out and swatted him away like a bug. Although the music was still playing loudly, a crowd had gathered.

‘Gonna have to ask you to come with me,’ one of them said to Alexandre. ‘Don’t want any more trouble.’

He took Alexandre’s arm but the vampire just shrugged him off. The force was such that the bouncer crashed backwards into a crowd of onlookers. Madison screamed.

‘Come on, Alex! Let’s just go!’ She turned to the remaining two security guards who charged at Alex from both sides. ‘No! We’re leaving. Please, just stop!’

Alexandre almost smiled, but still he didn’t move. His feet were planted in exactly the same spot and, as the bouncers made contact with him, he repelled them with a flick of his wrist and a jab of his elbow. All four men were now out cold.

‘Come on, Alex,’ Maddy said. ‘Before someone calls the police. Please, let’s just go.’

‘Of course,’ he turned to her and put his hand on the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd which parted in front of them. As they left, more security turned up, speaking frantically into their walkie talkies and looking nervously at Alexandre.

‘We’re leaving,’ Maddy said to them as they approached.

Alexandre didn’t even appear to have noticed them.

‘Please,’ Maddy pleaded with them. ‘Please just back off. We’re going. It was those other guys anyway.’

Security walked behind them at a distance to make sure they vacated the premises.

‘Mads, you made it!’ She heard a voice above the noise of the club. It was Travis sitting at a table with some people Maddy didn’t recognise. He walked up to her. ‘Did you get a look at what was going on over there? I didn’t see it but something was going off.’

‘Yeah. Trav, I’m really sorry but we’ve gotta head off early.’ She kept moving towards the exit, mindful of the bouncers watching them. She didn’t want anything to kick off again.

‘What?’ Travis exclaimed. ‘You can’t go now. I’m on in half an hour. Can’t you hang around a bit longer?’

Maddy inclined her head towards the four or five dark suits who subtly escorted her and Alex out of the building.

‘Oh! Shit man. No worries.’ Travis looked warily at Alexandre who stared back at him intently. ‘See you later then, Mads. Take it easy.’

He sat back down with his mates and she left them to their speculation and gossip.

Her mind whirled. What the hell had just happened? Those men had knives. Were they on something or what? Poor Alex. He must think her world was a terrible place.

‘Are you okay?’ she asked, once they were outside.

‘I am fine,’ he replied.

‘Those men. They were mental. I think there was something wrong with them. That’s not normal behaviour,’ she gabbled, trying to make sense of what had happened.

‘I will find you a taxi and then I must leave you for a while,’ he said without emotion.

‘Alex, no! Please don’t go looking for them. Please. It’s so not worth it. They’re scum. Just let them go. The bouncers will sort them out anyway. They had knives. They’ll have been arrested or something. Please. Don’t leave me.’

Her last words did the trick and he softened slightly.

‘They were not good men,’ he said. ‘But they were weak.’

‘You were amazing. So calm. You just stood there and defended yourself. You didn’t even get angry.’

‘I was angry that those men spoke to you in such a manner and I was furious that they dared to lay their vile hands on you.’

‘Well, thank you for defending my honour, Sir,’ she said in her poshest voice.

‘You are most welcome, Mademoiselle.’

‘You do know we’ll be barred from that club for life?’

‘Good.’ He put his arm around her and they walked for a while until they came to a taxi rank.

She spent the night downstairs with him and fell asleep curled up against his cool hard body as he stroked her hair and brooded on the night’s events.

‘Did you get any?’ the shorter one asked his colleague.

‘Yeah, I got some.’ The taller one opened up his hand to reveal a couple of dark brown hairs he had pulled from Alexandre’s head.

Chapter Twenty Six

*

Over the next few days Alexandre and Madison stayed close to home, trying to put the ugly nightclub incident from their minds, content just to talk and be together. Madison gave Esther and Morris a couple of weeks off, so she and Alex could really relax and be themselves.

Maddy reversed her sleeping habits so she could spend as much time with him as possible and they fell into an easy routine. They kept the shutters to the house permanently closed during the day, and at night they ventured out under starry moonlit skies. They wandered among the deer, paddled in the river and mountain-biked across the fields and through the woods. Constantly kissing, always touching, unable to stay apart.

Madison taught Alexandre how to drive and he loved it, picking it up instantly, reading the manual and fiddling under the bonnet, trying to figure out how the engine worked. He also taught himself how to ride Ben’s little trail bike and Maddy laughed at the huge vampire tearing up chunks of lawn on the little vehicle. She promised to get him a full sized motorbike that would suit him a bit better. Alexandre told Madison to get some horses to go in the stables and he would teach her to ride.

‘I will turn you into an excellent horsewoman.’

‘That’s something I’ve always wanted to do, but I never got the chance. And when I got the money, I was too scared to actually do it. I mean, I haven’t got a clue about horses. I wouldn’t know where to start. But I’ve got this image of me on a horse, galloping for miles across fields and streams. Stupid, I know.’

‘Not stupid at all. We will turn that image into reality. It will be my pleasure and privilege to help you.’

They talked of all their dreams and passions, of their favourite things, their phobias; all the little things that made them who they were. They stepped out of reality and created a self-contained world, running on their own timetable with their own rules.

Ben went to school during the day, but Maddy made sure she was there for him in the mornings and when he got home. Sometimes Alexandre would join them and sometimes he would retire downstairs and leave them to it. It was as near perfect as it could be.

Alexandre had not needed to consider his relationship with Madison any further. She was his life and there was no turning away from her. All thoughts of honour, respect and propriety were silenced with kisses. But kissing was as far as they had taken things and they were happy with this for now. Just touching each other’s skin was enough, sending currents of desire pulsing through their bodies.

They were in awe of each other; every inch was fascinating and beautiful. From eyelash to shoulder, from cheekbone to hip, earlobe to pale thigh, it was all compelling and irresistible.

Esther had not been at the house for ten days now and Madison was brought back to earth with boring practical issues. She desperately needed to get some shopping.

‘We’ve got no milk for Ben’s cereal tomorrow,’ Maddy observed, peering into the empty fridge. ‘In fact we haven’t got a lot of anything. I might head into Tetbury and get some bits to keep us going till Esther gets back. Oh, I wish she didn’t have to come back. But even though I hate to say it, me and Ben really need the old bag.’

‘She is not as bad as you suggest, Madison. She is always very courteous towards me.’

‘Yeah well that’s ‘cos you’re a hot looking vampire.’

‘This is true.’

‘I actually think she hates me.’

‘Do not be ridiculous. Why should she hate you? You are her employer, but you do not treat her as such. She just goes her own merry way around the place. I should think she likes you very much.’

‘Well anyway, whether she loves me or hates me, she won’t be back for three more days, so I don’t have to think about her. Is there anything you want from the supermarket?’

‘Wait until sundown and I will come with you,’ he said, putting his arms around her and pulling her close with a lazy smile.

‘The one in Tetbury closes in half-an-hour,’ she replied, kissing the side of his jaw. ‘But if we go to the big Tesco, we can go for a drink after. Well, I can have a drink and you can just pretend.’

‘There is a quaint public house in the valley not too far from here,’ Alexandre replied, his thumb stroking the soft skin on her back, underneath her top. ‘The New Inn, I believe it is called. We can go there.’

‘It’s a date.’

They decided to go to the pub first. The New Inn lay nestled at the base of a steep-sided valley and Madison had to negotiate her way down The Devil’s Elbow, a particularly narrow country lane with blind-cornered hairpin bends and steep gradients.

Eventually they reached a picture-book Cotswold stone building with a swinging sign proclaiming it to be The New Inn, and Maddy eventually found a space in the car park. The cosy bar was surprisingly busy considering the difficulty it took to reach this out-of-the-way spot. The sharp tang of warm beer hit her nostrils and Maddy instantly craved a packet of salt and vinegar crisps.

‘And can I have a lime and water too?’ she asked, sitting at a corner table that had just been vacated. Unsurprisingly, the barmaid served Alexandre within two seconds of spotting him at the bar. He headed back to Maddy with the drinks and crisps, putting them onto the table. A rotund woman walked up behind him, picked their drinks up and placed them back down with a loud bang onto a couple of coasters.

‘That’s what those are for!’ she said and went on her way, scowling at the customers who all laughed at her ill humour.

‘Don’t mind Polly,’ a middle-aged man said to Maddy and Alex, smiling at their surprised faces. ‘She’s the landlady and this is her on a good day.’

‘Shall we sit outside?’ Maddy asked Alexandre, who was taken aback by the woman’s rudeness. He nodded and they went out into the garden.

The hills stretched upwards on all sides, topped by fuzzy green woods and an indigo sky. In the long narrow garden, tables were dotted amongst trees and flowers. Lanterns and fairy lights hung prettily from branches and tantalizing garlicky smells emanated from the kitchen. A low buzz of chatter merged with the occasional swish of the wind through the leaves and an owl hooted in the distance.

Madison and Alexandre sat down, their fingers wet from their glasses, entwined across the faded table.

‘Isobel and Jacques will adore you,’ Alexandre said.

‘How d’you know? They might not like me at all. I might not be good enough for their big brother.’

‘Believe me, they will think you are wonderful. Isobel will be picking your brains about all the current fashions and Jacques will be awed by your modern beauty.’

Madison laughed. ‘Awed by my beauty? I like that.’

‘I wonder what to do about them. I miss them so much, but I am too scared to experiment with their lives. To expose them to daylight is a terrifying thought.’

‘I can’t imagine what you must be going through. If it was Ben, I’d be going insane.’

‘They would like this Inn. They are very sociable and always love to be around people. But we would never have frequented this type of establishment in France, in my time.’

‘I love it here too,’ Madison said, looking around at the dark green scenery. ‘Even with the scariest landlady in the world. How did you even know about this place?’

‘I know all the places around here, every nook and cranny within, maybe a fifty mile radius. It does not take me long to travel.’

‘Well that’s handy for us. You can scout out all the best places to take a girl. But we’d better not stay too long. I don’t like leaving Ben all alone at night. Maybe just half-an-hour or so here, and then we’ll do a quick shop, if that’s okay?’

Alexandre nodded and kissed the inside of her wrist.

One hour later Madison was stuffing groceries into a trolley under the uniform glare of the supermarket lights. Alexandre marvelled at the convenience of everything.

‘Alas, it is no good to me now,’ he said.

‘What would actually happen if you did eat something? I mean, a bit of bread or cheese couldn’t hurt you could it?’

‘It would be like me asking you to eat a piece of cotton or chew on a sheet of paper. Not so appealing, no?’

‘Might be alright with a bit of jam.’

Alexandre suddenly felt edgy.

‘You okay?’ Madison asked.

‘You carry on here. I will return in a moment.’

All evening, Alexandre had felt something was not quite right. He had dismissed his fears, telling himself it was because he had not left the grounds of Marchwood since the nightclub episode. But he could no longer ignore the feeling that they were being followed by somebody at a distance, maybe two people. Here in the supermarket, he felt a closer presence. Someone was definitely aware of him.

He stood outside the large building and scanned the near-empty car park. A man walked slowly towards him. Alexandre approached him at a normal walking pace and the man smiled nervously as Alexandre stopped in front of him. He looked to be in his twenties, scruffy and unshaven. Alexandre could tell he felt uneasy, despite the fact he was grinning inanely.

‘I know what you are,’ the man said to Alexandre. He looked around as if he thought someone might be watching him and Alexandre followed his line of sight, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

‘Who are you?’ Alex asked.

‘Umm, I know what you are,’ the man repeated. ‘You’re a …’ He looked around again and then back at Alexandre. ‘You’re a vampire.’ The man smiled again and laughed nervously as if he had said something ridiculous.

Alexandre grabbed the man by the throat and flew forwards, slamming him into a recycling bin on the far side of the car park. The man was badly winded and gasped for breath, shocked.

‘Who are you?’ Alexandre asked again, increasing pressure on the man’s throat.

‘I’m no one,’ the man gasped. ‘I don’t know who you are, I swear!’

‘Why did you say what you said?’ Alexandre sounded calm, but inside his mind was speeding.

‘Some guy ...’ the man whispered. ‘Can you …’ He pointed to his throat. Alexandre eased the pressure off slightly. ‘Some guy gave me a hundred quid to say those things to you. I don’t know what the …’

‘What guy?’

‘I don’t know, just some random ...’

‘What. Guy?’ Alexandre narrowed his eyes and put his face up close to the terrified man.

‘I swear I don’t know,’ the man spoke quickly. ‘Just some random guy came up to me when I was on my way back to the car. Posh bloke in a suit. Offered me the money to ask you the question. On my life, man. On my life! Please don’t hurt me. I didn’t do nothing, I swear, I swear.’ He was almost in tears. ‘Here, look.’ He took a wad of crumpled notes out of his pocket and thrust it towards Alexandre. ‘The hundred he gave me. You can count it. You can take it!’

Alexandre thought quickly. If what he said was true, then someone might be watching him right now and he would have seen him behaving in a very un-human fashion. Damn it to hell!  He released the man, ignoring the money he was trying to give him. He believed his story.

The man sank down on to the floor in front of the recycling bin. Alexandre left him there, choking and gasping for breath. He walked back towards the supermarket, worrying for Madison’s safety. If someone was watching him, they might also be watching her. He couldn’t sense anyone else, but didn’t want to take any chances. He broke into a run, careful not to move abnormally fast. The security guard on the door stopped him on the way in.

‘Slow down, mate. Don’t want any accidents.’

Alexandre nodded and walked quickly, straight to Madison who had just finished paying for the shopping. He picked up the carrier bags and propelled her out of the store.

‘What’s up?’ she asked. ‘What are you doing, Alex? Is something wrong?’

‘Let us get out here and I will tell you.’

Madison almost crashed the car when Alexandre explained what had just occurred.

‘Who was he? You sure he was telling the truth?’ She pulled the vehicle over to the side of the road.

‘I am certain of it. He was too scared to lie.’

‘But this is too freaky. Do you think someone’s watching us? Is someone following us now?’

‘There are no vehicles behind us and I do not sense anybody in the vicinity.’

‘You know,’ Madison said. ‘It could’ve just been a stupid prank. His mates might’ve got him to ask you for a dare or something.’

‘No. It was more than that. Much as I would like you to be right. It was something else. He was being truthful. But I will find out who is behind this.’

When they reached home Alexandre was on heightened alert and they both found it hard to relax. They felt invaded and uncomfortable and there seemed to be nothing they could do to find out who was behind it. Madison still wasn’t entirely convinced there was anything sinister at all behind it.

‘How could anybody know anything about what you are?’ she asked. They sat at the kitchen table, the shopping still unpacked. Alexandre’s expression was grim. ‘I mean, I haven’t told anyone about you, neither has Ben. The only other people who know you’re here are Esther and Morris, and they don’t know what you are. I wouldn’t think anything like that would even cross their minds.’ She thought for a minute.

‘Quite a few people in The Glasshouse saw you that night. Maybe that’s it. Maybe it was someone from the club and they thought you were too strong to be normal. But the bloke in the supermarket asked if you were a vampire. How would he have known … Oh, I don’t know.’

‘All we are doing is guessing,’ Alex said. ‘We are at a disadvantage. We do not know anything. I will go out every night. I will scour the area and keep my senses sharp. I will find out who is so interested in me. I only hope they do not know of the others.’

Madison felt mild panic. Whoever was behind this (if anyone at all), they were taking Alexandre’s attention from her, spoiling their time together. She had just enjoyed the best days of her life and tonight he was so preoccupied he couldn’t concentrate on anything else, let alone her. Please let all this crap die down. She hoped it was just a stupid dare that meant nothing; that in time it would be forgotten and they could just go back to living their lives in peace.

The following evening, Alexandre kissed Madison briefly. ‘I will see you tomorrow,’ he said.

‘But where are you ...’

He disappeared into the dark night.

‘... going?’

*

Alexandre was angry with himself for being so shaken up by the encounter in the car park. He knew he could take care of himself and was not scared by any threat to his safety, he was just livid someone had tried to do something so underhand. He did not understand such cowardly behaviour. He abhorred it.

Just as those two men in the nightclub had not mattered one jot to him, conversely, this supermarket episode had crawled under his skin. He circled the house and satisfied himself there was nobody watching or lurking around the grounds. He visited the local villages and towns and listened to chatter in the bars, alehouses and streets. He walked along the busiest routes and lingered on park benches. He returned to the supermarket. He sensed nothing. All was silence. But still he could not rest.

Madison watched some television with Ben, she chewed her nails, she sat out in the garden and then she came back inside. She made herself a snack, but didn’t eat it. She snapped at Ben and then she finally went upstairs to bed, but she didn’t sleep properly.

Some time in the early hours of the morning, Maddy dreamed she was flying. It felt wonderful, she was free and unfettered and then suddenly she fell, plummeting down to earth. The wind rushed past her and she knew she wouldn’t make it. She tried to scream but no noise came out. She fell backwards, looking up at the black starless sky and then, as she was about to hit the ground, she woke up.

Maddy lay there staring up at the ceiling, uneasy. She worried about Alexandre. He had been badly affected by the man in the supermarket, much worse than the nightclub incident. She padded down the stairs to check on him. He lay on his bed, hands behind his head.

‘How you doing?’ she asked.

‘I found out nothing. I heard nothing. Nobody tracked me and nobody approached me.’

‘Well that’s a good thing.’

‘I know something is not right. I know.’ He continued to lie there and Madison felt like she was intruding.

‘Do you want to be on your own?’ she asked in a small voice.

Alexandre did not reply. He just pulled her to him and she lay with her head on his chest as he brooded in silence.

That night he went out again. And the following night. And the following night. Maddy felt like she would go mad with longing for him. She was at a complete loss, annoyed with herself for feeling like this and annoyed with him for abandoning her. She thought he was on a wild goose chase and resented his attention being elsewhere. She hoped he’d soon realise no one was out to get him and that he would finally relax and enjoy his life with her once more.

*

‘God, Mads, why are you so moody?’ Ben asked.

‘Not moody.’

‘Whatever you say, sis. I’ll be back lunchtime. Last day of term today.’

‘Have fun,’ she said in a monotone voice.

‘Sounds like I’ll be having more fun than you anyway. See ya later, alligator.’

‘Whatever, crocodile.’

Alexandre had been out every night that week and was becoming more and more withdrawn, shrinking into himself. She felt like they were losing their connection. The easy closeness they had shared was unravelling and it frightened her more than any outside threat.

Alexandre came into the kitchen. He still looked fresh and unblemished, but Madison noticed the tension behind his eyes. He sat next to her and kissed her hand, but it was more an automatic gesture than anything romantic.

Esther walked in with the morning’s post and laid it on the kitchen table.

‘Lovely day outside,’ she commented. ‘Only you’d never know it in here. God only knows why you never open them shutters, but I’m sure you got your reasons. Hangover is it? Underage binge drinking I shouldn’t wonder.’

Madison ignored her as usual and picked up the letters on the table.

‘You alright this morning, Alexandre?’ Esther asked.

‘I am very well, Mrs Foxton. And I must thank you for pressing my clothes yesterday.’

‘You’re very welcome young man. Nice to see someone with manners.’

‘Creep,’ Madison said to him, half-joking, half-not.

‘It’s not a matter of being a creep,’ Esther said. ‘It’s about showing appreciation. He’s been brought up with nice manners.’

‘Not like me, you mean.’

‘Now, now. I didn’t say that and I’m not comparing or complaining. I’m just complimenting him on his manners is all.’

‘Bloody hell!’ exclaimed Madison. ‘What’s this?’

As she was flipping through the post she had come across a cream envelope. She stared at it in disbelief. ‘Who’s this from, Alex?’ She showed him the envelope. On it was written in beautiful inked copperplate lettering:

~

Alexandre

~

It had no stamp which meant it had been hand delivered. He looked at the front of the envelope with a frown.

‘I do not know. Nobody knows I am here. I know nobody who would send me a letter. Come.’ He held out his hand to lead her downstairs into the privacy of his lounge. They sat together as he tore through the thick envelope. He shook out a note, written on a piece of stiff cream card. It read:

Sir,

I would be grateful if you would meet with me tonight.

We may be able to help one another.

Stinchcombe Hill, 11pm

A friend

~

‘Who’s it from?’ Madison asked.

‘I have no idea.’

‘Do you think it’s something to do with what happened the other night?’

‘It could be.’ He nodded slowly.

‘It might be some kind of trap though. It could be dangerous.’

‘It will be more dangerous for them than for me,’ Alexandre said, looking up at her. ‘I will have to go Madison.’

‘I really don’t think you should. You don’t know what kind of nutter wrote that note and I’m scared for you.’

‘I will be perfectly fine.’

‘And what do they mean by ‘we may be able to help one another’? Help one another with what?’

‘I do not know. But there is only one way to find out.’ He stared at the piece of card until the swirling words blurred in front of his eyes.

Chapter Twenty Seven

*

Ben came home at lunchtime with two of his mates and they were going to spend their first afternoon of summer holiday freedom, mountain biking in the woods. Maddy gave them some sandwiches and waved them off absentmindedly, too distracted and upset to talk properly.

The day went by too quickly. The hours felt like seconds as she tried to keep her panic under control. She had lost too many people in her life and she felt physically sick at the thought of anyone trying to harm Alexandre. She knew he was strong, almost indestructible, but if this person knew he was a vampire, they might also know his weakness. She had to try again to talk him out of it.

Just as she had made up her mind to go downstairs and see him, the cellar door opened and his brooding face appeared. He smiled at her, but the smile stopped before it reached his eyes.

‘You looked so stressed,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you just ignore that stupid letter? It’s not even worth thinking about.’

‘And if I ignore it, do you think that will be it? Do you think they will leave me alone?’

‘Yeah. I do actually. I think if you ignore it, they’ll go away. They’re obviously too scared to come and see you face-to-face. What makes you think they’ll even be there tonight? They might have paid someone to try to hurt you, or worse …’

‘This kind of talk is not helping, Madison. I am going to go and see what it is all about and then hopefully we can return to what normality we have.’

‘What if I beg you not to go?’ Madison asked jokily, but she heard the edge of desperation in her voice.

‘Please do not worry so.’ Alexandre’s voice softened and he led her out of the kitchen into the dark lounge. He switched on a table lamp and they sat together on the sofa. ‘Nothing is going to happen to me. It is just a meeting.’

‘Okay,’ she replied, unconvinced.

That evening, Alexandre dressed sharply in a dark navy suit, white shirt and tie. He still could not get used to the casual style of clothes that Madison insisted was perfectly normal. She said people only wore suits for office jobs, weddings and funerals. But the scheduled meeting had unnerved him and he felt more confident in this attire, more himself.

‘But it’s only just after nine o’clock,’ Madison said. ‘The meeting isn’t till eleven.’

‘I need to survey the area first. I want to see if I can spot anything untoward.’

‘That’s a good idea I suppose. I feel so useless. I wish I could do something to help.’

‘It would help me a great deal if I knew you were not at home worrying about me.’

‘That’s like asking me not to breathe.’

He laughed and kissed her. She responded urgently, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his neck. He peeled her away from him, kissed her one last time and disappeared.

*

Stinchcombe Hill was a large grassy promontory on the edge of the Cotswolds, looking out over miles of hills, forests and rivers. A winding road led up from the valley below and several cars had parked on the top. People walked their dogs and a gaggle of youths sprawled on the grass, chatting. A middle-aged couple sat in their car, drinking from a flask and an old gentleman sat alone on a wooden bench.

Alexandre was already familiar with the place and he followed the spine of the hill, looking and listening for anything unusual. Still only a quarter past nine, he did not expect to see the person he was meeting until a lot later. He heard a couple of cars leave, but no one else arrived. He quickly circled the woods that crouched in the hollow below the hill and then he returned to the car park.

The couple in the car had gone, as had most of the dog walkers. The only people left were the teenagers, the elderly gentleman and a man training a couple of energetic young border collies.

Alexandre sat on a bench further along the ridge and stared out at the winking lights below. He saw the blurred red and white beams of fast-moving traffic, the dark green shapes of sleeping hillsides and the silver stripe of a wide river, far off towards the Welsh mountains. It was a peaceful place and he envied the small group of boisterous youths who were enjoying being carefree in beautiful surroundings with nothing heavier on their minds than love and harmless fun.

Alert to his surroundings, he heard rabbits nibbling the grass and sensed the fox making a move on its prey. He saw the owl in the tree and the scurrying mouse running in vain. No more cars arrived. The man and his dogs left. The teenagers lounged. The elderly gentleman sat. Time ticked on.

The warm July wind teased the grass and briefly troubled the trees. A thin sliver of moon glinted like an unsheathed scimitar in the sky. The elderly gentleman rose from his seat and walked towards the four remaining cars. He passed Alexandre.

‘Good evening,’ the man doffed his brown fedora, displaying a full head of white hair.

‘Good evening,’ Alexandre replied.

The man hesitated. ‘Alexandre?’

Alex snapped his head up to look at the man, who smiled gently back with a look of ... apology?’

‘You. You are he?’ Alexandre stood. ‘You sent me the note?’

‘Yes, it was I who sent you the note. And I do apologise for the cloak and dagger way in which I got you to meet me here.’

Alexandre appraised the man. He must have been in his mid to late seventies. He seemed in good health, handsome and well-dressed in an expensive suit. He was tall and fairly upright, but with a walking cane. He was undoubtedly human, unarmed and unthreatening. Alexandre sensed no other people in the vicinity, apart from the youths who were some way off, oblivious to anything but themselves.

‘Please explain why you thought this was necessary,’ Alexandre said, sitting back down on the bench. The man openly appraised Alexandre.

‘You are magnificent!’ he exhaled. ‘Absolutely extraordinary. I cannot believe I am actually in your presence. May I?’ The man pointed to a spare section of the bench that Alexandre sat on.

Alexandre hesitated and then nodded once. The man sat down heavily next to him. ‘You do not know how long I have waited to have this conversation,’ he continued.

‘And so is that what this is all about?’ Alexandre said. ‘Satisfying your curiosity? Am I some circus turn you might stare and prod at?’ He felt an indignant fury. ‘I did not come here to be admired or to be complimented. Speak quickly for I have a mind to leave at once.’

‘Please do not. I am sorry if I have offended you. It is just … I am somewhat overawed by your presence.’

‘Sir!’ Alexandre’s patience was stretching.

‘I believe I can help you. My name is Winston Blythe and I would like to show you something.’

He pulled something from his inside jacket pocket. It was a recent colour photograph. Alexandre took the picture. It was a picture of someone lying on a bed. A man in his early thirties. He was asleep, dressed in a style of clothing dating from Alexandre’s era or maybe a little more old fashioned.

He reminded Alexandre of someone, or of something. Yes. He looked like the sleeping forms of the others: of Isobel, Jacques, Leonora and Freddie. He looked like a statue, like a vampire.

Blythe stared intently at Alexandre’s face, waiting.

‘You recognise the condition.’

‘A vampire,’ Alexandre said. ‘Who is he?’

‘He is my great grandfather,’ Blythe replied. ‘I never even knew him. He’s been asleep for one hundred and forty six years. It is my family’s tragedy. Our skeleton in the closet, so to speak.’

‘I must admit I am surprised,’ Alexandre said. ‘This is the last thing I expected.’

‘I also have two confessions to make to you,’ Blythe said. ‘And I am more than a little nervous about telling you. But I trust you will understand why I did it and I hope you can forgive me.’

‘It was you then? Who paid that man in the supermarket car park?’ Alexandre asked, already knowing the answer.

‘I’m sorry. Yes it was. You see I had to be sure you really were who I thought you were. I felt terrible about that poor fellow. He must have had the shock of his life.’

‘You said you had two confessions.’

‘Aah, yes. Now this one I am a little more ashamed of and you must believe me it wasn’t meant to get so out of hand. My employees took it much too far. But it was ultimately my doing - that fracas you got into at the nightclub …’

‘That was you?’ Alexandre stood up angrily. ‘Why on earth would you want to insult my companion and have two scoundrels attack me?’

‘None of that was supposed to happen,’ Blythe sighed and stood up, leaning heavily on his cane. ‘I told them I needed a sample of your hair to test. They assured me they would get it with the minimum of fuss, but as it turned out, they got it with the very maximum of fuss.’

‘My hair? Why would you need my hair?’

‘We are trying to find a cure for the sleeping sickness my great grandfather contracted. You have overcome the sickness and I thought your DNA might shed some light on how you recovered. I needed the hair for analysis. To see if it would yield any answers. But alas, it was a fruitless effort. Your cells regenerate so quickly they leave no trace of trauma. Your hair is healthy. No clues were left as to what occurred previously.’

‘DNA?’ Alexandre asked.

‘Deoxyribonucleic acid. In short, your cells contain a nucleic acid that houses genetic instructions for all living organisms. A blueprint for life, if you like.’

‘But why did you not just approach me in the first place and eliminate all this secrecy? You could merely have sent me the note in the first instance.’

‘Well yes, in hindsight that would have been a much better way to approach things. But I didn’t want to involve you or disrupt your life in any way. I wanted just to establish that you were who I thought you were, find out how you were revived and leave you in peace. Instead I have alarmed you and intruded upon your life. For that I am truly sorry.’

Alexandre thought for a few moments. Blythe seemed sincere enough. He was an elderly man with a plausible story. Alexandre suddenly remembered something.

‘You said we could help each other. How does this help me?’

‘Ah yes. Well the thing is, I know about the others in your cellar.’

Alexandre grabbed Winston by the throat.

‘Who are you?’ he growled. ‘How do you know about me and the others? How do you know I was asleep? That I woke up? Start talking. I want answers, old man. I have no patience for games and I am suddenly angry.’

Winston Blythe faltered and dropped his cane. Alexandre pushed him down onto the bench where he sat, dazed and apprehensive.

‘Talk quickly,’ Alexandre said.

‘I … I am a partner in an old established firm. We have been monitoring Marchwood House for a number of years and we knew there were five of you who were dormant. We are actually a firm of solicitors. Our name is Hamilton Blythe. I am Winston Blythe, a partner in the firm.’

‘So you are the firm who looked after the house before Madison inherited.’

‘That is correct.’

‘You knew of our existence there, but you left us alone. Why?’

‘As I said before, I did not wish to disturb you in any way. I just want to help my great grandfather.’

‘And is this really your great grandfather?’ Alex thrust the photograph in front of the solicitor’s face. ‘Or was that just a lie to soften things up?’

Blythe took it with a shaking hand.

‘It is true. I am not lying to you. I am trying to be scrupulously honest. Maybe too honest for my own damn good. When it came to our attention one of you had awoken, well we were excited. You may hold the key to reviving my relative.

‘There are no other conscious vampires in the world. As far as we know they all succumbed to this disease many years ago. I have so many questions to ask you, but the most important one is how you came to be awake. If you tell me this, I am sure I can help you to revive the others. We have a controlled environment and specialist equipment to ensure no harm comes to them. Will you at least consider enlightening me?’

‘I have to think,’ Alexandre said brusquely. He left Winston Blythe on the bench and travelled a mile or so along the ridge until he felt calmer. He reviewed the information in his mind.

He had to ask himself, did he trust this man? Then he had to weigh up if giving this information to him could be dangerous in any way. But all he could think of was Isobel and the others. This could be a chance to safely revive them. He missed them so much. Winston said it was a disease that affected all of his kind. So those in Cappadocia must have contracted it. That would explain why they had all been half-asleep when they attacked. If they had been fully conscious the whole region would probably have been ravaged by now.

He returned to Blythe who was still sitting on the bench.

‘I didn’t know if you were going to come back,’ the old man said. ‘I realise this is an awful lot of information to absorb. Do you wish to think on it and speak to me at a later date?’

‘I am sorry if I was a little rough with you before. But you took me aback and I am still getting used to my own strength. The others are everything to me and if I thought they were under threat …’

‘It is quite understandable. The others? Are they your family?’

‘Two are my siblings and two are my friends, Harold Swinton’s children.’

‘Aah, Madison Greene’s ancestors! How remarkable.’

‘How do you know for certain you could revive them? What makes you so sure?’

‘I do not know for certain. But I do know we would have an excellent shot at it. We have been researching this for decades and we have experts on hand, the best minds in the world. But I was never willing to try anything too risky to revive my great grandfather. I couldn’t take that chance with his life. I need more solid information.’

‘But this is how I feel about my family. I woke by chance, a pure accident and I am not prepared to recreate those conditions, for it may end up killing them. It is not my place to risk their lives. I suppose I hoped they would awaken naturally.’

‘I am sorry to inform you that will never happen. The disease runs through their bodies, keeping them unconscious, with just the occasional involuntary movement. If you do not intervene in some way, then I’m afraid they will stay that way forever.’

‘So tell me what you propose,’ Alexandre said, sitting next to Blythe and leaning forward.

‘I cannot propose anything without possessing all the facts. If and when you are ready to impart this information, perhaps you would contact me.’ Blythe stood up and handed Alexandre his card. ‘It was an interesting evening. Thank you for coming. I do appreciate you giving an old man some of your time.’ He began to walk back to his car.

Alexandre had not expected him to leave so abruptly. ‘Wait!’

Winston Blythe turned to look at him and Alexandre made a decision.

‘I will tell you what happened to revive me. I will tell you. If there is the smallest chance for the others then I must take it.’

Alexandre told him everything.

*

‘You did what?’ Madison asked. ‘I can’t believe you told a complete stranger all about yourself. It’s just not like you.’

Alexandre had returned home to find Madison asleep in the lounge. He looked at her features, so calm in sleep and he felt a wash of love and desire for her. He also felt a twinge of guilt at the way he had abandoned her every night this week. He knew she had been sad at his disappearances and thought him paranoid and over-cautious. She had told him not to worry, that nobody was out to get him and in a way she had been right. He would make it up to her. He wanted to make it up to her, to spend time with her and do all those things they had planned. Once he had his family back, they could all be together and he and Madison would have all the time in the world to be in love.

But when he told her about Winston Blythe, she looked at him as if he was completely mad.

‘Madison, if it were your brother, what would you have done?’ he asked, willing her to understand.

‘I know what I wouldn’t have done. I wouldn’t have told a nosy old git my business.’

‘You are being obtuse.’

‘Dunno what that means, but please don’t call me it again. All I’m doing is worrying about you. If that’s a crime then shoot me.’

‘I appreciate your worry and your concern, but it is unnecessary. You did not meet this man. His great grandfather is a vampire, which makes him sympathetic to us. Do you not see? This is my opportunity to try to revive them. I have to at least try. This is the safest option. The only option.’

‘Alex, I dunno what it was like when you were human, but nowadays, you can’t trust people. There are so many nutters and con merchants around, real scum, you know? People doing stuff you wouldn’t believe if you read about it. This bloke could be anyone. Even if he is who he says he is and he owns Hamilton Blythe, still doesn’t mean he’s straight up. Those rich blokes, they’re the biggest arseholes of the lot.’

‘Madison, stop. I know what you are saying and I love you for it, but I am doing this.’

‘Fine.’

*

Madison had gone to bed in the worst mood. She couldn’t believe Alexandre had trusted a stranger with his secrets. She had dozed on and off, feeling exhausted and slightly delirious from so many broken nights sleep. She now sat up in bed - knees bent, pillows propped up behind her - looking across at the open French windows and the stone balcony. She would have to close the shutters soon before the morning sun cast its rays into the room.

She saw the outline of the trees and thin wisps of pale clouds against a black sky. Thank goodness Ben didn’t know about all this. He was happy in summer-holiday mode, unaware of any drama or tension. That was the benefit of living at different ends of the day.

And what about her and Alex? Only days ago, they’d been so close and now they were at completely opposite ends of the spectrum. Why couldn’t he see how dangerous this was? For all of them. She wondered if Vasey-Smith was involved. She had half a mind to call him, but what would she even say?

And then she suddenly realised something that outraged her – Hamilton Blythe had known about the vampires in the house but they’d still allowed a sixteen-year-old girl and a twelve-year-old boy to move in here by themselves! Didn’t that say something about the type of people they were? I mean, who in their right mind would let that happen? It made no difference that the vampires were unconscious; it was just an outrageous thing to do.

Madison was also troubled by something else. She didn’t like to admit it, but as well as being concerned for Alexandre’s safety, she was also scared at the prospect of meeting his family and friends - her ancestors. She was terrified in fact. What if they woke up and didn’t like her? What if they didn’t get along and they wanted to leave and take Alexandre with them? Or if they kicked her and Ben out? Everything would change and she could very well lose him.

She didn’t know what she’d do if he left her. She wouldn’t be able to carry on with her life. It would have no meaning. Any which way she looked at things, it could all turn to shit. Yes, she was scared of a lot of things, but losing Alexandre was the worst. She tried to rationalise it all in her mind but there was so much going on in there, she thought her brain might melt. Well, that would solve everything. Then at least I wouldn’t have to think about anything anymore.

Would her life ever follow a steady pattern? She had been allowed a glimpse of heaven for a few precious days. She and Alex were in love, were still in love, but their bliss had been stolen by bloody Winston effing Blythe. She kicked at her covers like a child and folded her arms.

Please God let her be wrong about everything. Let Blythe be the kindest, nicest man on earth. Let him restore Alexandre’s family to him and revive her relatives. Let the other vampires be as wonderful as Alexandre and then they could all live happily ever after. But Madison no longer believed in fairytales. She only believed in promises broken, dreams shattered and shit hitting fans. She could see her life disintegrating like a wet tissue. Please let her be wrong. She slid down under the covers, closed her eyes and tried again to sleep.

*

He would allow her to calm down. He would leave her to sleep tonight and maybe tomorrow she would see he was following the only course of action he could. He needed her to be on his side, to understand why he had trusted this stranger.

Sitting outside on a cane chair with his feet up on a low glass-topped table, Alexandre was on the back terrace below Madison’s bedroom. He looked up at her balcony and smiled as he thought of Romeo and Juliet. The smile left his lips as he remembered how that tale had ended.

Alexandre remained there for the rest of the night, letting his mind drift over everything without really touching upon the details. He had already made up his mind and so there was no point in thinking too deeply. And now sunrise was almost here and the darkness would scatter. He looked out across the ornamental garden to the woods beyond, where a faint glow could be anticipated.

He always felt melancholy as night ended and dawn approached, like he was clinging desperately onto the remnants of something he didn’t even want.

Chapter Twenty Eight

*

The following morning, Alexandre inched opened Madison’s door. Good, the shutters were closed and all lay in darkness. He climbed into bed without a noise and stared at her; his fiery modern girl. He loved her spirit even though it sometimes exasperated him. At least he knew exactly what she thought. She did not play silly games or make him guess at what she wanted from him. She told him in a straightforward manner. She was his equal. And yet here, asleep, she looked so sweet and mild-mannered, so ...

‘Are you staring at me again while I’m asleep, Alex?’ she asked, her eyes still closed.

‘And if I am?’

She opened her eyes and smiled sleepily.

‘I apologise,’ he said. ‘I did not mean to wake you. You must be tired.’

‘I’m okay. Still a bit mad at you though.’ She launched straight into what was on her mind. ‘You do realise that Blythe geezer let me and Ben move in here, knowing you vampires were down in the cellar.’ She propped herself up on one elbow.

‘But we were hidden away and unconscious.’

‘Yeah, but so what? You’re still vampires. He didn’t know you weren’t like those other ones.’

‘Madison, I thought that was all in the past. Are you not glad we found each other? Do you wish I were not here?’

‘Of course not! I love you, Alex. All I’m saying is he’s the type of bloke who doesn’t care about me or Ben or you. He just thinks about what he wants and you better hope it don’t clash with what you want.’

‘I see you are still as much against this idea as you were last night.’

‘What? Did you think I’d sleep on it and come round to your way of thinking in the morning? Sorry to disappoint.’

‘Oh, I cannot talk to you. This is impossible.’ He stood up and strode towards the door.

‘So you’re leaving now are you?’ She sat up. ‘Just because you don’t want to hear what I’ve got to say.’

He turned to look at her and Madison thought for the millionth time how his face could make her weak with wanting. Why on earth was she fighting with him?

‘It is not your decision, Madison. It is mine and it was not an easy one to make. I just want your support.’

‘You have got my support. You’ll always have my support. It’s because I support you that I don’t want you to make the biggest mistake of your life. If I didn’t care, I’d just say, ‘do what you want’.’ She took a breath and continued speaking, trying to calm down. ‘What is it you’re actually going to do next anyway? What does Blythe want you to do?’

Alexandre turned back from the door and came and sat on the end of the bed. He put his fingers to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

‘I do not yet know. I told him how I was accidentally revived and he said he would take this information back with him. They will consider the best way to proceed and contact me when they have a safe way to awaken the others.’

‘So we’re just waiting then?’ She suddenly wanted to end their disagreement.

‘Yes, just waiting.’

‘So,’ she smiled and tilted her head to one side. ‘What on earth could we do while we’re waiting?’

He looked at her, puzzled.

‘I mean,’ she continued. ‘We could just sit here twiddling our thumbs or ...’

Alexandre smiled. He stood up and came round to where she sat up in bed. He slipped down the strap to her vest top and kissed her bare shoulder. Then he lifted her onto his lap while she wrapped herself around him. They smiled a truce and kissed, and for a short while they forgot about everything else.

Later that morning Alexandre received a telephone call from Winston Blythe.

‘We have decided how it shall be done,’ Blythe said to Alexandre without preamble.

‘Go on.’

‘We can revive your family with ultraviolet light. We can control the exact quantities they are exposed to and can instantly switch it off if it appears to be harming them in any way.’

‘Ultraviolet?’ Alexandre had never heard of it.

‘In your time you may have known it as Chemical Rays emitted by the sun. Nowadays we are able to recreate them using a black light otherwise known as a UV light or ultraviolet.’

‘So this will have the same effect as daylight?’

‘Yes.’

‘And when can we do this?’

‘Whenever you are ready.’

‘I am ready. I miss my family. I want them back.’

‘Perfect. You and the others must come to our laboratories in London. We can arrange safe transportation for you.’

‘Yes. Good. Tonight.’

There was a short pause on the other end of the line before Blythe spoke again. ‘Very well. I will send someone to collect you just after sundown.’

‘Good. Mr Blythe, I am trusting you with their lives and they are more precious to me than all the treasure in the world. Please only do this if you are confident of a successful outcome.’

‘Do not worry, Alexandre. I am more than confident.’

Alexandre put the receiver back in its cradle and walked into the lounge where Madison sat in a deep armchair looking worried. Her face told him she had heard at least part, if not all of his conversation. She felt sick when he confirmed it was going to happen that night.

‘I’m coming with you.’

‘You most certainly are not.’

‘I am. I’ll be going out of my head if I have to wait here.’

‘I do not think Winston Blythe will be ...’

‘Stuff Winston Blythe. I have to come.’

‘If you come, I shall be too worried about you. I will not be able to properly concentrate on what is happening.’

‘Why would you have to worry about me? I thought you said it would be safe, that you could trust him.’

‘I do trust him, but if anything goes wrong I need to be fully focused so I can act quickly if necessary.’

‘Exactly! And I can help you. I could ...’

‘Madison, no. I am sorry, but no.’

‘Alex …’

‘No.’

‘Fine.’ She hugged her knees to her chest and stared into the middle distance. She angrily wiped a tear from her cheek and tried to stop thinking of all the things that could go wrong.

‘Please, do not cry.’ Alexandre knelt in front of her and brushed away a second tear that had dripped onto her other cheek. ‘This time tomorrow I will be home and you can meet Isobel, Jacques, Leonora and Freddie. It will be wonderful, Madison. Please, just try not to worry.’

‘How many times do I have to listen to you say that to me?’

‘This will be the last. After this, our families will be reunited. We will be together and there will be no need to involve anyone from outside. We will be able to relax and to enjoy each other’s company.’

‘Well I’m not happy about it.’

At this last statement, Alexandre gave her a look designed to make her laugh, but she wouldn’t be drawn.

‘It’s not funny, Alex. I’m not laughing.’

‘I know it is not funny, Madison, but I am just trying to make you feel better.’

‘I’ll only feel better if you let me come with you.’

Alexandre did not reply.

Downstairs in his rooms, they readied the others for their journey. Madison paused to study Leonora. She looked so statue-like it was hard to believe she might soon be walking and talking, that she would be alive. And then she and Ben would have proper family of their own. It was a nerve-wracking thought.

She’d heard Leonora was independent and quite formidable. What would she make of Madison and her way of life? She would probably disapprove of a lot of things. It would be like having an eighteen-year-old great-great-great-aunt – weird. And Freddie and Jacques? Well they sounded like a good laugh. Ben would love to have them here. They’d be like older brothers.

She hadn’t told Ben anything of what had been going on. She didn’t want to worry him or raise his hopes. He was better off enjoying his summer holidays without complications. She decided she would only tell him if and when anything happened.

And what about Isobel? Madison got the impression she was quite a girly girl, which was fine. But then she kept forgetting they were all powerful vampires which was more than a bit intimidating. Madison’s sick feeling returned.

Alexandre took a long look at each of them before sealing up their crates. The next time he saw them, they would be moments away from awakening. He would have to help them adjust to their new environment, to cope with the shock and upset of their world disappearing. And Leonora and Freddie would mourn the loss of their father. It would be a traumatic time for everyone.

He knew everything was moving fast, but he could not think about it too much. If he did, he might change his mind and then where would that leave the others? In limbo perhaps forever. No. He was doing the only thing he could. He understood why Madison was upset and sceptical, but he had no doubt she would do exactly the same thing in his situation.

He took the hammer and drove nails into each of the crates, ensuring no light could find its way in. It felt wrong to hide them away again, but he knew he was doing it for the right reasons.

At 9.20pm, a sleek black van pulled up in front of the house. Alexandre opened the door as the driver exited the vehicle. He was a beefy man in a tight-fitting suit. Alexandre also wore a suit. Madison had eventually relented and taken him to a gentleman’s tailor where he had half-a-dozen suits made to measure. He did not care for his casual clothes and they now lay, unworn in the bottom of his wardrobe.

‘Mr Chevalier?’ the man asked in a gruff cockney accent.

Alexandre nodded.

‘Good evening, Sir. I’ve come to take you to Hamilton Blythe.’

Alexandre had already carried the crates upstairs and they were now lined up in the large hallway.

‘Are these going in the back?’ the man bent down to lift one up.

‘Please leave those. I will take them.’

‘It’s no problem, Sir. I can ...’

‘No. I will take them.’

The driver stepped back and watched as Alexandre bent to lift the first of the boxes. Of course, he picked it up as though lifting a scrap of cardboard off the floor. The driver moved aside, a look of grudging admiration skimming his features.

The driver opened the van’s rear doors and Alexandre laid the crates one-by-one on its carpeted floor. The driver jumped up into the back and began securing them with thick straps but Alexandre motioned to him to step outside. He would see to his family. Once satisfied they were completely secure, Alexandre stepped down and walked around to the front of the van, opening up the passenger door. Madison was sitting there.

‘Non!’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she replied.

‘We have talked about this.’

‘Uh, no. You talked about it and I disagreed. I’m coming and you can’t stop me. Everything’s sorted. Ben’s staying at a mate’s for a couple of days. If you don’t let me ride with you, I’ll just follow in the Land Rover. I know where the offices are.’

The driver got into the van, pretending not to hear their conversation. Alexandre shook his head, with a face like thunder. He lifted her out and she began to struggle.

‘I will sit in the middle,’ he said. ‘You can sit on the other side, near the door.’ Madison stopped fighting against him.

‘Thank you,’ she said

The traffic was light and the drive was fast and smooth, taking just under two hours to reach the solicitors’ Marylebone offices. No one engaged in conversation. Madison knew Alexandre was cross with her, but she slipped her small hand into his and he took it. He held it in both his hands, running his thumb gently along her fingers and palm.

She looked chic in a short navy Chloe dress and Alexandre’s eyes were riveted to her slim bare legs. He kept glancing at the driver to make sure he wasn’t looking anywhere near Madison. He was so tense it wouldn’t take much for him to flip. The driver, however, was completely focused on the road. He had obviously been briefed to speak when spoken to and keep his mind on the job and nothing else.

He swung the large vehicle into a concealed entrance which led down a steep ramp to an underground car park. They drove right up to the far end where about thirty or forty vehicles were parked.  The driver pulled up next to a set of large metal double doors and got out of the van. He approached the double doors and pressed a buzzer, speaking into the intercom.

Four men in white coats came through the doors, wheeling wide steel hospital gurneys. Madison and Alexandre exited the van and walked around to meet them. Their driver had started unbuckling the straps which held the crates in place, but as soon as he saw Alexandre’s face, he jumped out of the van and let Alexandre take over.

Alexandre effortlessly lifted the crates onto the gurneys and they followed the white coats through the double doors and along a dimly-lit hospital-like corridor. Madison’s heart hammered against her ribcage. She had a bad feeling about this, but was still glad she had come.

Seconds later, they arrived at a set of lifts. One of the white coats pressed the button and the lift doors opened. Two trolleys were wheeled into one, and two into another. Alexandre did not like this arrangement as he was loathe to let any of the crates out of his sight, but this time he didn’t protest; he just clenched one of his fists and got into the nearest lift.

They descended three floors and Alexandre was put in mind of the underground Cappadocian city all those years ago – of secrets buried deep underground. The doors opened and he was relieved to see the other two gurneys outside the doors. Two smart-suited men waited in the lobby. One of them, Alexandre recognised as Winston Blythe. The other, a younger man, he did not know.

‘Alexandre, welcome,’ Blythe said, extending his hand. Alexandre shook it.

‘This is Madison Greene,’ Alexandre said.

‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Madison,’ Blythe said, with a smile. ‘We weren’t expecting you, but you are very welcome.’

‘Hello,’ she said and then she turned to the other man and fixed him with a glare. It was Vasey-Smith.

‘Madison, how are you?’

‘I’m fine,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘Might’ve been nice you’d warned me I was moving into a houseful of vampires though.’

‘Please,’ Alexandre said softly. ‘Not now, Madison. It is not the time.’

‘Sorry,’ she said to Alexandre and turned away from Vasey-Smith.

Vasey-Smith gave a small shrug and extended his hand to Alexandre. ‘It’s very good to meet you at last. My name is Robert Vasey-Smith.’

Alexandre shook the proffered hand and shook it once.

‘Would you like to follow me,’ Blythe said. ‘I’m sure you’re anxious to get started.’

The small group made their way out of the lobby, along a plush carpeted corridor, lined with a lot of closed doors. One of the gurneys had a squeaky wheel, the only noise in their dimly-lit hushed surroundings. They turned left and then left again.

Alexandre could not shake a sense of déjà vu. Flashbacks of the past. Images of ancient darkened caverns and winding narrow tunnels came unbidden to his mind. Of screams and blood and death. He had to try and concentrate, to focus on the present or he felt like he might lose his mind.

Everything here smelt sterile, of man-made fibres, metal, glass, plastic and cleaning fluids. He realised they were all now standing outside an opaque glass door, waiting whilst Vasey-Smith opened it.

They filed into a vast high-tech room with a wall of glass at one end - a viewing gallery. A bank of padded benches lined the back of the room and several swivel chairs sat in front of a wide console with rows of buttons and levers. The room was dark. The only source of light came from a few glowing buttons on the console and from the brightly lit room on the other side of the glass window. This looked down onto a large area very much like a hospital operating theatre, with a bed surrounded by complicated apparatus and a cylindrical industrial-sized lamp on a long swivel arm.

‘Please sit down.’ Vasey-Smith pointed to the leather benches but Madison and Alexandre remained standing.

‘Leave us please,’ Blythe said to the white coats, who exited the room, leaving the crates there. Blythe turned to Alexandre. ‘Please have a seat while I explain something to you.’ He sat himself on one of the black leather swivel chairs and Alexandre sat next to him. Madison remained standing.

‘As you can see,’ Blythe said. ‘We are all set up and ready to go, but there is one thing we must do before we proceed.’ He paused and looked at Alexandre who did not speak or change his facial expression, but continued to stare intently at the man. Blythe cleared his throat and continued. ‘To put it simply, we need a live subject to determine the level of cell degradation that is acceptable before complete disintegration of the tissue occurs. As long as we can determine this, we can avoid irreversible damage to the others.’

Alexandre immediately grasped what the man was trying to tell him. ‘You want to put me under the UV lamp?’

‘No!’ Madison cried. ‘I knew this was dodgy. We should leave, Alexandre. There’s no way you can go under that light. You’ll die!’

‘I understand your reticence, Miss Greene. And believe me when I say I wish there was another way; but there is not. Without this first step, it will be entirely hit and miss as to whether or not the others survive the exposure. My people assure me they are hopeful Alexandre will not suffer any lasting damage, just some discomfort and it will mean the difference between success and failure.’

‘That’s bullshit-speak for you hope he don’t die and it’s gonna hurt like ...’

‘Madison,’ Alexandre interrupted. ‘It is fine. I do not mind one bit. It will be easy for me to do this. I want to do it if it means there will less of a risk to the others.’

‘But more of a risk for you,’ she said.

Alexandre turned to Winston Blythe. ‘Yes. I am happy to go ahead.’

Vasey-Smith spoke to somebody on a speaker phone and suddenly, the room below started filling up with people in white coats, setting up equipment and switching on monitors.

Madison approached Alexandre and put her hand on his shoulder. ‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘I’m scared. Don’t do it. What if …’

‘Shhh,’ he put his fingers to her lips. ‘You know I have no choice. You know this, so do not protest.’

She let her hands drop to her side, realising he wouldn’t listen to her. Alexandre stood and squared his shoulders.

‘I am ready whenever you are,’ he said to the two men. He bent down and kissed Madison on the lips, having long-since shed his nineteenth century attitudes to public displays of affection. She ran her fingers through his dark hair and they hugged quickly.

‘One thing has just occurred to me,’ Alexandre said to Winston Blythe.

‘Yes?’

‘Before I awoke. Madison told me I drank, first from her and then from her brother. The blood may have fortified me against some of the harmful effects of the light. I think it may be necessary for the others to drink before they are exposed. In fact, I insist upon it.’

‘Very well,’ Winston Blythe said without flinching. ‘I will arrange it.’

Madison was shocked by the calm manner in which the old man had responded to such a gruesome request. She wondered if he would ask for volunteers or force some poor white-coated stooge to submit.

‘Do you also need some for yourself?’ Blythe asked Alexandre.

‘No, I have fed recently.’

A young woman wearing a black suit and glasses came into the room. She ignored Madison and spoke to Alexandre in French.

‘Suivez-moi s'il vous plaît, monsieur.’

Alexandre smiled at her, enjoying the sound of his native tongue.

Madison looked at the woman whose blonde hair was pulled severely off her pretty face in a neat bun. Bitch.

Alexandre turned back to Madison and gave her one last look before he left the room.

‘You may be more comfortable in another room. One where you can’t see what’s happening,’ Vasey-Smith said to her. ‘Alexandre will be fine, but it may not make very pleasant viewing.’

Madison did not reply. She just sat down on one of the swivel chairs and leant back crossing her arms across her chest.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But please let me know if it gets too much and someone will take you next door until it is over.’ Blythe turned to Vasey-Smith. ‘How long will they take to prepare him?’

‘Shouldn’t be too long. His skin will have to be cleaned first, as well as the others.’

Madison felt small and alone, like an unwanted child. A feeling that over the years had become all too familiar.

Chapter Twenty Nine

*

Madison sat in the viewing gallery biting her nails down to the skin. Everybody else acted like she wasn’t even there, which suited her fine. She had nothing to say to these people anyway. She was so scared and so angry. There was a whooshing in her ears and she hoped to God she wouldn’t pass out.

If anything happened to Alexandre what would she do? And if anything happened to her, what would happen to Ben? No, she had to try to stay positive. It was the only option left. Alexandre was doing what he had to do and she respected that decision, she honestly did. She just wished he wasn’t doing it.

She remembered how badly the daylight had affected him all those months ago, when she’d dragged his crate outside under the setting sun. He’d gone through excruciating agony, feeling weakened and half-dead, but then he’d recovered almost immediately. The sun had acted like an electric shock to his system, kick starting him back to life and killing the disease in his cells. Would it really work on the others?

She looked and saw there must have been about twenty people down in that room now, but still no sign of Alexandre or the others.

*

Alexandre followed the French woman out into the hall and down the corridor. They descended a set of steps and turned right into a small room where two men waited.

‘These men will wash you,’ she said in his native language.

‘I think I am capable of washing myself.’

‘I’m sorry. It’s a necessary part of the preparation. You must be cleaned thoroughly.’

‘Very well.’

‘Your clothes,’ she said.

‘What, here?’

She nodded.

He stripped off his clothes and let the men lead him into a large shower cubicle. He stood, feeling humiliated and slightly ridiculous. One of the men pressed a round chrome button and about twenty jets of hot water hit his body from all angles. The men stood at a short distance with long brushes. They squirted some foul smelling liquid onto the bristles and scrubbed at his steaming body. The jets were powerful and the brushes were coarse. His body tingled as hot water ran down his face and body in soapy rivulets.

When he was done, he stepped out of the cubicle and the men pointed to a small chamber. Alexandre hesitantly stepped inside. He heard a loud humming whoosh and warm air swirled around his body, drying his wet skin. After a minute or two, the dryer stopped and he left the chamber.

The two men had gone, but the French woman still remained. She handed him a cotton robe. He heard a male voice behind him.

‘Good evening. I am Dr Rasheed.’

He turned around to see a Middle Eastern man in a white coat. ‘I just need to take a few measurements from you,’ the man said.

Alexandre could sense fear from the man. He spent the next few minutes being weighed, measured, poked, prodded and tested by the young doctor. He grew impatient. Surely this was not necessary. But he did not speak, he was too wired.

He felt the thirst come over him and thought how wonderful it would be to drink from this white-coated man, in such tantalisingly close proximity. Perhaps he should have taken Blythe up on his offer to feed. No, he would be fine. He was just unsettled by all this detached examination of his body, worried about the pain he was about to endure, but most of all, terrified that his brother and sister might not make it. That they might leave him to face his immortality without them.

At last the testing appeared to be over and Alexandre followed the doctor through a thick metal door into the brightly lit theatre. He squinted up and saw the dark glass of the viewing gallery, but he could not see through the window into the unlit room. He knew Madison would be watching closely and he hoped, for her sake, he would not have to endure too much pain.

The doctor removed Alexandre’s robe and asked him to lie on the raised metal bed. He was completely naked and his hard muscled flesh looked like marble. He lay down in one graceful fluid movement and thought of his family. His wonderful family whom he would see shortly.

The white lights in the room clicked off one by one until there was just an echoing silence in the darkened room. A small single spotlight highlighted Alexandre’s face and torso. He was connected up to all sorts of monitors, his arms and legs strapped down to keep him in place. He stared up at the dark ceiling.

The other staff had left the room and now just four doctors surrounded his bed. Their faces looked eerie in the reflected light, as they fiddled with the illuminated dials on a large square machine. The red light on a video camera glowed up high in the corner of the room.

He had never felt so vulnerable in his life. A combination of being naked in front of strangers in an unfamiliar place and knowing he was about to experience insanity-inducing amounts of pain.

‘We are about to begin,’ Dr Rasheed said to Alexandre. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes,’ he replied, clenching his fists and curling his toes in preparation for the onslaught.

He heard a low hum and pop and the innocuous metal light was switched on casting a luminescent blue wash over the area. The effect was instantaneous. Alexandre’s white flesh began to glow and steam. He cried out in agony and tried to curl up into a ball to protect himself, but they had strapped him down too tightly and the pain had sapped his usual strength.

Almost immediately, the light was switched off and his body began to heal itself, the blistered skin instantly regenerating before the doctors’ eyes. They frantically made notes, viewed monitors and readjusted equipment.

‘Ready to go again?’ Dr Rasheed asked.

Alexandre nodded, but he felt far from ready. His body was on fire. It had been worse than he had remembered. Last time he had been unconscious and only half-aware of what was going on, half-aware of the pain. But this time he was fully awake and all too conscious of every burning fibre in his body. It felt like being set alight from the inside.

He tried to focus on images of his brother and his sister, but all thoughts of them were obliterated by the next white-hot bath of fire. He screamed, not caring about anything other than the need to make it stop. He was surely about to die. Then the blissful coolness came as his body regenerated once more. Raw weals returning to marble white skin. Charred flesh healing, knitting itself back together.

Up in the viewing gallery, Madison was hysterical. She banged on the glass with her fists and screamed at them to stop.

‘Do something!’ she yelled at Vasey-Smith. ‘They’re killing him! How can you just sit there and watch? This is worse than when he woke up at home. The lights are too powerful.’

‘Look,’ said Blythe. He came over to her and put his arm around her shoulder, pointing down into the theatre. ‘Look at your Alexandre. He is fine. See.’

When Madison looked, she saw the UV lamp was now off and his flesh was indeed healing.

‘Is that it then?’ she asked hopefully. ‘Have they finished with him?’

‘Nearly,’ Blythe replied. ‘You may wish to look away now, child.’

She ignored his advice and looked down once more as they switched on the lamp for the third time. This time his body looked like it was disintegrating and they turned off the lamp almost instantly.

‘Alex! Alexandre!’ she sobbed. She banged on the glass, which just flexed uselessly under her fists. ‘No more! He can’t take any more. You’ve gone too far. He won’t survive.’

‘Madison, look,’ Blythe said. He was smiling in amazement and Madison hated him for it. She looked down again and saw Alex’s body had almost returned to normal.

‘But that is incredible,’ Blythe exhaled. ‘Remarkable. If I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes I would never have …’

‘Oh shut up!’ Madison turned to him. ‘Yes, remarkable, incredible,’ she mimicked him. ‘That’s somebody’s life you’re playing with. He’s not here so you can get your rocks off.’

Vasey-Smith spoke. ‘Madison, Alexandre knew the risks but he wants to do this for his family. We aren’t forcing him.’

‘I know that,’ she replied. ‘But he doesn’t have to get so excited about someone else’s agony!’ She jerked her head angrily in Blythe’s direction and looked down into the room again, as they finally released Alexandre from the straps. He sat up, dazed but intact. Dr Rasheed draped his robe around his shoulders and led him out of the room.

‘Where are they taking him?’ Madison asked. ‘I need to be with him.’

Vasey-Smith pressed a button and a young man in a suit came into the room.

‘Take Miss Greene to the prep room.’

Madison followed the man along the corridor and down the steps to the small room where Alexandre sat on a plastic chair in his robe.

‘Oh, Alex. Are you okay?’

‘Now I am,’ he said and opened his arms to her. She approached him cautiously.

‘Is it okay to touch you? I mean, your body must still be sore.’

‘My body is as good as new,’ he smiled. ‘But my mind is in a more delicate state. Please come to me. I need to feel your body. To feel something good.’ He lifted her onto his lap and buried his head in her hair. ‘You smell so wonderful. I hate the synthetic stink of this place.’

‘Alex,’ she whispered into his neck. ‘I thought they were going to kill you. I was going crazy up there.’

‘I did not want you to witness that. I am sorry.’

‘Don’t you dare apologise. You were so brave. Did it work? Did they get whatever they needed to help the others?’

‘They are very optimistic, yes. But I am still so frightened for my family. I would gladly suffer that again if it meant they did not have to endure it. My poor little Isobel. And it is my …’ He broke off and looked so upset Madison thought he was going to cry.

‘What?’ she asked. ‘What is it? Is there something else?’

‘You know,’ he said. ‘I never really admitted it, not even to myself, but this whole thing is entirely my fault.’

‘What’s your fault?’

‘Everything. It was my fault we all ended up going to Cappadocia in the first place and it was I who found a way into the underground city. If I had not been so selfish and arrogant, none of this would ever have happened. I would have died a normal human death a long time ago with all my family and friends.’

‘No.’ She cut him short. ‘No, I’m not having that. You can’t start thinking what if. That’s a short cut to a shit life. You’re gonna get your family and friends back in a few hours time, then we’ll go home and everything will be fan-bloody-tastic, okay?’

‘I love you, Madison Greene.’ Alexandre kissed her hair and stroked her cheek with his forefinger.

‘Sorry to interrupt.’ It was Dr Rasheed. ‘Mr Blythe asked me to enquire whether you wish to proceed with the others now, or would you rather wait a few hours?’

‘We will proceed,’ Alexandre said as he and Madison stood up. ‘Let me first get dressed and then we will most certainly proceed. I want this over with.’

Madison sat in the viewing gallery. Alexandre wanted to be in the theatre whilst the others were being revived but the white coats advised him this would be counter productive as he would still be affected by the UV even at a distance. But he knew nothing would stop him getting into that room if anything went wrong.

Winston Blythe asked him which of the vampires should be woken first, but Alexandre refused to choose. He could not do it. Any choice he made would be wrong so he asked Blythe to randomly select the order in which they were to be awoken.

Minutes later, Alexandre gritted his teeth as he saw Jacques being lifted onto the bed and strapped down. He was naked and looked like a beautiful alabaster statue with unnaturally golden hair that shone like a halo around his head.

Please God, Alexandre prayed. If you can hear me, please give my brother back to me. He is a sweet boy. His condition is not of his choosing, he is … Then suddenly, the UV lamp was switched on. Alexandre leapt out of his seat and tore at his hair.

‘Non!’ he shouted. ‘I cannot watch this.’ He paced the room as Jacques’ body smoked and charred under the UV. Great red bubbling blisters appeared on his skin and his hair began to scorch and frizz. He flailed and jerked like a puppet on strings being pulled violently up and down. His eyes opened and he grabbed at his skin, trying to cover his face against the light and the pain.

And then, suddenly, he was no longer there. The bed was empty, the straps undone. The doctors switched the UV lamp off.

Alexandre disappeared from the viewing gallery and went straight to Jacques who cowered under the bed like a wounded animal. Alexandre draped a robe around his brother and led him out from his hiding place.

‘Jacques, do not fear. It is I, your brother, Alexandre. You are safe now, Jacques. You are safe.’

‘Where am I?’ Jacques voice was hoarse, scared. ‘What is this place? I feel strange, I was in terrible pain. I do not understand what I am seeing.’

‘I will explain everything, Jacques. Come, you are safe.’

Alexandre led his brother through the door of the little antechamber and sat him on one of the plastic chairs. Jacques’ body was already fully healed, his skin restored to its beautiful unblemished state. He looked around in fear and bewilderment, but Alexandre crouched in front of him and took one of his hands in both of his.

‘I will explain everything as soon as the others are awake. I cannot believe it is really you, little brother.’

‘Are we vampires still?’ Jacques asked in a croaky voice.

‘Yes.’

‘I was in such pain. It was terrible, Alex. It will not happen again, will it?’

‘No, no. Never again. You are safe, Jacques. My little Jacques.’ Alexandre took his face in his hands and kissed both his cheeks. ‘I thought ...’ Alexandre’s voice was breaking and he could barely speak. ‘I thought I would never again talk to you.’

‘Why would you think that?’

‘You have been ill. But you are healed now.’

‘This place is so strange. Where are we?’

‘We are still in England, but things have changed greatly. Do not think about it now. Just sit and rest.’

‘And your clothes are odd, Alex,’ he said, looking at his brother’s modern-fitting suit.

‘These are not the only things you will find strange, but I will tell you later.

‘The others? Isobel and ...’

‘They will join us shortly. Brother, I have missed you so much. I love you, Jacques.’

Alexandre could not quite believe it had worked, that he had his little brother back. He would no longer be without his family, he was sure of it. They would all be returned to him very soon.

And sure enough, one by one, the others were brought out under the life-giving, death-giving lamp and each in turn, burned and woke. Like chemotherapy that attacks the disease but also attacks the body, so the ultraviolet rays ate out the sickness from each of them, leaving them weak, but alive and awake.

The last to be revived was Isobel and she was now screaming hysterically. Once the UV lamp was extinguished the others stumbled dazed into the room to try to calm her down. But Alexandre was there, calming, soothing and reassuring, so full up with happiness he barely knew himself.

It had worked. It had actually worked and he was here in this awful sterile room with his beloved family and friends, his nineteenth century lifelong companions.

Madison had watched from the gallery, horrified at their agony, but amazed at the transformation of these once inanimate creatures. She felt like an outsider as she joined them in the operating room. Leonora put her arm around Isobel who had curled up into a ball whimpering, trying to hide her nakedness.

‘For shame! I am unclothed. Please hand me something to wear. Who are these strange people and what are these things around me? Am I dreaming?’

Madison came into the room and gave Isobel a robe.

‘Thank you,’ Isobel said, putting it on.

Alexandre led his newly awakened family across to the door that led to the antechamber and found to his surprise that he couldn’t open it. He tried the handle again, but the door was most definitely locked. He smiled up at the dark glass of the viewing gallery and called out.

‘Mr Blythe! We are all well, but the door is locked. Please open it so we can come and thank you in person.’ He tried the door again, but was still unable to open it. ‘Mr Blythe! Sir! Can you hear me?’

‘What’s going on?’ Madison asked.

‘This damned door is locked. There must be some problem with ...’

Suddenly, a set of overhead lights flashed on. They were all ultraviolet and the five vampires cringed down onto the ground, screaming in pain. Madison had to cover her ears to block out the piercing sounds of agony. Alexandre was burning again, but he managed to get up and throw himself relentlessly against the heavy metal door. It buckled and dented, but his body was weakening under the deadly glow of the rays.

Madison’s screams joined the others’ as she saw all the vampires’ bodies scorching and bubbling. The pain must have been incredible. Madison yelled up at the gallery for them to do something. Alexandre channelled the excruciating agony and used every ounce of power left in his melting body to hurl himself at the door. Finally, the locks snapped like wood and the door opened.

Alexandre dragged the others to safety. Madison could only watch helplessly, as their bodies were too hot for her to touch. They collapsed through into the little antechamber and she followed them, shocked and horrified by what she had witnessed. But even as Madison entered the little room, she saw the vampires had almost healed.

‘There must have been some kind of malfunction,’ Alexandre exhaled. ‘Those lights! They were everywhere. Is everybody well?’ He looked at them. They all appeared dazed, but physically were completely recovered. ‘We need to return to the gallery to see whatever could have happened. Is everybody alright to come now?’

But before anyone could reply, UV flooded the small room. They cried out in shock and pain. Madison ran out into the corridor and saw yet more ultraviolet pulsating down its length.

‘We have to find you somewhere safe!’ Madison yelled over their cries. ‘Follow me!’

They ran and stumbled down the corridor, pushing open each door they passed, only to find UV shining down from every ceiling in every room. At the end of the corridor, they saw another door, but it was locked. They ran, crawled and staggered down the deadly luminescent corridor.

‘Open this one!’ Maddy screamed. ‘Here! Over here!’ She was crying at the sight of them so consumed in flames she could hardly make out who was who.

The mass of glowing red vampires hurled themselves against the locked door and thankfully it soon gave way. They tumbled into a bright space, but the lights were blissfully ordinary and it was cool and free from the UV’s torturous beam. Leonora and Isobel were sobbing, but Madison heard an angry cry followed by a crashing noise behind her.

Alexandre was going crazy. He pulled over filing cabinets and hurled desks at the wall so they cracked and splintered. The room was completely destroyed. The others sat on the floor in shock. Alexandre now stood in the midst of the chaos he had created with a murderous stare in his eyes. His skin had rapidly repaired and he looked almost normal.

‘I am going to kill those two men,’ Alexandre said, his eyes glinting with fury. ‘I am going to rip their heads off and smash their bodies to pieces.’

Madison realised it hadn’t been an accident. Blythe had tried to kill them. Alexandre was so angry he could barely talk. His eyes glittered and his muscles tensed and flexed. He looked ready to explode at the slightest provocation.

The others were bewildered and scared. Everything they had seen so far was alien to them. They did not understand any of what had happened or where they were. All they knew was that Alexandre and Madison were trying to help them, to save them from the hellfire that pursued them, that tried to scorch their flesh and visit such brutal agony upon them.

Madison peered out of the door and saw the UV lights still pulsing throughout the corridor. She closed the door and took in her surroundings - it had been an office of some sort before Alexandre destroyed it. She noticed another door at the back of the room and tried the handle.

As the door opened, she felt a chill. Madison now stood in a vast, clinical room which stretched away into the distance. Everything was white, except for a wall of large grey filing cabinets. The harmless overhead lights hummed, but Madison saw grids of black tubes running alongside the normal ceiling downlights – ultraviolet.

They were currently turned off, but she knew potentially they could come on at any moment. In the centre of the room she saw a high table covered with a sheet and Madison realised there was probably a body under the sheet.

Alexandre followed her in and she pointed to the banks of UV. He looked up, nodded in acknowledgement and walked straight over to the table. Lifting up the sheet he saw the naked body of a young man. But it was no ordinary man. Alexandre knew instinctively that he was looking at a vampire.

Chapter Thirty

*

Alexandre stared at the beautiful young male vampire lying on the slab. He was overcome with a strange creeping sensation. The feeling he knew its face from somewhere, but it was as if his brain didn’t want him to remember. Looking around the rest of the cavernous room, he saw a wall lined with deep metal drawers. Alexandre pulled one open. It slid back a long way, revealing the unconscious form of another vampire.

Even though he was one of them, Alexandre did not consider himself to be the same as these creatures. He still thought he and his family were intrinsically human and did not believe these others bore any relation to him.

Alexandre had the chilling realisation this drawer was only one of many. The wall of drawers towered up to the ceiling and stretched off down the vast room into the distance. There must have been hundreds. He opened another drawer, then another and another. They all contained the bodies of dormant vampires. What were they doing here? Why had they been kept alive? And why had Blythe revived him and his family if he was going to kill them in the end anyway?

He went back to the naked creature on the table and examined it more closely. It had that statue-like quality which characterised the sleeping sickness. Madison came up behind him, staring nervously at the body.

‘Why’s there a dead bloke in here?’

‘Madison, I think you should go back into the other room. This is not a dead body. It is a ...’ Before he could finish speaking the vampire sat bolt upright and opened its eyes.

Madison gave a short scream of fright and realisation hit Alexandre like a knife through his gut. He did indeed know this creature but the last time he saw it had been over one hundred years ago, when they had both been deep in the belly of the earth. The creature had not been naked, but magnificently clothed in an elaborate golden headdress, robes and shimmering cloak.

All those years ago it had hissed viciously at him before draining the blood from his human body. Alexandre remembered how it had felt to know he was about to die, and he put his hand up to his throat, to the place where his human skin had been punctured. This was the ancient Cappadocian vampire who had stolen his life and turned him into one of them. He realised he had come face to face with his maker.

Alexandre and Madison stood, shocked.

‘Get out,’ Alexandre whispered to her. ‘Back out of the room, slowly.’ Madison felt the chilling numbness of terror. She didn’t know how she managed it, but she got out of the room, making it back into to the wrecked office where the others were huddled together in the corner, trying to recover their strength.

Alexandre stared in fascination at the creature which followed his every move with its dark vacant eyes. It was an ancient being with no remnants of humanity left in its cold soul. Alexandre knew that if it wasn’t sick, it would have crushed him like rose petals.

‘Quickly!’ he heard Madison calling from the other room. ‘The UV lights have gone out in the hall. Alexandre! We have to go now while it’s safe.’

Alexandre was momentarily torn. Here was his chance for revenge. He could easily despatch this creature in its weakened state, but he had to consider his family. He had to get them to safety.

‘You will see me again,’ Alexandre spoke to the creature. ‘And it will be right before you breathe your last breath.’

It continued to stare at Alexandre. Its head turning slowly to track his movements, but there was no light of comprehension in its eyes. Nothing to reveal whether it had understood Alexandre’s threat.

He leaned in close to the ancient creature. ‘Do you want to know how you die? You will find out soon.’

Alexandre left the mortuary. Madison was halfway through the outer door, waiting for him. The others looked to Alexandre for direction.

‘It may be a trap,’ he said. ‘They may have turned off the chemical rays to lure us out again.’

‘No,’ she replied. ‘It’s not a trap. I didn’t tell you before, but I bought some insurance with me.’

Alexandre frowned.

‘You’ll see,’ she said. ‘Come on, we have to go back to the viewing gallery.’

They hurried along the long corridor, terrified the ultraviolet would come back on at any moment. Scorch marks smeared the walls and great chunks of carpet were burnt, still smouldering and smoking. It was a miracle the whole place wasn’t on fire.

They crowded up the steps which led to the gallery and as Alexandre approached the door, someone opened it and ran straight into him. Vasey-Smith.

The solicitor looked shocked, like he was running away from something, but when he saw Alexandre’s furious expression, his shoulders sagged. Alexandre grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back into the gallery.

The room was a mess. Smoke billowed and an enormous great hole had been blasted into the control console. Mini fires burned and electrical sparks showered and fizzed. Alexandre heard a woman coughing. Some of the smoke cleared and he saw Winston Blythe standing stock still, with the muzzle of a twelve bore shotgun pointed at his head.

Holding the weapon, Alexandre recognised the ruddy-cheeked countenance of Morris Foxton, wearing his usual attire of checked shirt and worn tweed jacket. Esther stood next to him, brandishing another shotgun. Her bobbed hair swayed manically around her face.

‘Hello, Alexandre, love,’ she said. ‘You alright?’

‘Yes thank you, Esther. I am now. And may I say it is quite wonderful to see you both.’

‘Did we do alright then?’ Esther asked her young boss, who had just walked in with the others.

‘Esther,’ Madison replied, her heart filling with gratitude. ‘You and Morris are a couple of life savers. Thank you.’

‘What d’you want us to do with this one?’ Morris asked Alexandre.

‘I will deal with both these gentlemen.’

The other vampires were rapidly gathering their strength and their wits and suddenly didn’t look quite so weak and shocked anymore. Their other-worldly beauty was evident and Madison’s attention was being pulled in all directions. Her eyes flitted from them, to Blythe and Vasey-Smith, then back to her beloved amazing Alexandre.

‘Take a seat, gentlemen,’ Alexandre said, pointing to two swivel chairs. They did as they were told, remarkably cool, considering the dangerous predicament they now found themselves in. ‘Talk to me,’ Alexandre continued. ‘I wish to know all about this evening. Why you found it necessary to revive my companions and then attempt to kill us. And I would also like to know why you have a room full of sleeping vampires downstairs.’

‘Very well,’ Blythe replied. ‘Robert, why don’t you tell Alexandre what he wants to know.’

Vasey-Smith turned from Blythe to Alexandre.

‘Well?’ Alexandre prompted.

‘We are a specialised firm of solicitors,’ Vasey-Smith began. ‘Most of our clients are like you.’

Alexandre looked perplexed.

‘Most of our clients are vampires,’ said Vasey-Smith.

‘You are a firm of solicitors who work for vampires? Why would they need solicitors?’

‘Why not? You still live in this predominantly human world. You want to live in houses and ensure your interests are looked after. You need to rely on people you can trust. Our clients trust us. We can do things for them they can’t do themselves. We can ensure their needs are met.’

Alexandre gave a short laugh. ‘Trust!’ he said. ‘You are the least trustworthy miserable excuses for human beings I have ever come across.’

‘I beg to differ. Our clients did well to place their trust in us. It is because we are safeguarding their interests that we had to eliminate you. They are extremely powerful; wealthy beyond anything you can imagine. They do not tolerate fledgling vampires.

‘But there is a problem - They’ve been unconscious for over two hundred years. They have the sleeping disease. Their systems have shut down. We don’t know what caused it, but we’ve been trying to find a cure for the past two centuries, to no avail. All we know is it doesn’t affect humans, but is highly contagious to all vampires. Up until tonight, you were the only one to come out of it.’

‘So now you want to wake all the others?’ Alexandre asked.

‘Yes, we will revive them.’

‘And then what?’

‘And then we will continue to look after their interests.’

‘And what about those in the storage room downstairs? Why do you have them here? I know the one on the table and I know he cannot possibly be a client of yours.’

‘You know him?’ Blythe said, surprised. But we have only just had him and his companions transported here. They were discovered very recently.’

‘Ha! Not as recently as you would think,’ Alexandre gave a bitter laugh and continued talking. ‘Gentlemen, you have no idea what you are dealing with. Those creatures you have stored downstairs are nothing like me or my family. They are cold, passionless killing machines. Ancient beings who do not care for argument or reason. They are beyond humanity; it is dead to them. Perhaps they never even were human. All they understand is blood and their need to survive at any cost. Even though they lie on their sickbeds, they are still so dangerous you cannot fathom it and if you revive them, I promise you it will be the last thing you ever do.’

‘That’s very dramatic, Alexandre,’ said Blythe who looked as though he was enjoying himself.

‘No, not dramatic, just honest.’

‘I think we have it under control. You have seen our security system. It runs throughout the facility.’

‘It did not stop us and it certainly will not stop them.’

‘Well, you can let us worry about that.’

‘Tell me something else,’ said Alexandre. ‘Your great grandfather, I suppose he was fictional?’

‘Oh, Alexandre,’ the old man said. ‘I am afraid so. And I am truly sorry to have lied. I am also sorry it was necessary to eliminate you. But even if we don’t manage to do it, you can be certain our clients will finish the job when they wake.’

‘The only thing you should be sorry about, is that you are about to die a horrible death and I shall enjoy being the cause of it,’ Alexandre said.

‘No, Alexandre,’ Blythe said calmly. ‘That is not going to happen.’

As Blythe had been speaking, Vasey-Smith had leant across and put a small black revolver to Madison’s temple. He stood up, pulling Madison to her feet.

‘Go,’ Vasey-Smith said to Blythe. The old man nodded, stood up and left the room unimpeded. Once Blythe had escaped, Vasey-Smith spoke again:

‘We all know you are powerful creatures, but are you really willing to risk a bullet in her brain?’

The Marchwood vampires stood and began to walk towards the solicitor.

‘Tell your family to back off, Alexandre.’ Vasey-Smith stood and jerked Madison up off her chair.

Alexandre felt an icy rage. This man had dared to threaten his beloved. He had sealed his fate. He looked into Madison’s terror-filled eyes, willing her not to be afraid, wanting her to know he would never let anything harm her.

She stared back, momentarily losing herself in his gaze. He kept his eyes on her pale face as he spoke to Vasey-Smith with cold hatred in his voice.

‘The thing you have to ask yourself is, am I fast enough to reach her before you pull the trigger? Am I quicker than the speed of that bullet as it travels down the barrel? Can I stop it before it so much as warms her skin?’

Madison suddenly felt fear and the imminence of death. Her head swam and her knees buckled. Vasey-Smith jerked her upright, tightened his grip on the revolver and pressed it harder into her skull. ‘If you were quicker than that, then you would already …’

As the solicitor spoke, Alexandre moved so fast, only the other vampires could track his trajectory. He was between Madison and the revolver before Vasey-Smith had finished his sentence. Before the solicitor had even thought about pulling the trigger, he was dead. His neck snapped like a wishbone. Alexandre dropped him onto the floor without a twinge of remorse.

He held Madison’s face in his hands. ‘Maddy, you are safe. I would never allow you to come to harm. Not ever. I love you. You are my life now, Madison.’

She was too shaken up to answer.

He sat her down on a chair and motioned to Esther to come over. ‘Please take care of her. I have to get Blythe. Wait here.’

*

Winston Blythe left the room and jogged to the lift. When Alexandre had first met him on Stinchcombe Hill, Blythe had carried a walking stick, but that was also part of the fiction like everything else. For Blythe was fit and healthy with no need of a walking aid. The corridor was deserted and when he reached the lift, he pressed the button several times, looking over his shoulder. He was under no illusions. If Alexandre caught up with him, he would kill him. In fact, Blythe was convinced Vasey-Smith was already dead.

Finally the lift door opened and he stepped in, pressing the button. As the doors closed, he felt a sudden presence. Blythe looked behind him and saw Alexandre. The vampire had caught him up and entered the lift without him noticing. He had vengeful fire in his eyes and he stepped closer towards the solicitor. Their faces were only millimetres apart.

‘Your vampire clients will shortly be following you to hell,’ Alexandre said, his hand approaching his neck.  Blythe cringed backwards, but there was nowhere for him to go.

Then, with a ping, the lift doors opened and Blythe’s fear instantly evaporated, for just outside the doors stood more than half a dozen men with guns and UV lamps which they shone into the small space. Alexandre sank to his knees, his hands in front of his face to ward off the rays. Blythe dusted himself down, squared his shoulders and stepped into the corridor which led out to the car park.

‘Finish him off,’ Blythe said to the men and walked into the safety of the car park without a backward glance.

Four of the men entered the lift which contained the cringing hunched form of Alexandre. They held the lamps out in front of them and moved in closer as his hair singed and his flesh charred. The lift door closed and they descended. Alexandre doubled up in pain, but his anger overrode everything. Expanding and hardening, it bubbled up from his core and he felt as though his hatred would explode out of every burning pore.

He gave a roar and jumped up onto the elevator ceiling. He kicked downwards into two faces at once and then smashed the other two heads together. The lamps banged to the floor and the lift door opened. Alexandre’s body was already healing itself. But the UV had taken its toll. He was mentally exhausted and needed a few moments to gather his strength.

Alexandre ground his teeth and shook his head. He would have to let Blythe go. There was no time to pursue him now. But one day soon, he would track and destroy him. He had no doubt in his mind about that.

As he stepped out of the lift, the ultraviolet in the corridor flickered on and off erratically. This place was not safe for him and his family. He had to get them out. He went straight to the viewing gallery where the others waited.

‘Alexandre, you’re okay,’ Madison said. ‘Did you stop him?’

‘No. But there is no time. We have to get out of here. The UV lights could come on at any minute.’

‘I know,’ Madison said. ‘They were flickering down there a few seconds ago.’ She pointed into the operating theatre.

Alexandre checked on the others. Still dressed in their robes, they seemed less dazed.

‘How are you?’ he asked. ‘Do you feel strong?’

‘Yes.’ Leonora replied. ‘But we are ignorant about so much. When will you tell us what is going on? Madison has told us some of it and that much is a shock. I am finding it hard to take it all in. And my father … my father is ...’

‘I am sorry,’ Alexandre said. ‘I am truly sorry and I will tell you everything very soon. But for now, we must leave this place. It is not safe. There are men with UV lamps and guns in the car park. They may come after us.’

‘Don’t worry. We’ve got another way out,’ Maddy replied. ‘Esther and Morris didn’t drive to London. We planned a different sort of exit.’ She turned to Morris. ‘We need to leave now.’

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Follow me.’

Morris took them a different way. Down hallways, through a large conference room and past laboratories until they reached a huge service elevator. As they made their way along, the UV lights flickered, threatening to come on at any moment. Their intermittent rays randomly scorched the vampires like vicious spluttering lasers, uncaring of their aim.

‘Right then,’ said Morris as the lift doors opened. ‘Everybody in.’ Morris pressed the button and the lift began to climb.

‘We’ve got about two hours till sunrise,’ Madison said. ‘Are we gonna make it?’

‘Two hours?’ Morris said. ‘Plenty of time.’

The elevator doors opened onto a grim concrete hallway. They exited and followed the two caretakers to a set of fire doors. Esther grabbed the push bar and rattled the doors.

‘Blimin’ things are locked.’

Alexandre walked up to the door and pulled hard on one of the handles. The door opened with a crunch, splintering off its hinges. The fresh night air hit him, a welcome change from the stuffy antiseptic smell of the underground offices.

‘We are on the roof?’ Alexandre asked.

‘Yeah,’ Maddy replied. ‘We need to follow Morris.’

The caretaker was already several paces ahead. As they rounded a corner, there against the inky sky, sat a blue and white helicopter. As soon as the pilot saw them, he started up the rotors.

‘What is that machine?’ Isobel shrieked.

‘It is called a helicopter,’ said Alexandre. ‘‘And it is going to save our lives. It flies in the air like a bird,’ he explained to them. It is quite safe.’

‘What an incredible contraption!’ Freddie exclaimed. ‘So we really are in the future. I did not quite believe it until now.’

The noise from the whirring blades made further conversation impossible. Alexandre waited until everyone had climbed in and then he shouted across to Madison.

‘I need you to wait here for ten minutes. If I do not return within that time, leave without me and I will find my own way back.’

‘What? Why? What are you talking about? Where are you going?’

‘I will explain later.’ He leant into the helicopter, kissed her and gave his family a lingering glance. ‘Ten minutes, no more!’

Alexandre returned to the building. He had to do this now, or he and his family would most certainly face further danger later on. He only hoped that what he had planned would work.

In seconds, he reached the office he had destroyed earlier. With nervous resolve, he opened the door to the storage facility. But Alexandre’s nerves were for nothing - the table was empty, the white sheet discarded on the floor. The Cappadocian vampire had gone.

Alexandre could not afford to dwell on this setback for he still had work to do. He began pulling open the drawers. Grabbing at the metal handles and sliding them open to reveal the marble faces and bodies of a multitude of sleeping vampires. He started at one end and worked his way swiftly along the wall until every single drawer was fully open and every solitary creature exposed.

The rows of black tubes ran the length of the ceiling. There must be a switch somewhere. Hopefully near the exit. He scanned the wall and saw a row of switches close to the door. Good. He braced himself for pain as he pressed them all down at once.

Eight banks of UV rays pierced down from the ceiling and Alexandre felt the agonising burn through his body. Screams and hisses slithered from the drawers. But something was wrong. Not all of the lights had come on. He spotted several grids further down that must be linked to a different set of switches. He saw them - two more sets halfway down the room. He had to try and reach them as quickly as possible, before the rays destroyed him.

He ran but the pain was intolerable. His skin melted and blistered. He heard screams and metal drawers banging and breaking. Some of the creatures now writhed on the floor. Others clutched at their skin in agony. If he did not do something quickly, he too would die in this room.

He bent down and lifted one of the burning creatures above his head, using it as a shield. It fought and squirmed, but Alexandre gripped it tightly and moved as fast as he could. As he reached the next set of switches, he threw the creature down against the wall where it exploded in a screaming ball of fire. He banged down the switches. More banks of ultraviolet hummed to life.

Alexandre grabbed another burning vampire aloft to shield him, but it disintegrated into floating embers and so he picked up another, only to throw it down again before smashing his fist into the last set of switches. Finally, the whole room was bathed in the deadly purple haze.

He lifted another vampire shield and through the knives of pain, he realised one of the creatures had jumped onto his back and had its arms around his face, scratching and clawing at him.

In one fluid motion he threw down the vampire shield he had above his head, spun around on one foot and smashed backwards twice into the bank of metal drawers, to try to weaken the attacking creature’s hold. Then he reached up behind him and pulled it off his back, sliding it over his head so now it became his new protection from the overhead onslaught.

He kicked away another howling vampire who clutched at his ankle and pushed and punched away yet more who ran and crawled towards him. Alexandre managed to fumble and fight his way out of that chamber of torture and at last he closed the door behind him. His face was melting off his bones and, on top of the agony, he felt like he was suffocating. He could not believe he was still capable of standing.

He hoped and prayed the vampires would all be too confused and weak to find their way out of the room. He piled everything he could lay his hands on against the door, knowing it would do little to keep them at bay if they survived the UV. Their screams blended with the crashing of metal.

Alexandre realised he had probably been gone for more than ten minutes and so, almost healed, he moved as fast as he could to get back up to the roof.

*

‘That’s ten minutes gone,’ said Morris.

‘Don’t care how many minutes have gone,’ replied Madison. ‘We’re not going anywhere till Alex gets back.’

‘Thought as much,’ Morris replied.

‘So this machine actually lifts up into the air with us in it?’ Jacques asked.

‘That’s right,’ Madison replied, looking at him in amazement. He was so like his brother. His mannerisms and everything just echoed Alexandre.

‘And you are sure it is quite safe?’ Isobel asked for the tenth time.

‘You are immortal, Isobel,’ said Jacques. ‘You will not die even if we do come crashing down.’

‘Please, Jacques,’ she said. ‘Do not talk about crashing. And what is wrong with travelling by train or by carriage?’

‘There is nothing wrong with it, unless you are a vampire and dawn is approaching fast. This machine will take us back in double quick time. Is that not correct, Madison?’

‘That is correct, Jacques,’ she agreed. Madison loved the way they spoke to one another with that easy familiarity of siblings. She instantly missed Ben, feeling like she hadn’t seen him for days and felt an overwhelming need to hug him.

Climbing down from the helicopter, she looked out across the tarmac roof. Where was he? Come on Alexandre, come on. She walked across the roof, away from the chopper. Suddenly she was caught up in his arms as he carried her swiftly back to the waiting helicopter.

‘Allez! Allez! Go! Go!’ Alexandre shouted. Madison sat cradled on his lap and she felt the exhilaration of safety and the warm sensation of relief that he was at last here with her.

The blades whirred above their heads, beating in time with her heart. She rested her head on his chest and he took one of her hands and kissed the tips of her fingers. Alexandre ignored the raised eyebrows of the others, as he bent his head to kiss her lips. She scraped her nails gently down the side of his face and pressed her body in towards him. He was hers and she was his. They were lost in each other as the helicopter took off high above the city and banked west, back towards Gloucestershire and Marchwood House.

One Month Later

It was a late August moonlit night and Jacques and Freddie were helping Ben to climb to the top of the tallest tree in the wood. He was doing pretty well on his own, but Madison had said he was not to do it unless he was with one or other of the boys. As Ben reached the uppermost branch he poked his head through the thick foliage and pulled himself onto the wide bough, sitting astride it with a daring bounce.

He gasped in wonder at the panoramic view. He could see everything. For miles. But these far reaching vistas were not nearly so dear to him as the views closer to home - the rolling grounds of his beloved house. He caught glimpses of the deer as they slept under the spreading chestnut tree. The green spiked fruit was nearly ready to yield its knobbly brown conkers and he couldn’t wait to bake and varnish them, ready for the new school term.

He looked up towards the house and his eyes rested on the stables where seven horses slept. Next to the house he smiled at the timbered roof of their newly constructed garage which now housed a fantastic array of fast cars, 4x4s and motorbikes.

The nights were finally drawing in and the air held the faintest hint of autumn. He could make out the figures of the others, sitting on the lawn under a perfectly round harvest moon. Isobel was plaiting Leonora’s raven hair and Madison and Alexandre sat only inches apart, probably chatting about everything and nothing. Ben heard Jacques and Freddie good-naturedly insulting each other through the boughs beneath him.

The breeze ruffled his hair and he breathed in the sweet night-scented air. They were a strange family, the seven of them, but they were indeed a family and Ben had never before had such a feeling of belonging. No more crappy care facilities, no more foster parents. This was it. This was his life. He was finally home.

~

Book 2 in the Marchwood Vampire Series

Thicker Than Blood is out now

~

~

Other titles by Shalini Boland

Thicker Than Blood (Marchwood Vampire Series #2)

Outside - a post-apocalyptic novel (Outside Series #1)

The Clearing (Outside Series #2)

The Perimeter (Outside Series #3)

A Shirtful of Frogs - a ww2 timeslip adventure

~

Be the first to hear about Shalini’s new releases here: http://eepurl.com/xx65f

Note from the author:

‘Thank you for reading my novel. I’m an independent author and rely on word-of-mouth recommendations. If you’ve enjoyed Hidden, maybe you’d be kind enough to tell your friends about it and consider posting a short review online? Thank you so much.’

~

About The Author

Shalini Boland lives in Dorset, England with her husband and two noisy sons where she writes novels (in between the school runs and hanging out endless baskets of laundry).

~

Connect with Shalini Online:

http://twitter.com/ShaliniBoland
http://www.shaliniboland.co.uk/

http://www.facebook.com/ShaliniBolandAuthor

~

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Mary Hades

Book One

By

Sarah Dalton

Also by the author:

The Mary Hades series – YA Gothic Horror

My Daylight Monsters (a Mary Hades novella)

The Blemished series – YA Dystopia

The Blemished (Blemished #1)

The Vanished (Blemished #2)

The Unleashed (Blemished #3)

The Fractured: Elena (Blemished #2.5) (Fractured 1)

The Fractured: Maggie (Blemished #2.5) (Fractured 2)

The Blemished Complete Boxed Set

The White Hart series – YA Fantasty

White Hart (White Hart #1)

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Mary Hades

Sarah Dalton

Copyright © 2014 Sarah Dalton

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this work, in whole or in part, in any form.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, organizations and products depicted herein are either a product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.

Cover Design by Sarah Dalton

Stock images from Depositphoto.

Prologue

I’m there again, in the flames.

The knife plunges into her and she falls forward.

“No!” I yell. “No! Lacey!”

She collapses into my arms. Blood pours from a wound in her back and the only thing I can do is drag her away.

“Stay awake! Please, stay awake.”

He strides towards us, the flames behind him creating a deathly halo of orange and red. My skin is hot. My blood boils.

“You’re going to get caught,” I say, backing towards the window. “They’ll see what you’ve done to Lacey and lock you away.”

“Not if I can help it. Tales will be told for years of how Mary Hades killed her roommate, set the hospital on fire and then slit her own throat. It’ll be legendary.” His lips peel back to reveal that his teeth are clenched in a joyless grin.

My back hits the window. A surge of desperation tightens my throat.

But then there’s movement in the flames. Dark shadows rise, dozens of them, filling the space behind my attacker. People of all ages, sizes and races: a little girl with a bald head and a tube emerging from her nose; an elderly man, so thin his hospital gown hangs like a deflated tent. They step forward and I know what they’re here for.

“Not if they have anything to do with it.” I nod behind him.

He turns and a moan escapes his lips, full of sick, animalistic desperation. The ghosts surround him, grabbing him, pulling him to the floor and smothering him. He tries to slash at them with the knife but it does nothing.

“No!” he screams. “No…”

The stench of mildew and burned flesh turns my stomach and I look away.

“You’re not afraid of the darkness anymore,” says the ghost. His hands are filthy with the flesh of my attacker. “You toughened up and you fought.”

He’s right. I’m not afraid of the darkness. I’m not afraid of anything. I never wanted it to end, you see. I really didn’t. But we all end, one day.

Chapter One

The promise of July: sunglasses and cut off shorts, feeling the warm blades of grass between your toes, trips to the brook at the edge of the woods, short nights that seem to go on forever—smothering you with oppressive heat until you wake up gasping for breath, your hair plastered to the back of your neck.

The long days provide freedom from school and parents, and often even friends. It’s a time to be alone, to let yourself grow, to shed another layer of skin as you progress through adolescence. Each summer tracks your maturity with the flakes of skin trailing your footsteps. Those layers are childhood husks. You know that when you go back to school, passing notes in class will become a thing of the past; too immature for us now. Crushes become relationships. Gossip turns from who snogged who to who shagged who.

We are in the midst of that rarest of things—a warm and sunny English summer. It has lasted for almost two weeks and even the old ladies at the bus stop have stopped talking about the weather. No one wants to jinx it. No one wants to frighten the sun away. We treat it like a bird in the garden, tip-toeing our way through the lawn, trying not to startle it into taking to its wings and abandoning us.

I’ve been waiting for this moment. Since the fire, my burns have taken time to heal. Now the bandages are off, and I can go out in the sunshine. I want to enjoy the rest of my summer before it fades into September and brings the school term with it. The thought of exams and coursework make my abdomen clench with anxiety. Right now, I want to forget about all that, enjoy being alive, enjoy my well-earned freedom.

But as soon as the opportunity is within my grasp, it’s snatched away by those who-think-they-know-best. I find myself pouting like a little girl, regressing into the stereotypical teen, whinging away at my parents.

“You’ll enjoy it, Mary.” Mum has her back to me, folding clean clothes into three neat piles. One of those piles is mine. “It’s nice to get away from here. There will be plenty of people your age.”

“Camping?” I say again. “I shouldn’t be going camping with my parents anymore. I’m seventeen.” The words it’s not fair are within dangerous proximity. I’m a cliché.

She turns towards me and seizes a t-shirt from the basket. “It’s a static caravan on a campsite. It’s not like you’ll be in a tent. Discos every night—”

“For children.”

“—entertainment—”

“For children.”

She purses her lips. “The holiday will be what you make of it.” Her eyes dart to the door and back again. She lowers her voice. “It’s all we can afford this year. You know, since your father lost that job.” She mouths the last words as though she’s ashamed to say them.

Dad used to teach at a private school. It was a good job, bringing in a high salary. But they decided to cut back in the science department and now he’s had to take a job at a comprehensive school in Leeds. It’s an hour’s commute and less pay. I see less of him, and he spends a large portion of his salary on petrol. Mum’s a full time office manager, but her firm has had a freeze on pay-rises for the last three years, due to the recession.

“You should be proud of his new job,” I say. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“I am,” she replies. “But your father isn’t. That’s why it’s easiest to avoid the subject.” A silence hangs for a moment. No matter what she says, I hear that tone in her voice, the one that speaks louder than her words. Now she can’t turn her nose up at the riff-raff at the office, or attend the Christmas prom at Dad’s old school wearing her one diamond necklace. She’s back to being a regular wife. “Mary, take these clothes up to your room and start packing.”

The bundle of clothes is thrust into my arms and I pull it to my body, inhaling the clean scent. My feet pad across the carpet.

When I’m halfway to the hall, Mum calls out, “Hey, you never know, you could have a holiday romance.” She waggles her eyebrows for emphasis.

“In Nettleby, North Yorkshire? I’d be lucky to find anyone under sixty,” I reply. But somehow the tension fades and we both laugh at the same time.

She pauses before she says, “You know, I hope there is a nice boy in Nettleby. It would do you good.” Her eyes drift to the scars on my neck and the smile fades from my face.

I shake the uneasy feeling away, the one that tells me my mum wants someone to make me feel attractive again. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it won’t be so bad. After everything that has happened in the last few months, it’ll be nice to spend some time with my parents. And to be honest, Nettleby does sound peaceful, and peace is what I could do with, right now.

My fingers fumble with the door handle to my room. My room. The one place in this house I can call my own.

The summer has turned it into a hot house, with sunlight streaming through the attic window. Tiny specks of dust are illuminated as they hang in the air like daylight stars. I flop down on the bed, the motion wobbling the mirror-ball I keep on my bedside table where it catches the light from the window. Squares of gold move along the pastel blue curtains, dance over my dressing table, and travel shakily across my MGMT poster.

I bury my head in the duvet, inhaling the scent of lavender from Mum’s brand of washing powder. As much as we clash with each other, if she was hurt or died, I would come into my room, smell the lavender, and have the world pulled from under my feet. She’s a rock, and I have to remind myself of that, even when she’s really annoying.

She helped me get better.

Well, she tried.

As my mind drifts from daylight stars to daylight monsters, the temperature of the room dips, and my muscles tense. A prickling cold spreads over my skin. Someone is here.

A light film of sweat forms on my forehead as I inch myself up on my elbows. At the end of the bed stands a girl, about my age, and most definitely dead.

Not that you can tell.

Her blond hair falls into her eyes, which are ringed in black. She wears a grey hoody, with the hood down, and grey jogging bottoms without a cord or belt. Her blue eyes bore into mine. Her jaw opens to speak…

“’Sup, Mares? Give you a fright did I? Couldn’t knock or owt, what with the… you know.”

“Inability to take corporeal form?” I say.

“That’s the one.” She grins at me. “So what’s the news? The afterlife is boring as hell.”

A shiver of guilt passes down my spine.

Did I forget to mention that my best friend is a ghost? Well, it’s complicated. I was in a mental institute at the time—so was Lacey—and we had a murderer to find. The day that he found us, I had expected to die; instead, he killed Lacey. He stabbed her in the back. Since then she’s stuck around.

“We’re going camping,” I say with a groan. “Can you believe it?”

Lacey leaps forward to grab my arm, but her form crackles like electricity and fails to make contact. “Damn it, stupid ghost form. Camping though, mate. That’s awesome! I used to love camping. Can I come?”

I laugh. “Sure, you can come. You know the drill though, right?”

Lacey chuckles. “You mean I’m not allowed to stand next to people pulling faces and twerking on them?”

“Oh man, I got thrown out of that cinema but it was so worth it.” I can’t keep the grin off my face as I remember Lacey dancing around the cinema, rubbing her bum against the unsuspecting people on the front row. I almost choked on my popcorn. Unfortunately, my then boyfriend didn’t find it so amusing. “Mo still hasn’t called. I can’t believe he ended it like that.”

“Fuck him,” she says. “Actually, no, don’t. Delete him. Delete his number, burn the photos—get him out of your life. He’s not worth it. You would think after everything he’s been through he’d have more of an open mind.”

I met Mo on Magdelena Ward. I was in for schizo hallucinations, he was in for paranoid schizophrenia. I guess it was always doomed to fail, but the final nail hit the coffin when I told him about Lacey. He reckoned my “negativity” and inability to “see the truth” could tip him over the edge when it came to his mental health. I don’t blame him, to be honest. But that doesn’t mean I’m not disappointed in him. Why couldn’t he trust in me?

Lacey leans forward and my skin chills again. “Seriously. Forget about him. He’s not worth it. He’s not worth you.”

Lacey Holloway, the one-woman-ghost committed to bolstering my self-esteem. It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it. A hesitant smile forms on my lips, but then I remember how Lacey will never have another relationship and that smile is replaced by a heavy feeling of guilt: like a woollen blanket, familiar but itchy.

“Mum said I might have a holiday romance,” I say.

“That is a perfect idea. You need to get over Mo.” Her eyes widen with excitement. “I can be your wing-ghost.”

I start laughing, but then catch my reflection in my dressing table mirror. My hair is long, thick and dark. Destined to never be tamed, it falls over my eyes and ripples down to my collar bones. But from the laughter, I’ve shaken it away from my pale, oval face.

My fingers rise to my throat, which has become exposed from me tipping my head back. There I trace the lasting reminder from the fire at Magdelena. There I trace the translucent white marks left to me by Dr. Gethen. My nightmares are filled with that night. I replay it over and over. My skin warms beneath my fingertips, as though I’m there again. I pull myself away, move my hair over my neck, and try not to think about it.

“You’re coming camping with me, then?” I ask Lacey. “Because there’s no way I’m getting through the week on my own.”

She winks at me. “Do ducks fart underwater?”

I frown. “Eh?”

She laughs. “I dunno, my dad used to say it. Yes, Mary, of course I’m coming!”

To drown out the sound of me talking to a ghost, I put on the Yeah Yeah Yeahs at full blast. Before long we’re wailing along with Karen O. Lacey dances around the room, crackling and sparking like a broken television. My suitcase fills up and I don’t even care about camping, anymore. At some point, I forget that Lacey is dead. I forget about how her body is in the graveyard three miles away, off the main road heading north. The Lacey I know is the vibrant, dancing, singing girl pogoing up and down with her arms spread wide. A rush of something—I don’t know what—fills me up from my toes to my ears. Maybe it’s that freedom I wanted.

*

The smell of exhaust fumes sneaks in through the open car window. The leather seats stick to my bare thighs, and the sound of honking horns is my soundtrack as everyone decides to try to travel on the motorway at the same time. In the front of the car, my parents argue while holding the AA road map across the dashboard. I lean back against the head rest of the back seat in our stationary vehicle, and zone out the traffic jam, parental swearing, and fumes by plugging in my iPod and escaping into the music.

A few hours later—after a greasy meal at the motorway service station—we leave the major roads behind at last, and navigate the twisting rural lanes of North Yorkshire. It’s moorland here, heather growing amongst the spongy grass, stretching out for what feels like forever. Jagged rocks peek out of hillsides. The occasional sheep looks up and stares at our car, chewing its grass in a languid, deliberate motion, as though its mind is occupied elsewhere.

I lean forward, hitting the back of Mum’s seat with my shoulder. “There’s nothing here. What are we going to be doing?”

“We’re not there yet,” Dad reminds me, grinning at me in the rear view mirror. “Positive thinking, Mares.”

I sigh and lean back into my seat. I guess he’s right. I let my head swing to one side, watching the world go by. This bit—I like.

I love the way the greens and browns merge together as the car travels through the countryside. Beneath me the car rocks like a cradle. I used to read wherever we went somewhere, but now I follow the landscape with my eyes, picking out the occasional stream, the flowers in the grass verge, and the black and white splodges of cows.

A fleeting memory pops into my mind—driving through the countryside with Dad, him slowing the car to a crawl so I can reach out of the open window and pick the long flowers swaying above the reedy grass. He had one of those “Dad” smiles—the ones where their eyes are sad because you’re growing up so fast. Then he whispered, “Don’t tell your mum. If she knew you’d had even a finger out of that window…” I’d giggled. Knowing that we were breaking Mum’s car-rules made it even more fun.

But then the world changes. That safe feeling is pulled out from underneath me, as though I’ve leapt high into the air before glancing down to see the trampoline disappear. My heart freezes before it quickens and the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. My throat tightens. I clutch the edge of the seat so hard I feel the blood drain from my hands.

You would think I’m used to seeing them now, but I’m not. I never will be.

Standing like a scarecrow in the middle of a crop field, is one of them. Its skull shines through its face, and haunting sunken eyes stare at me, dark as night. A chill passes over my body.

This is a warning.

Chapter Two

I call them Things. They are hideous monsters conjured up by my mind to warn me when I sense a disturbance about to happen. Their existence had me sent to a psychiatric ward and fed anti-psychotic drugs. During that time I struggled to decide if they were real or not. Now, I don’t care. I’ve learnt to trust in them. I trust that their appearance means bad things, and now I have an opportunity to stop the bad thing.

Dad steers the car around a tight bend and I find myself thrown against the glass. The hot, still air wraps around me like a stifling duvet. What if we’re about to be in a car accident?

“Dad, slow down,” I say, a tremble in my voice.

“Honey, we’re running late. I told the campsite we’d be there by—”

“I don’t care. You’re going to kill us! Slow down.”

Mum’s disapproving eyes appear in the rear view mirror. “Don’t you dare speak to your father that way. Have some respect, young lady.”

I grip the arm rest by my seat. “Please. Slow down.”

“All right,” Dad says. The car slows and the landscape outside no longer blurs. “If it makes you uncomfortable I will.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Dad.” My palms are slick with sweat and I shift in the back seat to let my legs get some air. Outside, the sun beats down on the crumbling tarmac of the old road. My eyes search the landscape for any more Things hidden in the surrounding moorland. I pull in a deep breath to steady my breathing. Everything seems back to normal. I lean back against the seat and close my eyes. It’s a mistake; that skull face seems burned onto the backs of my eyelids, its grinning face mocking me.

Unease spreads over my skin.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the car mirror: little more than a tangle of black hair against pale skin. I’m even paler than usual.

Dad pulls the car off the road and onto a track and I let out a sigh of relief. Surely we can’t have a car accident on a single track at five miles per hour. Mum jabs her finger at the sign by the verge:

Five Moors Campsite

Five moors. The middle of nowhere. How did she even find this place? It was probably on one of those discount sites she likes, the ones where they tell you it’s 50% off a five star hotel, but it’s only that cheap because they overcharge all year, and reduce the price to make it seem like a bargain.

The gravel crunches beneath the tyres as we move along the driveway into the campsite. On either side the moors stretch out as far as the eye can see. They will be bleak in winter. I think of how the wind must howl and how the rain will fall unhindered onto the grass. I wonder about grass snakes lurking between the reeds. Today the sky is bright blue above the smudge-brown and green carpets. The sun is bright enough to make me squint as I stare out of the window. Up ahead, the static caravans come into sight, with a wooded area behind them. The trees line up in the distance.

Aside from the countryside and glinting white caravans, another sight catches my attention. In between the trees and the campsite there are tall, metal sculptures encased with blinking lights. I know what that means: a carnival.

At least there will be something to do here. Lacey’s gonna love it.

Dad pulls the car into the tarmac car-park and guides it into a space. When the handbrake goes up, he glances around him, as though waiting for the round of applause. In the middle of the campsite is a tall building that looks a lot like a small hotel.

“Why are we staying in a caravan when there’s a hotel here?” I ask Mum.

There’s a click and a zzhup as we undo our seat belts.

“The hotel is expensive, honey,” Mum replies. “It’s one of those sorts that specialise in corporate retreats. There are lots of conference rooms and what-not. They do team building out on the moors, apparently. I think there are some guided walks and orienteering for holiday goers. You should have a go at that, get some fresh air and exercise.”

I meet Dad’s eye in the rear-view mirror. I can tell he’s smiling without even seeing his mouth. When we’re alone we sometimes make fun of Mum’s obsession with how fresh air and exercise will cure everything.

“Maybe,” I mutter, hiding my face from her gaze so she doesn’t notice how I’m trying not to laugh.

When I climb out of the car, the warm summer air hits my bare arms and legs, making me forget all about the Thing in the field. I stretch out my muscles, enjoying the little clicks your shoulders and knees make after being cramped in a car for hours.

Mum rifles through her handbag, mumbling about travel documents, while Dad gets the bags from the boot. I notice a strange group of teenagers standing near the entrance to the hotel, holding battered old holdalls and rucksacks covered in badges and iron-on patches. They aren’t the kind of people I’d expect to holiday in Nettleby, North Yorkshire. They look like the Goths that descend on Whitby every year, the kind obsessed with Dracula and vampires. A tall guy with a lip piercing nods to me and I nod back, feeling it would be rude not to.

“Come on,” Mum says, waving us on. “I’ve found our confirmation email so we should go and get checked… oh.” I supress a giggle as Mum reacts to the Goths outside the hotel. She has her back to me but I can imagine her frozen expression of disapproval. She turns back to us and whispers, “Oh, I don’t like the look of them at all. I hope we’re not near their caravan.”

“Stop worrying yourself, Suzie Q,” Dad says, grinning at her.

Mum is Susan to everyone except Dad. Quirke is her maiden name and Dad finds it hilarious to call her Suzie Q; sometimes it even stops her fussing over whatever the latest crisis is.

“I’m just saying that it seems strange that this place attracts that sort.”

I roll my eyes.

Dad sighs. “Let’s go and check in. It’s late, we need to eat, and we need to unpack.”

By the time we get to the hotel, the Goth kids have dispersed somewhere into the campsite. Some of them clutch cans of lager, and one attempts to ride a skateboard over the grass. When it fails to move, the kid falls off and a bunch of his mates jump on top of him. The others stand around laughing and pointing.

Mum tuts. “Look at that. They’re drunk already. Some of them can’t be eighteen, surely.”

“It’s not our place, Su,” Dad reminds her. He ushers her through the door to the hotel.

The woman behind the counter has set curled hair in a short do. Her face is powdered, and she wears a string of pearls around her neck. She must be about fifty. Her smile is fixed and there’s tiredness in her eyes. I drift away from my family as they check in, wandering across to the leaflets on display, telling us all about Nettleby and the surrounding area.

One leaflet catches my eye. On the front cover a man stands leaning on a cane. His face is tilted down and a superimposed skull shines over his features. With a fright I think that it’s another vision of mine, that the Things had started appearing on informative stationery as well as in fields, through windows, and at school. But then I see the title: Igor’s ghost walk. I take in the top hat, the waistcoat and the old-fashioned cane. The caption reads: ghosts, ghouls and grisly murders. Igor will take you on a tour of the nastiest crimes in Nettleby.

How many nasty crimes can there by in Nettleby? It doesn’t strike me as having a seedy underbelly of corruption. Nevertheless, I fold the leaflet and push it into the pocket of my denim shorts.

When Mum and Dad are done checking in, we follow Mum around the campsite, looking for our caravan. The static white vans are lined up in grids, each with a little plot of grass around them. Elderly couples relax on deck chairs, their veined legs peeking out of pastel coloured shorts. Potted plants are dotted around the doors of some vans and it hits me that people live here, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but moors and the occasional forest. I have a mild anxiety attack even thinking about stepping out of my front door and not being within walking distance of a decent café or a supermarket.

“Here we are,” Mum says. “Oh, it’s quite nice.”

Our van is larger than I had imagined, and as we get inside, it’s also pretty spacious; one of those large, mod-con types, with small flat screen TVs and a bedroom each. There are little floral curtains on elastic at every window. The kitchen sink has a surface that folds over to become a chopping board.

I wander into the small single bedroom which will be mine for the next seven days. Our van is on the edge of the moor, and if I look through the small window, I can see the countryside extending for miles. Even in the bright sunshine the sight of the moors gives me a chill. For some reason it makes me think of the people who have been here before. It makes me think of the history of the world, and of all the feet that have trodden down the grass. It’s almost ageless; a small patch of untouched world.

“Have you taken your medication?” Mum’s sharp voice pierces through the silence, startling me from my thoughts.

“Yes,” I lie. I’ve been throwing my pills away for weeks. They make me groggy and disinterested in life. It’s like walking around inside a pillow case. I want to feel the world around me, even if it means seeing the Things, and if that makes me crazy, then I guess I’m crazy.

Outside the van there are a few “whoops” and lots of laughter.

Mum places one hand on her hip. “I asked the woman not to put us near that rowdy lot,” she says.

“The holiday will be what you make of it, remember,” I say, unable to stop the grin spreading along my face.

Mum lands a playful slap on my shoulder. “How did I raise such a cheeky daughter?” She smiles, and then her eyes mist over with tears. She sniffs, and shuffles out of the room.

I unpack, listening to the lads outside in the campsite. They’re laughing and shouting, and being young. Part of me wants to join in with them, to feel like I’m in a gang. I’ve never had a lot of friends. At school, I have one good friend, someone who stuck by me after the incident. I had some not so good friends who didn’t. In Magdelena I had a group of friends, but—aside from Mo—we didn’t stay in touch. Now I just have Lacey.

They sound so alive out there. To Mum’s ears they must be intimidating, a pack of young, untamed people; dangerous types who could be criminals. I wonder if I could walk outside and slip unnoticed into their crowd. Maybe.

As I hang up my cardigans and t-shirts, the noises from outside change. Instead of the general whoops of laughter and fun, a terrible high-pitched, real scream tears through the air. I drop my clothes to the floor.

Chapter Three

“Wait here,” Dad says, rushing out of the van.

Mum and I share a glance. We can’t just wait here. We hurry out after him, moving along with the flow of people heading towards the noise. There’s a heavy feeling in my gut.

As we get closer, my skin begins to prickle. There is a group of people standing near the entrance of the campsite office, some of whom hold a hand to their mouth as though in shock. The air is thick with a tense silence. Even the group of Goth kids have quietened. A girl about my age hides her face in her boyfriend’s chest.

“Oh my,” Mum says in a breathy voice. “What on Earth could have happened?”

The wind whips up my hair as I turn to the entrance of the campsite. Somewhere in the distance is the faint sound of sirens. A yellow blur of an ambulance whizzes along the main road in the bleak vastness.

A woman wails. The grief stricken note chills me to the bone. I turn back to see her red face, wet with tears, lifted to the sky, her hands on either side of her face, clutching her cheeks.

“Why?” She sobs. Her shoulders shake as she cries, uninhibited, no longer able to form words. She’s taken into the arms of a tall man, but she struggles, trying to break free. The sight is shocking, the kind of thing you see in faraway countries on the news.

I shoot a glance at Dad. His mouth is set in a worried line.

I step back away from the group, trying to free up some room. My legs are so shaky that I almost trip and fall onto the tarmac.

The sirens are louder now, and I pull my eyes away from the grief-stricken woman to see the ambulance travelling up the path. It stops and paramedics surge out. The crowd parts to let them through and it’s then that I see what has happened. It makes me wish that I’d listened to Dad, and stayed in the caravan. A young boy, perhaps ten years old—it’s hard to tell—lies crumpled on the ground, with his arm and leg stuck out at angles that your brain tells you is wrong. Dark blood pools beneath him like spilled wood stain. His skull is smashed.

I step back, tripping on my heel. My stomach lurches and lunch almost heaves all over the ground. As I try to steady myself, I see an image that I will never forget for as long as I live. The boy—not the crumpled version of him flat out on the cold tarmac but the boy as he should be— stands over himself, with tears running down his cheeks. He crackles, like intermittent television reception, and lurches backwards. His hands reach out to his mother, the woman who doesn’t see him, who is staring at his broken body instead.

“I don’t want to go,” he says. “I don’t want to.”

The boy disappears.

One of the paramedics asks his mother what happened.

“He jumped from the roof.” Her eyes drift to the top of the hotel. “He jumped.”

I think of the boy’s last words. I don’t want to go.

A chill seeps through my veins.

*

Death seems to trail me like the train of a wedding dress. I am the corpse bride and my loyal funeral procession nips at my ankles. Or perhaps I am the Pied Piper and the rats are ghosts, dancing to my music as I walk through life. But if I am the Pied Piper, where am I leading the ghosts?

The things I see are like a stink that you can’t wash away. I will never have the luxury of forgetting the sight of that boy. My heart twists as I remember his pained face, the tears wetting his ghost-pale skin as he is pulled away from this mortal coil, this plane of existence, this universe, whatever you want to call it. He’s gone.

If you think I’m crazy, you aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last. The visions began one day in school. I thought I was going mad. One moment I’m copying notes from the whiteboard, and the next I see a strange zombie-like creature, writing me a cryptic message. But then, later on, a fire in the gymnasium killed five pupils and maimed three others. I got out almost unscathed because I’d had that warning. I had cuts and bruises that healed. The nightmare left a scar.

They called me Scary Mary at school. I made the mistake of telling a therapist about the Things, and then an even bigger mistake of telling a friend. Everyone thought I was crazy, and that’s how I ended up in Magdelana Ward.

I hate hospitals, but I hate them even more when there’s a psychopath doctor killing off cancer patients with lethal injections, especially when he comes after me and then murders my friend. Oh yeah, and because I’ve attracted so much death in my life, I can see ghosts. The problem is, ghosts can be tricksters. They are bored and sometimes they toy with me. They come to me in that precarious space between life and death and mess with my head. They can be bitter, trapped in some plane of existence they shouldn’t subsist in.

But no matter how twisted they are, I owe them. In fact, I owe them my life. Without ghosts, I would be dead. So maybe it’s time for me to pay them back. Maybe it’s time for me to help them.

Why would a ten year old boy jump from a high roof? Maybe he was playing. Kids think they’re superheroes all the time. They play at being Superman. But most kids know not to go up five storeys.

“Mary, are you going to unpack?” Mum asks. She sniffs and her eyes have a slight red tinge around them, but she injects a breezy tone into her voice.

Since we got back to our caravan she has been rushing around in the small space, fussing over our belongings, banging cupboards open and shut. Dad is back at the hotel, seeing if he can help. I’m sitting on the little sofa cushion behind the small dining table, watching my mother become a blur.

She’s in overdrive with cheery overcompensation, as though a ten year old boy hadn’t been taken away in a body bag. There’s nothing like a stiff upper lip to get you through a holiday that starts with a death. There’s nothing like sweeping something like this under the carpet, so you can enjoy the two days of sun we get in the whole year in the north of England.

I pull myself from my thoughts and back to the present, wiping away the dew of tears that collected on my eyelashes.

“Are you okay?” Mum plonks down next to me and the cushion deflates with a hiss. She’s not fat, she’s not even chubby. It’s just that she throws around what little weight she has at high speed. We share the same hair, but Mum has pale blue eyes. Mine are dark, like Dad’s.

She puts an arm around my shoulders and squeezes me tight. “You can’t let it ruin our holiday. It was tragic… I’m sorry that you saw it.” She lets out a sigh. “The poor woman. If I lost you… I’ve been so close to it before.”

She looks at me and the weariness in her eyes exhausts me and tugs on my heart at the same time. There’s a suffocating feeling constricting my chest, one that makes me feel like I’m guilty for everything that happens around me. I bring them death. I bring my loved ones death.

“Okay, I’ll unpack.”

“Good girl.”

I stand up to leave and my shoulders feel a little lighter than before. A sudden impulse takes me over. I have a desire to go out and do something that makes me feel alive. I want to be surrounded by people.

“If I can go to the fair later,” I say.

“Sure,” she says with a nod.

“Alone,” I add.

Mum’s eyes darken for a fleeting moment before she says, “That’s a good idea. You need to make friends.” Then she reaches out and grabs my hand. “But be careful.” Her eyes are focussed on the faint white scars on my neck.

I nod. “I promise I will be.”

She lets me go and when I walk away, I realise her chin is wobbling. I think of how she had to decide to put me in a psychiatric ward for a week, to find out later that a doctor had been killing patients in the neighbouring ward. My last day in Magdelena had ended in murder and fire. The guilt shines in her tear-filled eyes. She blames herself for what happened to me, but I don’t blame her at all.

My room isn’t so bad. Single bed, floral bedspread tucked in tightly, the way they always are when you go on holiday. There’s another flat screen mounted on the wall and I have a tiny wardrobe to myself.

“Boo!”

I whip around, hand rising to my neck in fear.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Lacey grins.

I shoot her a glare. “Jesus, Lace. You startled me.” My heart beats a fast tattoo against my ribs.

“Thought I’d surprise my best mate,” she says with a wink. “You do still want me here, don’t you? You look weird, like you’re scared. What is it?”

“It’s nothing… how do you always know where I am?” I ask. “I mean, I know I gave you the campsite address, but how did you know this caravan and this room?” There’s one thing we haven’t talked about. In fact, we’ve been avoiding talking about it. Lacey can come and go as she pleases. One minute she’s here, and the next she disappears without a trace, vanishing into the ether.

I don’t know where she goes.

Is it… heaven? Hell? The past? Limbo?

She folds her arms and her eyes glaze with contemplation. “I don’t know. I sort of, feel you. I feel your presence. What’s happened? You do look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“That’s because I have,” I reply. “And no, it wasn’t you.”

Lacey moves forward and sits on the bed. She’s always in the same clothes, but sometimes she appears so real that I feel like I can touch her. She’s like that right now, tricking me into thinking she’s tangible.

“Explain,” she says.

“There was a suicide in the campsite car park. A young boy jumped to his death. It was awful, he was only about ten or so. I saw his body splattered on the floor. And then…”

“Go on,” she prompts.

“I saw his ghost leave. I saw him sucked backwards. And then he was gone.” I shrug.

Lacey’s facial expression freezes. Her lips straighten into a tense line.

“Do you know where he went?” I ask.

She turns away from me and stares out of the window. “You don’t want to know.”

Chapter Four

Dad’s not quite as enthused as Mum about me going to the fair alone. In fact, he takes some persuading. In less than a year I’ll be an adult. I’ll be able to vote, go to university, live on my own… you wouldn’t think that, the way he fusses. The way they both fuss. But then, I’ve put my parents through more than most parents ever go through. I can’t resent them for it. I can’t resent them caring for me.

So off I trot, heading towards the noise and lights of the carnival, ready to make friends my own age, except I’m already with a friend—my dead friend.

There’s something about the fair that makes you feel like a child and an adult at the same time. With the exhilarating sense of freedom comes the excitement of winning stuffed toys and riding the dodgems. You remember your first visit—the stickiness of the ice-cream, the sweet crunch of candy floss—but you’re also aware of almost being an adult and eye the nearest bar. I get why my parents worry; there’s a sense of danger about the place. It hums with unused static energy. The air is laced with the tension of adrenaline and alcohol fuelled groups of young people, like when you walk into a pub with more men than women. I guess I can understand my parents, now. I’m their only daughter. I’m their schizo daughter.

Lacey slips through an unsuspecting teenager eating candy floss. He spins around, confused.

“Did you feel a chill?” he asks his spotty girlfriend.

Lacey cackles away in the pre-evening air. No one hears her except me. No one will ever hear her again. It’s a waste that has me clenching my fists in anger.

“Man, there are some hotties here.” She pouts and shoves her hands into the pockets of her jogging bottoms. “Check out the rack on her. I can’t believe I’m never going to squeeze a boob ever again.”

I can’t help it this time, the ridiculousness makes me laugh. “That’s what you miss?”

“Amongst other things,” she says. “Boobs are important, Mary. Never forget that.” She flashes me her ever-present wicked grin.

“You’re crazy,” I say, shaking my head.

“Nope. Crazy is talking to ghosts in public. People are going to think you’re the crazy one,” she points out. “I miss candy floss like mad. Will you eat some and describe it to me?”

“No, I want to go on a ride.” I want to feel the wind in my hair. I want to be up high so I can gaze down at the people below until they are tiny, like little dolls. Impulsiveness rushes through my veins. “The Ferris wheel.”

Lacey gazes up at the metal monstrosity. “You actually are crazy, aren’t you? All right. I’ll come up with you. I can sit on the seat thing, I think.”

Over the last few weeks, since Lacey’s death, we’ve tested out the things she can and can’t do as a ghost. She can’t move things, or pick them up, but she seems to be able to sit on objects like beds and sofas. Though when she sits down, the matter beneath her doesn’t change; the bedspread doesn’t crease and the cushion doesn’t dip. She can’t change matter, but she can rest against it. She can walk through things, with some concentration. Her presence often affects lights, which makes me wonder if she is part electric. I think back to the way the little boy flickered on and off before he disappeared. It makes me shudder.

One day Lacey will disappear like that.

I swallow that feeling away and stride towards the Ferris wheel, joining the back of the queue. We end up behind a group of kids perhaps a year or two younger than me. They seem like the type who have not long been introduced the sweet release of eloquent swearing. In the space of two minutes I overhear lots of tosspots and dickheads, fucknuts and wankers. I smile at the thought that they believe this to be genuine rebellion.

One of the younger lads turns to me and his eyes all but do that cartoon thing of leaving his eye-sockets when he examines my body. He becomes a wanna-be gangster, tilting his head to one side, popping the collar of his Fred Perry shirt, and slouching into his knees.

“Damn girl, you’re fine,” he says.

“Where are you from? Yorkshire via Detroit?” I retort.

He narrows his eyes before tilting his head back and regarding me with a smirk. “That’s cool. You’re playing hard to get, I respect that, but I’ve got one last thing to say.”

I grit my teeth. I know I shouldn’t get into conversation with this spotty little twerp, but I end up saying, “Oh yeah, and what’s that?”

He leans forward and waggles his eyebrows. “Your name must be Daisy, ‘cos I want to plant you right here!” And then, as his little crew of acned prats laugh themselves silly, he makes over-exaggerated thrusting motions with his hips, rubbing his hands on his thighs.

“Knob,” Lacey says. She runs full pelt at the boy in the Fred Perry shirt, plunging through him in a blur. It doesn’t even faze him. He seems too wrapped up in embarrassing me to even realise he’s just been haunted. “Ugh, I hate this guy.”

I sigh and rearrange my hair so that it covers the scars on my neck. The last thing I want is for them to notice them. Maybe I should leave the Ferris wheel for later, or leave the fair altogether, seeing as it is clear that these little shits are not going to leave me alone. But then, as I’m contemplating kicking the guy in the crotch whilst attempting to think of a witty put-down, the hottest guy I’ve ever seen bustles into the crowd and grabs the kid by the scruff of the neck.

“What have I told you about bothering the girls here?” he shouts.

The kid whimpers. “Not to.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Now piss off, the lot of you, before I ring your parents and tell them you’ve been bothering the customers, again.”

“Holy crap,” Lacey says. “It’s your knight in shining armour.”

He turns around and I get a proper look at him. The sun is low in the sky, but nowhere near setting, which causes him to squint a little. Thick eyelashes cover his eyes, and bushy eyebrows frame them. I’m a pretty tall girl at 5’10” and he is at least a few inches taller. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, revealing intricate tattoos travelling up and down his forearms. As my eyes follow the swallows and song lyrics, I picture myself tracing them with my finger. His physique is slim, but not skinny. The bronze highlights in his hair catch the sun, but the rest of it is dark and thick, matching his sun-tinged skin. My mind wanders to thoughts of running my fingers through his hair, tugging it… My cheeks flush and I avoid his eyes. Nervous fingers arrange my hair at the neck, ensuring my scars are covered.

“You okay?” he asks.

I can’t speak. I nod instead.

Lacey glares at me. “Talk to him. Don’t just gawp.”

“Okay, good. I’ll be in the ticket booth if you need me,” he says. It could be the low light, it could be anger about the teenagers he’d chucked out, but his eyes glare down at me. Beneath the lashes is a slither of deep brown. I want him to open them wide, so I can lose myself in them.

“Don’t let him leave!” Lacey urges. “Seriously.”

“Um, wait,” I say, as he’s about to leave.

He turns back, shoves his hands in his jeans pockets and eyes me suspiciously. “Yeah?”

“Ask him to ride the wheel with you,” Lacey says. Her eyes are wide and bright with excitement.

“You want to… you want to umm…”

He glances at his watch. I’m boring him.

“You want to go on the Ferris wheel?” I blurt it out in a rush of words.

I’ve shocked him. He leans back on his heels and exhales a little. I shift my weight from one foot to the other as I wait for his answer, and block the sun with my body. Finally, I get to see his eyes. They are heavy lidded and surrounded by curled lashes, so you get a mere glimpse of what lies beneath. But the colour draws you in. You find yourself lost in smooth, velvet textured chocolate. He has puppy-dog eyes with a human, hard-edged glint.

“Yeah, all right. You mean, with you, right?” He rubs his stubble and glances at me sideways. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” I say without missing a beat. All right, it’s a white lie. But in six months it’ll be the truth.

He rubs his chin some more, as though assessing me. “Sure, I’ll ride the Ferris wheel with you. But I’m on duty, right now. Come back at eleven?”

“Okay,” I say.

Behind him, Lacey squeals with joy.

“See you then, umm…?”

“Mary,” I reply.

“I’m Seth.” He nods to me as a goodbye and strolls away. My skin prickles as I watch him leave. Was that me asking a guy out on a date?

“Mary, that was awesome,” Lacey jumps up and down. “I know I’m into girls, but that guy is fit.”

I can’t help grinning to myself. Did I do that? It was so bad-ass—not anything like me. I turn away from the ride and smile up at the sun, tilting my head so that it kisses my face. Tonight, I’m going to leave my boring old self back at home. This is my holiday, and what happens here, stays here.

In July, the night sneaks up on you, like a kidnapper with a hood. One minute you’re basking in the sun with an ice-cream, and the next your skin prickles with goosebumps as the darkness swells overhead. The smell changes. It turns from sticky bodies and rubbish bins to pine from the neighbouring woods, laced with cigarette smoke. A bubbling feeling works up from your stomach, filling the empty spaces inside that we all have, the kind that only disappear when we’re on holiday, or head-over-heels in love. Excitement jolts up and down your spine. It’s night-time and you’re at the fairground. This is the time for magic, mystery and, hopefully, romance.

Lacey and I—or rather me, with her ethereal body dancing around me—have won two stuffed bears, been on the dodgems, chatted to a group of teens far more pleasant than the last, and got spun so fast I almost puked on the Waltzers.

But the thrill of the rides has been nothing compared to the thrill of knowing I’ll be riding the Ferris wheel with Seth.

I have candy floss in one hand, a jittery tummy, and the knowledge that in fifteen minutes I’ll be meeting him back at the Ferris wheel. Absent-mindedly, I take a bite of the candy floss and chew on the crackly sugar.

“Oh, that’s the stuff,” Lacey says. “Describe.”

“I dunno, Lace. It’s like eating fine strings of sugar.”

“Oh yeah,” she says. “More, I want more. Does it taste like heaven in your mouth? Is it kinda chewy at first and then dissolves really fast on your tongue?”

“Mmhmm,” I say. “Are you coming along when I meet Seth?”

Lacey’s eyes move from the candy floss to meet my gaze. “Well, yeah. I mean, you want me there, right?”

The truth is, I don’t know if I do. What if we decide to kiss, or Lacey starts to distract me? What if her presence makes him feel weird? Sometimes people get a chill or feel uneasy when she’s around. I don’t want him to think it’s me.

So I hesitate before opening my mouth to answer.

“Oh my God,” she says. “You don’t want me there.”

“It’s just—”

“You don’t want the ghost girl cramping your style,” she snaps. “I get it. Sorry to inconvenience you by being dead.”

“Hey, would you come if you were alive? No, that would be weird,” I blurt out. “Sorry, I’m a little nervous. If you’re there, distracting me…”

Her shoulders slump. “I wanted to help, that’s all. There’s not much else to do when you’re dead.”

“I know.” I smile, trying to ease the tension. “I wish I could give you my candy floss.”

“Yeah, me too.” She flickers on and off. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Sleepover at the caravan?”

“I can’t sleep, remember? If I sleep, I…” A haunted look crosses her eyes. “Never mind. I gotta go.”

“Wait, tell me—” She’s gone, but I finish the sentence anyway, “tell me where you go. Tell me what it’s like.”

Wondering where Lacey went, and thinking about the dead boy again, I take a bite of my candy floss. That’s when I notice the guy running the Hook-a-Duck stall staring at me. With flushed cheeks I move away and head over towards the Ferris wheel. Not long now. My stomach does a flip. No more candy floss for me; I dump the rest in a bin.

Maybe I should duck into the port-a-loos and check my hair—but then what if I come out smelling like the port-a-loos? For once I wish I was one of those girls who always carries make-up and compacts; the kind who always have a mirror and apply lip gloss every half an hour.

When I see Seth’s silhouette against the bright Ferris wheel lights, my heart skips a beat. I become aware of my body, and the rushing of blood in my ears. This is so unlike me. I don’t often care about boys or dates. I’m too busy trying to avoid the ghosts in my life, dwelling over the Things, or worrying that everyone thinks I’m crazy. As the tall, built shadow of the guy gets my blood pumping, I wish Lacey were here to give me a pep talk; to tell me that I won’t mess this up, I won’t embarrass myself.

I swallow down the persistent insecurities and straighten my back. It’s time to grow-up, Mary.

Chapter Five

He stands side on with his hands pushed deep into the pockets of his jeans. Rainbow lights set his profile ablaze. There’s a vulnerability about a person’s profile, a glimpse into their private persona. The hairs stand up on the backs of my arms. The fairground is shutting up for the night and groups of teenagers snake through the field on unsteady legs, whooping and shouting, their faces bright red and sweaty.

I have to clear my throat to get his attention. He seems transfixed by the night sky, deep in a thought I long to know about. He turns to me and his eyes travel the length of my body. I fiddle with my hair at the base of my neck and wish I wasn’t holding two stuffed bears in my other arm. Why didn’t I dump them in the bin along with my candy floss?

“Hi,” I say.

“All right?” he replies, his voice still gruff, but with a soft edge that reveals another side to his personality. “You won, then?” He gestures to the bears.

“Yeah,” I mumble. “Hook-a-duck. At least it wasn’t a goldfish. That could have been awkward.”

He smiles but doesn’t reply.

My mouth opens and closes as my brain searches for a conversation topic. After a few seconds, Seth says, “You ready?”

“Sure,” I reply.

“Cool.” He grins. It’s a boyish grin. It turns his expression from stern to impish. He bangs on the control booth of the ride. “Hey, Damo, make it a smooth one.”

Damo, a middle-aged skinny man wearing a tracksuit, winks and puts both thumbs-up. The jittery nerves start up again. Am I making a mistake hanging around with a carnie late at night? Should I trust him enough to get on the Ferris wheel, knowing his mate is in charge? Anything could happen. But that’s part of the thrill. And I already know how much he hates skanky guys who hit on girls. I need to stop seeing the bad in everyone. Not everyone is Dr. Gethen.

He steps over and holds out his hand. I hesitate for a minute, the blood thumping in my veins. Eventually, I smile and take his hand, feeling his calloused skin. He’s strong, but he helps me into the seat with a gentleness I didn’t quite expect. He also checks the safety bar three times, slipping his fingers between my waist and the bar, but being careful not to touch me. The close proximity of his fingers sends an electric bolt up my spine.

With some relief, I realise that I’m positioned so that my scars are on the opposite side to him, so he won’t even see them.

The ride begins to move with a crank and a groan. It’s odd without the music to drown out the noise of the machines, and, without so many people down below, the night seems so quiet it’s like there is an unrealised absence in the air. The seat wobbles, and I gasp in surprise. He turns to me with that impish grin, almost lopsided it’s so relaxed.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say with a nervous laugh. “It’s been a while since I rode one of these.”

“Oh yeah? How long?” He maintains a safe distance between us. A respectful distance. Or maybe he isn’t interested.

“I was eleven, with my dad. It was in Newquay, and I saw the sea and the cliffs from the top of the wheel.”

“I bet that was nice.” His eyes darken, which contrasts with the soft curls of his eyelashes.

“It was a bit scary,” I admit. “It was pretty windy that day. The seat wobbled to and fro and beneath us the waves lashed the shore. Dad had to hold my hand the entire way around. But even still, the view was kinda spectacular.”

There’s one thing I notice right away about Seth, he listens and he watches. He has a still calm about him, a quiet observation. Despite my initial nerves, I begin to relax.

“So what’s your last name?” he asks.

“Hades,” I reply. “You?”

“Lockwood. Hades is unusual. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that one before. Like the God of the underworld. Spooky.”

He has no idea. “Yeah, that’s the one. Although it’s more Scottish than Greek, according to Dad’s rambles about family history, anyway.”

He laughs politely and we settle into our seats. The silence between us is a comfortable one. The wheel rises slowly, arcing in ascent, revealing more and more of the world below us, and the sky above us. The fairground lights blink off as the rides shut down. Yet the rainbow colours of the Ferris wheel continue to flash as we remain. All around the world, lights are being extinguished. Nights end. Lives end. Yet I feel as though this is a beginning for me.

“I don’t usually go on the rides after work,” he says. “But you took me by surprise.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, I didn’t expect someone who looks like you to ask someone like me to go on a ride with them.”

I blush, grateful for the bright lights on my skin, hiding its natural colour. “You were nice to me, getting rid of those guys like that.”

He laughs without humour. “Those tossers. They’re here every night, causing trouble. I have their parents’ numbers on speed dial.”

My laugh turns into a girlish giggle and a wave of embarrassment ripples through me. He lets out a relieved laugh, one that is shaking the events of the day.

“Man, this job… I’ve seen some shit.”

“I bet,” I reply, the smile on my face growing as I become more and more at ease, letting myself go. “Have you worked here long?”

“Longer than I’d like.” He frowns. “I’m saving up. Working two jobs, right now. I’m a mechanic three days a week.”

“What are you saving up for?”

His face tightens. His jaw sets.

“I’m sorry,” I say, realising I’d asked a personal question. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“S’all right,” he replies. He smiles, but it isn’t the same impish grin as before. He takes a small flask out from his pocket and swigs. “Want some? Don’t worry, I only drink this stuff off duty, not when I’m working the rides.”

I eye the flask warily. It’s been a while since I had any alcohol, and last time it ended with a frightening conversation with a green-eyed ghost. It could be the events of the day, or it could be the warm night air, or it could be Seth’s eyes, but damn it, I want a drink. Sometimes you have to take a risk to end up with something wonderful. I reach for the flask.

The liquid burns my throat and I almost cough it straight back up. “What is it?”

He chuckles. “You’re not a whiskey drinker, then?”

I flash him what I hope is a devilish grin. “Not yet.” The second swig still burns, but the warmth spreading through my extremities more than makes up for it.

“Easy now,” he says, prising the flask from my hand with a gentle touch. “I’m not trying to get you drunk. Oh hell, I just realised how skeevy that could’ve been. You’re too trusting, you know that? It’s a good job I’m a decent guy.”

The whiskey, and Seth’s company, has elicited whatever happy hormones needed to help me slip into a state of relaxation. I lean back in my seat and tilt my head to the sky. On any other night I hate to look up at the stars. I hate to be reminded that we’re in this huge universe that we don’t understand, and we’re a speck of insignificance on a great big piece of rock circling around a ginormous lump of fire. Tonight, I could get lost in space. I could stare up at the moon all night.

“Shooting star?” Seth asks.

“No, an aeroplane,” I reply.

“Somewhere you want to go?” he asks.

I turn my eyes back to him. We hold gaze. “No.”

No smiles. No impish grin. Instead—his eyes on mine. His eyes coming closer, until I feel as though his eyelashes might graze my cheek. His lips near mine. The scent of musk, whiskey and smoke. Sweet. Sweet scent. Him.

Jolt.

Groan.

The wheel stops. We break apart and laugh.

“Looks like Damo’s giving us a little sightseeing time,” Seth says. He pushes his fingers into his lush hair. There’s a ring on his right hand. The silver of it catches one of the flashing lights, so that it turns green, and then yellow. “You haven’t told me why you’re here? You local?”

“I’m on holiday,” I say.

He raises an eyebrow. “And you came to Nettleby?”

What I don’t tell him is that I’m with my parents. That would be even more embarrassing.

“Are you local?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh.

“Maybe you could show me around?” Mary, what on Earth are you doing?

He grins. “Sure.

He moves a little closer and wraps his arm around my shoulder, pausing not once but twice, as though almost changing his mind. There’s a slight flush of pink on his cheeks. It could be nerves, or it could be the whiskey. Lacey would be proud of me. For the first time ever, I’m on a normal date with a great guy, and it’s going well. There aren’t any Things, or ghosts, or people with psychiatric issues. There is me and Seth—alone.

Warm, fuzzy feelings spread through my arms as I lean into him. We stay silent for a while, watching the lights from the campsite. Beyond the fairground I know there’s a forest, but it’s now a black fade in the night. The fairground is dark, with the occasional torch light and one or two flood lights to help the men as they lock up for the night.

“Damo’s taking his time,” Seth says. His eyes narrow with concern.

“Something the matter?” I ask. We do seem to have been still for a while.

“I dunno,” Seth says. He turns in his seat so that he’s leaning over the ledge, and pulls his arm out from under me. Cupping his hands around his mouth he yells, “Damo! Hey, Damo. What’s going on, mate? You gonna get this thing started or what?”

A chill runs through me. Am I such bad company? Does he want to get rid of me? To get this date over and done with?

“Sorry,” he says, turning back to me. “I get a little nervous with these rides. When you know how they work, you know how much can go wrong.”

“Oh, okay.” I think back to his safety conscious worrying over the safety bar. Wow, a carnie who cares about welfare, that’s a first.

I glance at my watch. 11:30pm, time flies. I should try to get home before midnight so that the ‘rents don’t have simultaneous coronaries. When I realise that this is going to end soon, heavy weights pull at my stomach. I like being with Seth.

The wheel lurches forward with a groan.

“There, it’s—” My blood runs cold. The Ferris wheel jerks forward, no longer running smoothly like it did on the way up, but worse than that, worse than the possible failure of the ride, I see a dark shadow, and then I see it.

“No,” I mutter without meaning to.

“What’s wrong?” Seth says.

I shake my head. This can’t be happening now, not on the first date that has made me feel normal.

It crawls up the ride.

Bony fingers cling to the metal framework.

An x-ray of bones shine through its skin. I lean forward and grip the safety bar with my fingers, gripping so hard that the whites of my knuckles protrude through my skin, like the bones of the Thing climbing up to me.

“What do you want?” I whisper.

“What did you say?” Seth asks.

“Nothing,” I reply.

“Are you all right? You look a little pale? It’s the ride, isn’t it? Don’t worry, it gets a bit stiff sometimes, when it’s been inactive for a few minutes. Did I frighten you with what I said? Honestly, it’s fine. Damo knows how to—”

Screeeeeech.

The ride stops so abruptly that I’m thrust forward against the safety bar. My head snaps forward, painfully. One of the bears slips from my grasp and hurtles down towards the black ground below.

“Shit.” Seth grabs hold of my shoulders and pulls me back against the seat. “That’s never happened before. Are you all right?”

The Thing is gone. It has passed on the warning, showing me its hideous face. Now I have to wait for whatever horrible event is about to happen.

Are we going to die?

The Ferris wheel bench rocks back and forth, suspended halfway down the 80 foot full height of the wheel, as boasted on the sign by the ticket booth. Seth holds me tight, his anxious face turned down towards the control booth below.

“Damo?” he shouts. “Damo, what’s happening down there, pal?”

There’s the scrape of a door opening and a small voice calls up. “Summats up, mate. The controls have gone funny. I keep trying to get you down, but then it… it’s like it has a life of its bloody own.”

Seth rubs his chin. The wheel lurches forward again, this time making me cry out and grip onto Seth’s arm tighter.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “It’s gonna be all right.”

I shake my head. No it isn’t. When the Things show up, it’s because someone is going to get hurt. It’s not usually me, it’s someone else. Death follows me.

“This is my fault,” I whisper.

“What?” he says.

“Bad things happen… you… you should get away from me.”

Our seat rocks forward, forcing us both up against the safety bar. “This isn’t your fault—”

The bench drops an inch to the left, but my heart drops to my knees. We slide together, hitting the edge. In a moment of utter panic I realise that the chain has come loose at the top. There’s a good chance it will break altogether and we’ll fall…

Chapter Six

“Mary?” Lacey flickers on, balancing on the edge of our bench. I’ve never been so relieved to see her. I don’t know what she can do, but the sight of her familiar face begins to calm my nerves.

Seth has his fingers around my arms, pinning me to the seat, trying to stop us from slipping over the edge. My heart pounds like a piston against my ribs, so hard I’m afraid they’ll break.

“What the hell?” Lacey says. Her eyes flash when she sees the broken chain and the drop below us. Her expression darkens with terror before she whispers, “We’re not alone,” with a distant voice. I’m trying to concentrate on holding on with Seth, but Lacey’s expression, and the way she stares down at the framework of the Ferris wheel, fills me with dread. “I can feel her. She’s angry, so angry. She wants justice. She wants…”

Death, she wants death. There’s no need for her to finish that sentence. I already know it. Death follows me.

“Mary,” Seth says. “I think this chain is going to snap.” His forehead is covered in a slick of sweat. “I have to climb up to the next carriage and pull you up. You’re going to have to hold on to the safety bar until I’m up there.”

“He’s right, Mares,” Lacey says. “That thing is going to snap. There’s some bad mojo here. Listen to the guy. Trust him.”

“Be careful,” I whisper.

He nods, releases my arm, and gently wraps my hands around the safety bar. The bear lies uselessly in my lap. He takes a deep breath and wipes the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. “Hold on tight. I won’t be long.”

A primal sort of fear takes over me. The kind that you feel in your gut, or even deeper, right down in your bones. My muscles clench as he lifts himself from the seat, grabbing on to the metal framework of the Ferris wheel. The bench rights itself as his weight leaves the car, tipping me back to the left. I slide slightly, dislodging the bear. My throat is thick and dry as I watch it plummet towards the field below. I blink and turn away.

Seth is strong. He lifts his own weight with relative ease, but maintaining that weight is tough. The tension in his arms causes muscles to protrude as he swings his legs up to balance himself on the wheel. I know he told me to hold on to the safety bar, but I let go and turn around so that I position myself under him. Maybe I could grab him if he falls. Maybe I could save him because the thought of watching him plunge to his death churns at my stomach.

“Hold tight, Mares,” Lacey says. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“What’s doing this?” I whisper. “What is it?”

Her voice changes to a lower register. “It’s a spirit. I can feel her. She’s pretty scary. Um, maybe a bit on the evil side.”

A tear rolls down my nose. I watch as Seth grapples along the framework, moving closer to the seat above us. Why would anything do this to us?

But then it isn’t the first time I’ve faced evil. The difference being that last time the evil was human.

Seth’s fingers miss on his first reach towards the upper carriage. I gasp, hoping, praying he can make it. He swings on one arm, the tension visible on his strained face.

“Hold on,” I shout, somehow hoping it will help. “A few inches to your right, grab the bar.”

Seth swings one more time. He does it! His fingers loop over the bench, gripping the carriage above us. My heart leaps into my mouth. Lacey lets out a “Wooohooo!” He’s going to be all right.

The next arm reaches out as he clings on with his legs and one hand. First time, miss. Second time, gets it. Now all he needs to do is pull the rest of his body onto the bench. I grip the back of my seat, tingling nerves swimming in my stomach, the whiskey churning, burning, turning.

Please.

Seth begins to pull himself up.

The wheel lurches forward. The chain on my seat breaks and time seems to freeze.

The first time in my life that I faced death, I rejected it. I decided that I wouldn’t die in the fire at my school. I made the decision right then and there that I would get myself out alive, and I did. The second time I faced death, I accepted it. I realised that I had lived with the shadow of it hanging over my existence, stopping me from truly living. At that moment, I let it go.

Lacey died instead of me.

This time, I want to live, and I don’t want to lose anyone else, even the fairground guy who stepped into my life less than five hours ago. But, unlike the first time, I’m not afraid, not even of the pain. I think that’s how I manage to jump.

And grasp the side of the Ferris wheel.

Seth hangs from the bench above, his face pure purple with effort, his arms strained.

“Hold on, Mary. I can… get… myself… up,” he says, lifting his dangling legs with his forearms.

The wheel is stuck… for now… and I use the stillness to my advantage, climbing up the framework so I can meet Seth in the upper carriage.

Lacey crawls up the wheel, showing me where I can take a handhold, where I can avoid hot lights, and where I can shove the toe of my trainers to gain purchase.

I’m not strong, and I’m forced to reach inside myself for the extra strength to keep me going, to stop my muscles from giving up. The next time I glance across at Seth, he’s in the bench, leaning back in the seat, his chest rising and falling, a glazed look of shock on his face. I know the feeling.

His eyes snap to mine and in an instant he’s out of his trance and working to help me. On his belly, he reaches forwards, underneath the safety bar, so I can take hold of his hands.

“A little further, Mary, you can do it,” he says. His voice trembles very slightly, but it is far calmer, and far stronger than I feel inside.

My calves burn with the effort. My arms ache. My heart thumps against my ribcage. I don’t care. We’re making it. We’re doing this. I won’t be like that boy in the car park. I push myself forwards. Then I grip with my knees and lean my body weight against the metal as I reach out towards Seth.

His fingers flex towards me. “You can do this.”

It’s that moment again; that life or death moment when thoughts rush through your brain like a speeding train. I can’t do this. Yes, you can. Remember when you were little and you fell off your bike and broke your arm? Yeah? Well this is gonna hurt a hundred times more than that.

Acceptance.

“Mary, reach for him.” It’s Lacey’s voice, soothing and believing. She always believed. Always.

I reach out for him, our fingers touch but they don’t connect.

Then again, Lacey died believing.

I’m not Lacey.

My fingers curl over his. He wiggles forward, getting a better hold of me.

“She’s here,” Lacey whispers. “I can… I’ll find her. I’ll stop her.”

“Yeah, you do that,” I say, struggling to keep hold of Seth.

“Let go, Mary, I’ve got you,” Seth says.

Let go.

Are there two words in the English language more laden with meaning?

I do. And in doing it, I soar. No, I don’t fall, I dangle, struggling to pull myself onto the seat above, but there’s something about the feeling of putting all your trust in one person; it fills your heart with this freeing sensation that tells you life will never be the same again. I’ve opened myself now. Maybe it will never close.

By some miracle, I end up squirming under the safety bar and into Seth’s arms. He’s sticky with sweat, his heart hammers against his chest, thrumming beneath my ear. He holds me fiercely.

“I can’t believe we did it,” he says.

“Now we just need to get down.”

We break into manic giggles, the stress and the enormity of our achievement hitting us both at the same time. Below us, a crowd has gathered. One of the fairground workers shouts up.

“We’ve called the services, Seth. Hold tight.”

“Oh, I plan to,” Seth shouts down.

Lacey is nowhere to be seen. The things she said… about a spirit? An evil spirit. I worry for her. Yeah, she’s dead, but can ghosts hurt each other? Can one send the other somewhere… unpleasant? I remember the way the ghosts of Dr. Gethen’s victims dragged him beneath them, eating at his flesh. His screams still haunt me in my dreams.

I swallow. It isn’t over yet. We’re not down on the ground.

We both watch the fairground workers below, gripping each other’s hands, our jaws clenched, no more words to be spoken. They stand in a group, waiting, probably feeling as useless as we do. Damo is with them. He must have given up on the controls, worried he was making matters worse.

I start to sink into my seat, concern for Lacey weighing me down. Where did she go? Where does she go when she leaves me? Is it horrible? Is it peaceful?

Another cold shudder passes through my body when the Thing turns up once more. I see its bony white fingers first. Then it pulls its body up, so that its bright skull-face is level with mine. I swallow, trying hard not to scream.

They don’t usually talk.

They write. Messages on school walls, doctor’s windows.

This one hisses to me.

Cloaked in shadow,

Cloaked in light,

She takes the lives,

To gain her might.

And with that, it is gone. As always, I get the message, then it goes. My fingers tighten over Seth’s. He turns to me, sees my expression and tries to calm me.

“Hey, it’s going to be all right, the fire department will be here soon. They’ll get us out no problem.”

No they won’t. I know it’s going to happen before it starts. The wheel jerks forward. The music blares out. It spins. Fast now, faster than a Ferris wheel should go. The ground rushes towards us and, for a split second, I lose sense of reality. It’s like watching a film of someone free-falling towards the ground. The stress response of my brain tells me that this can’t be real, this can’t be happening, because it’s too much for me to handle.

I see the fairground workers run towards the control booth and I know that this is very real. If we don’t act, we’ll be thrown out of our seats and halfway across the fairground.

I know what to do. I know what we both have to do.

Let go.

“We have to jump,” I shout.

“What?” Seth replies.

“Jump! Now!”

This is our chance. We’re maybe ten feet from the ground. We could get hurt but not die.

I pull him up as hard as I can. Seth pushes himself higher until we’re on our feet. The world blurs around us. I glance to him, our eyes lock, and we jump.

Weightless. A moment of pure freedom.

And then the crushing ground. The cold scrape of compacted dirt on my cheeks.

But Seth is next to me, and our hands are still entwined.

Chapter Seven

One moment bright stars, the next the blinking strip light of a hospital; one moment the dull ache of my back, the next, the pain gone; one moment Seth’s fingers entwined in mine, the next, gone, and Lacey by my side.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

“Yeah, I think so.” I manoeuvre myself so that I’m sat up in the hospital bed. “How long was I out for?”

“Not long,” she replies. “During the ambulance ride and while the doctor examined you. It’s just after midnight.”

I close my eyes and pull in a deep breath. “Is Seth okay?”

“I think he’s in one of the rooms down the hall. He’s fine,” she answers.

I let out a sigh of relief. “Do you know if anyone has told my parents?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I hope they don’t sue. Maybe I can get back to the campsite before they even realise.” I pause, thinking through everything that happened. Some of it is a little jumbled up. My blood runs cold when I think of the Thing with its skull shining through translucent skin. “There was a spirit. What happened? Did you find it?”

Lacey wraps her arms around her body. “I chased her. I chased her in my world, but I never caught up with her.” Her arms stretch further around her body, pulling herself tighter. I don’t like the haunted expression on her face.

“What is it?” I ask.

“She reeked,” Lacey replies. “She reeked of it. Pain, suffering, rage. There’s something not right about this place. If I were alive I would get goosebumps.” She stares down at her arms, sadly.

“How do you know about her? Did you see her?”

Lacey narrows her eyes as if concentrating on a memory. “Glimpses and feelings, mostly. She made her presence known to me. They don’t always do that. It was like she was trying to reach out, but then she clammed up and went inside herself.”

“I didn’t see her,” I say, half to myself. “Why is that?”

Lacey shrugs. “Maybe she doesn’t want you to see her. Maybe she wants to stay hidden.”

“But how? How did she cause all that? You can’t even move a cup.”

Lacey flashes me a glare. “Thanks for that reminder. Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe poltergeists are real. Hey, that means one day I might be able to touch things!” Her eyes flash bright with hope.

I can’t help thinking that Lacey shouldn’t be hoping for corporeal form, she should be aiming to find peace, to go to wherever we should go when we die. At one point she will have to move on.

The door opens and a doctor steps through.

“Mary Hades,” he says, staring down at his clipboard. “You’re pretty bruised, but there’s no lasting damage. You need to collect a prescription from the pharmacy on the way out. Read the label carefully. The stuff is pretty mild, but according to your medical records the anti-psychotic medication you’re taking doesn’t play nice with most other pills, so be careful. And please… no more alcohol.”

I can’t help the flush on my cheeks.

“I’m free to go?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says, finally meeting my eyes with his own wrinkled ones.

“Did you ring my parents?”

He rocks forward on his toes and raises his eyebrows. “No, I did not. You have minor injuries, your friend down the hall also has minor injuries. There’s no need.”

Even better, they don’t have to hear about this at all. Lacey grins and winks at me.

“Where’s Seth?” I ask the doctor.

“If you mean the young man you were with, he’s right down the hall on the right.”

“Thanks.” I gingerly climb down from the bed, stretching my sore muscles.

“Miss Hades, if you don’t mind me saying… I have a daughter about your age. If I knew she was out until midnight with the kind of folk who work at carnivals, I would be… concerned. Please take care of yourself. The reception desk will phone for a taxi for you to get home.” He gives me a sad smile. “We can charge it to the hospital, on this one occasion.”

“They don’t charge taxis to hospitals,” Lacey whispers in my ear. “He’ll probably pay for it himself.”

“It’s okay, I have money,” I say. He seems like a nice man, a kind man, but the last doctor I knew tried to kill me. That alone makes me not want to owe him money.

He gives an exasperated smile. “Very well. But please do be careful.” And with that, he’s gone.

I hurry down the corridor, adrenaline coursing through my veins from the fall, the thought of seeing Seth, and the memories of the last hospital ward I stayed in. I lift my shoulders a few times, trying to shake the uneasy feeling those strip lights give me.

Seth sits up on his hospital bed. He’s rubbing the back of his head and staring out of the window when I arrive. Before I knock on the open door to let him know I’m here, I watch him stare out of the window, completely alone, completely him. His shoulders are slumped, resigned. I hope he doesn’t blame himself for what happened. Or me.

I knock.

He doesn’t turn immediately. When he does, his eyes are slightly pink around the edges and a little puffy.

“I was about to check on you. I’m glad you’re okay,” he says. His expression darkens. “No thanks to me. I should never have taken you on the ride after hours.”

I move forwards, all too aware of Lacey by my side. She’s quieter than usual, not dancing around or pulling faces. Her eyes flit between the two of us.

“It wasn’t your fault. There’s no way you could have known what would happen.” But I should have known. When will I learn to stop pulling people into my dangerous world?

“I got a call,” Seth says. He draws in a sharp breath and scrunches the bedding up in his fists. “When we were in the ambulance on the way here, another piece fell from the Ferris wheel, a metal beam right from the top.” He stops talking and screws up his eyes. There’s dew on his eyelashes. “It killed Damo.”

Without thinking I’m next to him on the bed, wrapping my arm around his shoulders. “Seth… I’m so sorry.”

He pulls my arm from around him. “You should go, before I end up killing you, too.”

“What are you talking about?” I’m the one with death as her companion. “You saved my life!”

“If I’d never agreed… If I’d gone with you on the ride straight away, instead of waiting until the dark, until half the operators had gone home.” His voice begins to crack. “Go home. Go to whatever campsite or hotel you came from. Get out.”

His words are like a shard of ice stabbing my abdomen. “Okay.”

The rest of the hospital is a blur. It’s when I’m outside that I realise my cheeks are wet.

“Well, that was marginally better than our last hospital stay,” Lacey says. “Mainly because last time, I died.”

*

It isn’t the sun filtering through the floral curtains that wakes me, or the smell of fried bacon, it’s Mum shaking me awake and telling me that the little boy’s death has been cleared as accidental, and the police have all gone. That means we can get on with our vacation, according to Mum. Her voice is shrill and her words come out quick as gunfire. It reminds me of many moments with her in the past, like when she told me I would have to go into hospital, or when I was little and my hamster died.

My back aches and I swallow down a couple of painkillers with a glass of water. The prescription the doctor gave me is for something stronger, but I don’t know if I want to be on medication right now. I don’t have fond memories from taking anti-psychotics.

As I walk into the main area of the caravan, I wonder how I’m going to get through the rest of the week without telling my parents about falling from a Ferris wheel and almost dying. There’s no way they’d let me back to the fair if I tell them, and that would mean I might never see Seth again. So I walk carefully, trying not to wince as my back aches. Hopefully the bruises will go down in a few days. All of them are on my body and easily concealed.

The real problem is what doesn’t fade after a few days. Since arriving in Nettleby there have been two accidental deaths. Neither of them were real accidents. Both were murder, at the hands of some evil poltergeist. That means there is a ghost lurking in the dark out there who has tried to kill me already.

“How was the fair, sweetie? Did you make any new friends?” Mum asks over breakfast.

I pick away a piece of bacon gristle. “I met one person, yeah.”

“You came home late. Did you hit it off?”

Hmm, how to answer that question? We fell off a Ferris wheel together and then his friend died, so, yes and no. “I don’t know. He—”

Dad’s newspaper creases down, revealing his bespectacled visage. “He?”

I roll my eyes with emphasis, as if to say don’t overreact. “Yes, he. We hung out for a while.”

Mum smiles over her tea. “Did you get his number?”

My heart sinks. Of course I didn’t. He yelled at me to get out of a hospital room while the smell of bleach hung in the air. He’d been grieving for his friend, angry and frustrated.

“Sorry, honey. Was he good looking?”

“Mum!” I widen my eyes at her.

“I don’t want to know.” Dad rises from his chair, carrying his bacon sarnie in one hand.

“Well?” She raises her eyebrows.

“Yes, all right. He was.”

Mum drums the table with excited fingers. “Oh, I can tell just from looking at your face. He’s downright gorgeous, isn’t he? Please tell me you used protection.”

“I can still hear you…” Dad calls from the bedroom.

“Mum! We didn’t… we didn’t even kiss!”

“Thank Buddha for that,” Dad shouts.

I roll my eyes at that silly joke of his, the one I’ve heard a bajillion times.

“Well, maybe he’s staying on the campsite somewhere,” Mum offers. “You never know your stars, you might bump into him one day. What’s his name?”

“Seth,” I say. “But he’s a local. He won’t be on the campsite.”

“Then you’re going to have to get out there and explore. Good men are hard to come by, Mary. Don’t let one slip through your fingers. Go into town and see if you can find him.”

I think of the way we landed, with our hands still clutching each other. No, I suppose I shouldn’t let him slip through my fingers.

So, after breakfast, I walk down the road into town with the long stretching moors on each side. It’s a thirty minute walk, and despite the warm sun, the wind is cold and whips at my hair. I find myself staring out into the bleak countryside, thinking of everything I know about North Yorkshire. Wuthering Heights. The Brontes. Harsh winters. Cool summers. Quaint villages filled with tea rooms and early-bird diners. Narrow bridges over winding rivers. The stares of locals as you invade their village during the summer months, and the sound of muttered “bloody tourists” under breaths.

Where are you, Seth? And why am I trying to find you? Why aren’t I letting you grieve for your friend in peace?

Lacey trots along next to me as we wander aimlessly through the town looking for mechanics and wondering what I would even say if I saw him. Sorry your mate was crushed under a piece of falling metal, but would you like to go on a date? Lacey spends the morning pointing out all the things she wants to eat but can’t. I have to describe the taste of Eccles cakes, scones with jam, and a hot cup of tea. I’m stuffed before even lunchtime.

“I’m bored,” she says eventually. “Give it up already, you’re not going to magically bump into him, okay? What’s so special about him, anyway? There are plenty of other fit lads in this place. What about him?”

“Acne. And he’s about fifteen.”

“Him then?”

“Jesus, Lacey. He’s old enough to be my dad.”

“Okay, then him.”

I sigh. Pointing at men through the glass window of a café is not my idea of fun. Not to mention the funny looks I’m getting. I keep forgetting that no one else can see her. I keep forgetting that she’s dead…

“You’re crap at choosing men,” I whisper, smiling. “Stick to girls.”

We give up on finding Seth and head back to the campsite. Lacey’s ghostly arms rub against mine as we walk, sending shivers down to my fingers. I end up hugging my body to keep the warmth in, even as the sun beats down overhead.

When we reach the car park, I notice the dark stain on the tarmac; the last remaining evidence of the dead boy. The last thing he left to this world.

“Where did he go, Lace?” I ask quietly.

“I don’t know.” Her voice is soft, lost in itself. “When I’m there, I don’t know I’m there. It’s like a hollow, a hollow of… energy, I think. I’m… I’m drowning in it, being pulled under.” She shivers and rubs her shoulders.

“Do you feel the cold?”

“No,” she says.

We stand there staring at the blood stain.

“I exist… and yet I don’t.”

“Limbo?” I asked.

She shrugs. “I thought that when I died I’d finally get to know if the big chief exists. Well, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t. Not yet.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind the suspense,” I say.

We grin at each other. A pause hangs between us and the smiles fade from our faces. We both realise, at the same moment, that this is the first time we’ve mentioned the otherworld to each other. This is the tip of the iceberg. There’s so much left unsaid. Lacey, you should pass on. I could say that. I could tell her to find peace. But I don’t.

“You know how we faced the murderous doctor at Magdelena?” Lacey asks, her gaze redirecting to the stain on the ground.

“Yes,” I say. It takes me a moment to pull myself from my thoughts.

“Well, I think we have to do it again, but with someone even worse, this time,” Lacey says. “I think we have to go up against some sort of evil spirit.”

Chapter Eight

There are so many songs set in the heat of a summer night. Love songs about sex and romance; songs about the moonlight and soft waves lapping at the beach in the summer heat. Funnily enough, there aren’t as many about pining over a guy you don’t even know whilst sitting on the grass next to your dead best friend.

We’re on the lookout, but what we’re on the lookout for… I’m not sure. We decided to get high. No, not like that; we climbed a hill overlooking the campsite, the fairground, and the surrounding moors. Now we sit and wait. My chin rests atop my bare knees as my eyes search the area around us.

This time there aren’t any rainbow lights or blaring music. There are no screams as the rides screech through the dark night like runaway trains. The fairground has been closed down, for safety reasons. No doubt I’ve lost Seth his job as well as his friend.

Go away, Death. Take your evil spirits with you. Let me live a normal life, like a normal girl. Just leave me Lacey, alive and touchable. Huggable. Breathable.

It’s a warm and clear night, but the stars aren’t as bright as they were on the Ferris wheel. Still, the air feels soothing, not the kind of atmosphere you would expect for an evil spirit to go on a murderous rampage.

“Why the campsite and then the fairground?” I ask. “I mean, the two locations are quite far away from each other. When you watch ghost movies, they’re almost always about a haunted house, right? Not a haunted town.”

“Maybe she’s latched on to you. I mean, you’re a human who can see ghosts. That’s pretty special, right? It can’t happen very often. Or maybe she sensed me. I felt her reaching for me. I think she’s lonely.”

“We need to find out if she’s killed before,” I muse. “Or how long ago she died. If we’re going to go after her, we need to find out as much about her as we can.”

“Google it,” Lacey says. “And why don’t you Google Seth, at the same time?”

“Because that’s stalking,” I reply.

“Then what the hell did we do all day? What was with the traipsing around old-fogey town looking for random mechanics?”

I flip Lacey the bird and pull my phone out of my shorts pocket. “Huh, check it out. I’ve actually got a signal.”

According to Wikipedia, Five Moors Campsite has had a small amount unusual deaths in the last few years, enough to be noted, and enough to attract an odd group of Goths to the same place every year, a little bit like Whitby.

“So that’s why there’s that group of emo kids in the next van,” I say. “They’re here on some sort of ghost hunt.”

Lacey leans over my shoulder, reading the passage along with me, her ghostly form turning my flesh bumpy with the chill.

“Five Moors has been the site of suspected ghost sightings since the death of twelve year old Amy Willis, killed on the moors. They never caught the guy who did it,” Lacey reads aloud. “Yuk, that’s awful. No wonder she’s so angry. That was five years ago. And in the last five years there have been three accidental deaths—the kid from the other day makes four—”

“Damo makes five,” I add.

“Right,” Lacey says. “According to this, the first death occurred when a caravan toppled over on to twenty-five year old Matthew Waters, crushing him to death. Then, a year later, sixty-three year old Devendra Singh fell from the top of the camp office, plunging to his death on the car park—”

“Like the little boy.”

“There was Steve Grayson—he died parking his car. Apparently the vehicle lost control and crashed into a tree.”

“What?” I say. “How do you lose control parking a car?”

“Exactly. They thought it was suicide, but he… oh, this is sad… it was an hour before his wedding, he went out to move his car to make room in the car park, the next thing you know? It’s wrapped around a tree.”

“That’s terrible.” The temperature drops as I think of the poor guy’s last moments. Did he think of his fiancée? Did he cry out? Did his ghost fight as he was sucked into Lacey’s hollow, drowning in energy?

“So that’s the three. All men,” I say. “Do you think that’s significant?”

“Could be,” Lacey replies. “She was probably killed by a man.”

“She’s getting revenge. But the little boy… He didn’t deserve it. He’s a little kid—an innocent.”

“So was she,” Lacey notes.

I turn my phone back to the sleep mode. I don’t want to look at the screen anymore, I don’t want to see those names, to imagine the lives of the people she’s taken. It’s then that I remember…

“The Thing,” I say.

“What thing?” Lucy asks.

“I saw one of them. You remember in Magdelena, I told you about those creatures that I see, the ones that deliver warnings?”

“Yeah?”

“One of them gave me a riddle:

“Cloaked in shadow,

Cloaked in light,

She takes the lives,

To gain her might.”

“Cloaked. That could mean hiding, yeah? Cloaked in shadow, cloaked in light. She hides in the daylight and the night-time? That doesn’t tell us much. All ghosts do that. They hide on their different planes and come out whenever they feel like it,” Lacey says. “I guess it could mean that she’s as dangerous in the day as she is at night. When the sun goes down I get a little surge of energy. It makes me feel more alive.” Her eyes soften. I would have thought she were about to cry, if she hadn’t been a ghost. “Maybe Amy is as strong in the daytime as she is at night. It would explain how she kills in broad daylight.”

I nod in agreement. “And the next bit: She takes the lives to gain her might. Killing people makes her more powerful.”

“If that were true, wouldn’t she keep killing all the time? There’s only been a handful of deaths over the last five years.”

“Unless something has changed.” I stare down at the lights in the campsite below. “We don’t know enough about ghosts. We don’t know how they change over time. You’ve been a ghost for a few months, but there are things she can do that you can’t. That means some ghosts are more powerful than others, and maybe they can become more powerful with practice.”

“I’m not an expert, but I reckon a car is harder to control than tipping a caravan. And a Ferris wheel is even harder, imagine all those levers and buttons. Plus she was strong enough to break the chains from your carriage, and disconnect part of the wheel.” Lacey’s eyes widen. “Her power is growing, and if she has just noticed that the deaths make her stronger, it might be now that she turns even more murderous.”

“That means more deaths.” My shoulders slump when I realise what we’re up against. “So, how do we stop her?”

“Umm, Google it?” Lacey suggests with an apologetic shrug. She waggles a finger at me. “But whatever it is, you’re not testing it out on me.”

I climb to my feet. “Deal.”

“Where are we going now?” Lacey asks.

I can’t suppress this groan. “Disco. At the campsite.”

Lacey doubles over with laughter. “You’re kidding me, right? A freakin’ disco? How old are you?”

“Mum reckons I might meet a ‘nice boy’ to take my mind off of Seth.”

“Wow, even your mum knows your love-life is dire. How does that feel?”

“If I could punch you right now, I totally would.”

“Gimme your best shot,” she says with a grin.

I roll my head and lift my shoulders to warm up. Lacey stands before me, seeming more solid than ever before. But I know my fist won’t connect with anything. I might get a chill and an electric shock though.

I retract my elbow, lift my arm, and plunge it forwards, smashing into Lacey’s face. Of course, my fist goes straight through her, throwing me forwards. It’s at that moment I lose my balance, and face plant into the grass, with the soft chuckles of my dead best friend as a soundtrack. My poor bruised body has had enough of me flinging myself to the ground.

“Urgh, that was worse than last time,” I say.

“Did you get a chill?” she asks.

“Ice cold.”

“Oh, mate, I wish I could help you up right now. But I wish even more that I could’ve filmed it.”

I drag myself back onto my feet. “Don’t ever let me do that in public.”

“Agreed,” she says.

On the way back to the campsite, I find myself almost transfixed by the dark moors around me. It must be a lonely place to die—a frightening place. As appalled as I am about the deaths over the last five years, my heart tugs when I think of that little girl, betrayed by someone in the worst possible way. It’s too horrible to even think about. It makes you lose hope in humanity, makes you wonder if there is any good in the world.

Lacey decides that the hollow is better than a DJ who announces song dedications in a “radio” voice and disappears for a while. It’s probably for the best, because it’s much easier to act normal in public when she’s not around, and I’ve noticed my mum watching me, every now and then, her brow furrowed as though she’s trying to suss me out.

Music blares out of the hotel function room and barbecue smoke wafts through the air. Pre-teen girls giggle and run around the side of the building, being chased by a boy holding his two hands together as though protecting something inside.

“He’s got a spider!” one of the girls shouts breathlessly.

When I smile at her, I think of the little girl ghost out there, alone and afraid and murderous. I pull my cardigan tighter around my shoulders as I make my way to a small patio area outside the function room. Mum and Dad stand outside chatting to an elderly couple, both holding drinks. They introduce me with an enthusiastic pat on the back and I smile and nod along until it’s over.

Dad and I make our way to the barbeque, the smell of almost-burnt burgers like a siren call. Mum has us on a healthy eating kick for ninety percent of the year. We’re always in cahoots when it comes to sniffing out the nearest treats.

“Cheese?” he asks.

“Load her up,” I reply.

“You okay, Mares? It’s a strange old holiday so far, isn’t it?” he says.

“Strange is one way of putting it. Not all vacations start with the death of a child.”

“If it bothers you we can go home, you know. Your mother feels awful about it. She would never say so, obviously…”

“No, it’s okay, Dad. I want to stay.” I nod and plunge my teeth deep into the burger, relishing the grease while I can. After a pause to allow me to chew, I add, “It’s not so bad, here.”

“We just want you to be happy. We want you to get out there and make friends, you know, after everything that’s happened this year.” He grins and pulls me into a one armed hug.

I roll my eyes. “Dad, I’m fine. And I’m too old for these hugs.”

“You’re never too old,” he replies. “Speaking of old, I’d better find your mother.” He points at me in mock seriousness. “Do not tell her I said that.”

“Secret’s safe,” I reply.

Dad melts into the crowd of holiday goers and I finish my burger while watching the people around me. There is one advantage to the disco—it’s brought out the Goths. Mum seemed quite perturbed when we got here. I think she imagined the place full of middle-class families with teenage children, not a sea of black eye-liner and piercings.

The doors of the function room are open and I stand, chewing on my burger, watching the tweens jump up and down to One Direction from the safety of the patio area. Most of the Goths stand together, drinking beer.

Mum is far more drunk than I’d thought. She has a bottle of wine in one hand and is pulling Dad towards the dance floor as Katy Perry’s ‘I Kissed a Girl’ comes on. Apparently, she knows all the words.

“They your parents?”

I turn to find a guy with safety pins turned into a necklace standing next to me. He has black hair, a lip piercing and the kind of cheesy tattoos on his arm that make me long for Seth and his tattoo artistry. He has a hint of a brummie accent in his lilting vowels and low register. It has always amazed me how people from Birmingham have voices that almost sound like a piano out of tune.

“Yep. Kill me now.”

He smirks. “I think they’re sweet.”

“I think they’re puke-inducing.”

“You’re funny,” he says, though it sounds more like “yow’re funn-ay”. “And kooky. I like that.”

“Kooky?” I ask.

“Yeah, you know, your look. The dark hair and the pale. That faraway expression of yours. It’s pretty sexy.” He grins in a non-intimidating way.

“Oh, I have a boyfriend,” I lie.

“Yeah, me too,” he says. “I just wanted you to know.”

“Oh, well, thanks. You pretty well made my night.”

“Happy to oblige.” He lifts his beer in mock salute. “You want a drink?”

“Medication,” I reply. Technically, I’m not taking it, but it wouldn’t go down well with the ‘rents if I started drinking in front of them.

“Gotcha.”

“So what brings you to Five Moors? Seems like an odd spot for a Goth outing, no offense.” Of course I know why, but I want to find out if they know any more about Amy Willis and her ghostly murders.

“What? You don’t know?”

“Know what?” I shrug.

“This place is super-haunted. A little girl was killed by some psychopath killer about five years ago. Since then, she’s been killing off men in revenge.”

“Seriously?”

“According to the legend, if you see Little Amy and survive, you’re destined for good luck for the rest of your life,” he continues.

“Do you have to say her name three times in the mirror?”

He knocks me playfully on the arm. “Nah, nothing like that. Little Amy doesn’t need gimmicks, she’s real. Don’t you feel it?”

“Feel what?” I ask.

“The atmosphere, man. It’s fuckin’ buzzin’ with it. There’s the stink of death all over this place. We got here the same day that little lad died. Jesus, that was so harsh. I came here with the guys as a bit of a laugh, a bit of a blow-out. Then that happened and it all came crashing down, the realisation that this isn’t a joke. Little Amy is out there and she’s really killing people.”

“Then why didn’t you leave?”

“I dunno,” he says. “Why do people stare at car accidents, or watch Z-listers descend into a meltdown? Because we can’t look away. When it’s not happening to us, it reminds us that we’re alive, you know?”

“Unless she kills you,” I remind him.

“Yeah, there’s that. But the other bit is addictive.”

I nod. I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it. And that makes my stomach churn.

Inside, the disco continues. I ask the guy his name; Neil. Dad takes Mum back to our caravan. I decide to give them some privacy… just in case… vom.

The lights in the disco flicker on and off. Then the lights go out for about five seconds, causing everyone inside to do a wooooooo. When the lights come back on, for about a second I think I see a shape, right in the middle of the crowd.

A girl.

Dirty dress, messy hair, blood on the hem of her dress and dripping down her arms. Her hair hangs in her face, veiling her eyes. She’s a vision of chromatics in a scene of colour, except for the red of the blood.

She’s revealing herself to me. Why?

Is it a challenge?

Chapter Nine

I know from experience that monsters can exist in the daylight as well as at night. So the next day I’m on guard, especially after my conversation with Neil. That night I hugged myself all the way back to the caravan, wishing Lacey were with me. I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, imagining Little Amy above me, her arms reaching down to me, the blood dripping onto my nose. When I closed my eyes, I saw her. When I opened them, I saw her. But I knew she wasn’t there, because I couldn’t feel her.

She’s in my head now.

She’s set up camp there.

Lacey walks with me through the caravans, listening as I tell her about Little Amy and what Neil said. I pretend to talk on my phone so we can have a conversation without everyone staring.

“There has to be a reason why she revealed herself to you. Maybe she thinks you’re trying to stop her. Maybe she’s going to act,” Lacey says.

I nod. “Where were you, last night, anyway? In that place again?”

“No.” Her eyes open wide and bright with excitement. “I was practising.”

“Practising what?”

“Moving things, touching them. I figured that if we’re going up against some poltergeist I should try it out, so I’m stronger.”

“How did it go?”

She waves me forward. “Come on, let’s go back to the hill. I want to show you.”

Lacey sprints away, her body moving jerkily, like most ghosts do when they move. The first time I saw a ghost flicker like that it frightened me, right down to my bones. Now, I guess I’m used to it. It’s annoying, though, because you pretty much have to run flat out to keep up.

Halfway up the hill, at the point where my legs are screaming out and my sore back aches too much to continue, I turn to see the moors below; the moors where Amy Willis met her fate at the hands of a sadistic killer. I would have been twelve when it happened.

A shiver runs through me.

We are the same age. But she’s been dead for five years—alone—with her last memory of people linked with pain and suffering.

“Hey? You coming?” Lacey calls.

I turn back towards my best friend and my chest pangs. How long will it take for Lacey to become as twisted as Amy? How long? Will it take watching her friends and family grow old, move on?

“Yeah, I’m coming,” I say. I try to swallow the thoughts away, but I find myself coughing as though they are stuck in my oesophagus.

“Okay,” she says. “Don’t get too excited. It’s only a small thing.”

Lacey steps towards a stone about the size of my fist. She stretches her neck from one side to the other then jumps up and down a couple of times, psyching herself up. Then she leans down, narrows her eyes and scoops up the stone with her hand. On the first attempt, her hand sweeps through the stone like vapour. She clears her throat, clenches her jaw and glares at it like it’s her enemy. Then she leans down again, curving her fingers to scoop up the stone, but slower this time. Her fingers connect and it nudges it forwards.

I gasp. “You’re doing it!”

Lacey continues to move the stone forwards, nudging it with her fingers. It takes a few attempts, but eventually she lifts it in the air.

“That’s amazing, Lace,” I say, genuinely surprised.

“It takes a hell of a lot of concentrating,” she says. “Check this out.”

Lacey’s form flickers and disappears, leaving the stone floating in the air.

“Whoa,” I breathe.

The stone drops down onto the mossy grass with a thud. Lacey reappears.

“I’m still practising. Pretty cool though, right? This way, I have your back. I can throw stones at any bastard who tries it on.” She flexes her muscles and laughs.

“So, how do you make yourself disappear?” I ask.

“Well, it’s kinda like there are four channels. There’s the hollow weird shit I told you about, there’s around but, you know, not visible, not even to you. Then I can show myself to you, which is how I am without concentrating.” She breaks into a grin. “There’s another one.”

“Showing yourself to regular people?” I ask.

“Yup.”

My jaw drops. “You can do that?”

She nods. “I tried it. There was this dude on his own, behind the campsite, taking a leak. I appear, tell him he’s gross for pissing in public. The guy nearly shat his pants. It was hilarious.”

“Lacey! Be careful.”

“Why?” She laughs. “What’s going to happen? I’m dead! It’s not like anyone can hurt me, or arrest me, or whatever. The way I see it, I can make the most of this gig. I can scare the pants off people who deserve it. I’m like the ghosts in the Dickens book, rattling chains and shit.”

I shake my head in awe. “You’re crazy.”

Her smile fades. “I’m serious though. You need protection. Amy revealed herself to you. That means she’s going to act. We need to prepare ourselves. We need to know more about my kind and how to stop us. You need to do some research.”

Her kind sounds so strange, like she’s an alien.

I shrug heavily. This whole burden, this ghost-whispering thing, it’s like a dead weight on my shoulders, pushing me down. “How?”

“You could start with your new Goth friend,” she suggests.

I guess it’s as good a place to start as any.

*

I inhale and the air smells like warm moss. My fingers trail the foliage of the neatly trimmed bushes that lead up the driveway back to Five Moors. Birds play a melody on the overhead telephone wires. I left Lacey practising with the stones on the hill. She had a manic look in her eye, excited about the prospect of holding and reading books. It saddens me that something so simple is all she has to look forward to, now.

The midday sun beats down, forcing me to wear the sunglasses I always carry around in my shoulder bag. I don’t like wearing them. I’d rather see the world as it is; experience the colours as they exist, not through a filter; certainly not through a lens. I hardly ever take photos.

When I finish adjusting my glasses so they don’t rest on my temples—why are glasses so constrictive? They give me headaches—that I see someone who makes my heart fall to my knees.

Seth.

I would recognise that silhouette anywhere. It’s ingrained in my memory, as vivid as the blood on Little Amy’s arms. He sits, cross-legged, on a picnic bench on the edge of the campsite. Instead of staring out into the distance, like he has the last two times I saw him—the only two times I have ever seen him—he has a book in his hand, and seems far away in the pages, lost in words.

When I move closer, I realise he’s reading Dubliners—an odd choice for your average mechanic. High-brow. The copy is battered and the pages hang loose in his hands as though it has been opened and folded over many times.

I have to clear my throat to get his attention. “Hey.”

He looks up from under those soft eyelashes that set my heart aflutter. “Hey.”

I shift the strap of my shoulder bag and move my weight from one foot to the other, wondering whether I should take a seat next to him, or stay standing… or what. “How come you’re here?”

“I’m looking for you,” he says. His voice betrays no emotion, but it doesn’t sound angry or bitter, not like the last time I saw him. “I wanted to apologise. And check you’re okay.”

“How did you find me?” I ask.

He shields his eyes from the sun, his book still in the other hand. “I hung out at a few local places but I never saw you. You mentioned staying nearby and that you were on holiday so… I guess… trial and error.” That sheepish grin is back, thawing at the ice barrier I built to protect myself.

“What do you want to apologise for?” I ask, trying not to smile about his confession. I’d done pretty much the same thing since we met, hanging around town, checking out the nearby mechanics.

“I had no right to speak to you like that. Damo’s death was a real shock and I took it badly.” He exhales, staring down at the grass. When he looks back up to me, his eyes are soft, those puppy dog eyes I remember. “It’s no excuse. I was a twat, I’m sorry. You almost died on that death trap, and I put you there.”

“I’m sorry about Damo,” I say. “But it was me who invited you on the ride. It’s not your fault.” I pause. “I’m sorry about the carnival. Looks like they shut it down.”

He shrugs. “Don’t be. I’m finally away from that place.” He rubs his stubble and shifts his weight awkwardly. “I should never have taken the job in the first place. I never trusted him.”

I move closer, my leg brushing against his arm. “Who?”

“Davis, the owner. Bloody charlatan. He didn’t give a crap about safety. I should have known, I should have—” He slaps the book against his thigh and closes his eyes. I take a step back and Seth’s demeanour immediately changes. “I’m sorry. I’m such a mess, right now. I shouldn’t have come.” He stands to leave.

“No, wait.” Without thinking, I reach forward and place a hand on his arm. The soft downy hairs of his forearm tickle my palm.

My eyes roam along his arm, up to the stubble on his chin, and then to his eyes. His gaze moves to mine at the same time and those long eye-lashes part, showing me his coconut shell irises. His pupils dilate. Or do I imagine it? Like I could be imagining the heat spreading up my body?

“Don’t go,” I say. “I…” What? I’ve just met him and I think about him… a lot. Basically whenever I’m not thinking about murderous ghosts. “We…”

“Mary! Yoohooo!”

“Oh shit,” I say.

Wearing a bikini top that shows way too many tan lines, culottes and, I kid you not, a neon green visor, Mum waves to me as she shuffles over with Dad. I drop my hand from Seth’s arm.

“What’s wrong?” Seth says. His eyes drift lazily across to Mum and then back to me. He does it two or three times and then the corners of his mouth twitch. “That’s your mum, isn’t it?”

“How did you guess?”

“You look alike.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “I’ve killed people for less.”

“Sorry.” He chuckles lightly. It makes my heart soar to see him finally smile. He tucks the worn-out copy of Dubliners into his back jeans pocket and stands up straight.

“Mary, didn’t you hear me calling you?” Mum asks, out of breath from jogging over.

“Umm…” I say.

She glosses over the awkward pause. “And who is this?”

Before I can speak, Seth holds out his hand. “I’m Seth.”

Mum’s eyes flash with understanding. I glance to Dad, his eyes are very much fixed on Seth’s tattoos. He straightens his back, pushing out his beer belly, and furrows his brow. I know that look of disapproval.

“Nice to meet you, Seth,” Mum continues. “Well, would you look at that?” She says, looking at nothing. “It’s after midday and it’s time for lunch. Why don’t you join us, Seth? I’m making bacon sandwiches. I don’t usually, but with it being a holiday, and having company and everything…”

I draw a line across my neck, desperately trying to cut her off. What the hell? She just invited my one-time date, who may or may not ask me out again, to lunch… with my parents.

As if it couldn’t get any worse, Dad chimes in, “Yes. Please do join us.” He lowers his gaze and gives Seth a death glare. “Then we can find out all about you.”

“I… umm… why not?” Seth gives me a desperate look, coupled with a weak smile.

My hand hits my forehead. Jesus. Poor Seth.

Chapter Ten

Twenty minutes in and Mum hasn’t stopped talking, my cheeks are bright vermillion, and Dad glares at Seth, clearly trying his best not to blink. It should be a disaster… but it’s not.

In those twenty minutes, I learn more about him than in the entirety of our date the other night.

“So what do you do, Seth?” Mum asks.

“I’m working as a mechanic, for now. But I’d like to re-do my A-Levels and, I don’t know, go to art school, or something like that.”

“Not much of a steady job,” Dad says. “How do you propose to make a career after art school?”

“Dad!” I say.

“Simon!” Mum says.

He looks at us both as though he doesn’t understand what he just did. Mum gives him one of her hard stares.

“Well, I thought about graphic design. There are some full-time positions in that area,” Seth replies. He doesn’t seem particularly shocked or phased by my dad’s rudeness. I guess guys are used to sussing each other out.

“Where do you live?” Mum continues her line of questioning.

“A few minutes out of town.”

“Who with?” she asks, mouth full of bacon and bread. I cringe, wishing this lunch over as soon as possible.

“My mum.” He said it with some hesitation, but then swallows thickly, which makes me think that there’s more to the story.

“Just your mum?”

“Dad died when I was young.” His back stiffens and he shifts in his seat. The personal questions must be making him uncomfortable.

Mum is falling for this guy faster than I am. “You poor dear. Have some extra mushrooms.”

Seth flashes her his impish grin. “Thanks!”

It’s probably a good job we might date, because otherwise I think Mum would have adopted him by now.

“How old are you?” she continues.

My turn to stiffen. I lied about my age and I have no idea how old Seth is. He looks about twenty. Please don’t be older, Dad will have a seizure.

“Twenty. I’m twenty-one on Saturday.”

“Really?” I blurt out.

His eyes darken. At first I think it’s the shadow of a rain cloud overhead, but there’s definitely a glint in his expression—he human equivalent of the threat of rain, or a warning signal. “Yes.”

“A mechanic, huh?” Dad asks. He gives Seth a cold glare. Part of me wants to sink into the ground. He’s so embarrassing. “So what were you doing at a carnival all on your own?”

“Oh, I wasn’t on my own,” Seth replies. “I work there.”

A smattering of red colours Dad’s neck and cheeks. “You work at the carnival, too?” He meets my eyes and I stare down at my food. “Mary failed to mention that.”

Seth lets out a nervous laugh. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on working there forever. I’m trying to save up, at the moment.”

“That’s very admirable, dear. Why don’t you two go for a walk around the campsite?” Mum says. “I’m sure you’re sick of us fuddy-duddies cramping your style.”

“I don’t think—” Dad starts.

“That would be great, Mum, thanks.” I’m already on my feet pushing the chair back.

“Thank you for the lovely lunch,” Seth says, avoiding my dad’s eye-contact.

“You’re very welcome. Now, be careful.” Mum stares up at the sky. “It looks like rain.”

We wave goodbye and walk away from the caravan, leaving my parents on their plastic garden furniture. I can hear them arguing in low voices. Mum mumbles, “Don’t be so stupid, Simon,” and clucks her tongue.

“I’m sorry about that,” I say. “I bet you didn’t intend to have a meal with my parents when you came looking for me.”

“You’ve got a lovely family,” he says. We continue along the gravel path towards the near-by moorland. After a few moments he puts a hand on my arm and turns me around. “How old are you? Tell the truth this time.”

“Seventeen,” I admit.

He lets out a long breath. “Seventeen is cool. Any younger? Not cool, but seventeen is all right. Does it bother you that I’m older?”

I shrug. “Most guys my age are like those lads at the fair. You certainly wouldn’t find them reading James Joyce in the sunshine.”

Seth laughs again. “What if I was trying to impress you?”

“Were you?” We start moving again, kicking the stones with our toes.

“Maybe.”

I grin down at my trainers. “Let’s walk on the moor,” I say. “Rain be damned.”

“All right,” he replies.

He helps me over the fence between the campsite and the moorland stretching beyond it. I could get used to those strong hands on my arms.

We walk with my shoulder brushing his arm. He doesn’t reach for my hand. He doesn’t drape an arm across my shoulder, or around my waist. There’s always this respectful distance that makes the paranoia in me wonder if he’s even interested.

He sat through thirty minutes of chit-chat with your mother. Of course he’s interested.

“What are you going to do for your twenty-first?” The moor grass is spongy underfoot. I talk whilst quelling the desire to throw myself on the floor and bounce.

That dark look comes back. “Nothing.”

“At all? Don’t you want a party with your friends?” I ask.

“I don’t have any friends.” He shoves his hands into his jeans.

“You have co-workers—”

“I don’t want to talk about my birthday,” he snaps.

“Then you shouldn’t have brought it up at lunch,” I snap back.

We stop walking and stare at each other. My heart pounds. I’m torn between wanting to fight with him and wanting to kiss him, to grab his dark hair and pull him into me. Seth is quiet. The slight flash of temper disappears as quickly as it came. His eyes go back to their lazy, half-closed status.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t,” he admits. He lets out a short laugh. “I’m an idiot.”

“Attention whore,” I say, a smile playing at my lips.

“Right again.” He returns the smile and we both laugh together.

With the moment past, we turn back to the moors and stroll along, side by side. I can’t figure him out. Sometimes he doesn’t seem interested at all, and yet he does things like turn up at the campsite and agree to lunch with my parents. He spent the entire time being polite and courteous, so surely he likes me? Yet he’s always holding something back. Maybe I’m reading too much into it.

“So are you studying for A-Levels?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m—”

“No, wait, let me guess,” he says. We stop again and turn to each other, this time without the glaring. “English lit.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s obvious.”

“How?”

“I commented on the book you were reading,” I say.

He grins. “All right, I guess that one was pretty easy. Okay, but, I’m going to go out on a limb here, and guess that you’re studying four subjects.”

“Go on…”

“You’re a smart girl, and you’re contemplative… so… philosophy?”

I shake my head.

“Psychology?”

I nod, with a small smile.

“Maths.”

I nod again. “How did you get that one?”

He laughs. “That one, I guessed. History?”

I shake my head.

“Geography?”

Another shake. “You’re crap at this.”

“Wait, okay, I got it… biology?”

“Damnit, yeah. How did you get that?”

He licks his finger and presses it to his forehead imitating a sizzle. “Not just a pretty face, me.”

“I guess not,” I reply.

“So you’re a closet geek, then?” He says, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“I guess so.” I raise my eyebrows at him.

“I like geeks. Especially the really smart ones.”

It takes all the willpower I can muster to stop myself giggling like a little girl. I clear my throat and try to talk without betraying the effect his words, his mere presence, is having on every inch of my body. “You said you wanted to re-take your A-Levels?”

“I messed up the first go.” He stares out at the long-stretching moorland, the wind rippling his hair into waves. “I got distracted, I guess. It didn’t seem important, then. I wanted to work with my hands.” He stares down at his upturned palms.

“What will you study?” I ask.

“Aren’t you going to guess?”

“The first one is obvious.” I glance at the line of birds travelling up his arms, and the intricate pattern of leaves blending into his forearm. “Art. And English literature, because, you know, the book.”

He nods.

“And you’re a mechanic, so you must like engineering, so… physics?”

He shakes his head.

“Chemistry?”

“Nope.”

I think of the slight callouses on his fingers as he helped me over the fence, as well as the musical notes tattooed on his wrist. “Music.

“Yes,” he replies. His eyebrows are raised in surprise. He rubs the stubble on his chin. “Not bad, Mary Hades. Not bad at all.”

“They’re all so creative.”

“But not too conducive to a proper career. You must think I’m a drifter,” he says. “I know your dad thinks that.”

The expression on his face seems so resigned that I reach forward and touch him lightly on the arm. “No, I don’t think that at all.”

He lifts a hand and tucks my hair behind my ear.

How can one motion make all of your senses explode? His fingers smell like motor oil and grease, but I like it, I like the cracks in his skin and the calluses on his finger-tips.

Where he touches me, electricity sparks. He leans forward and my heartbeat quickens.

He’s going to kiss me.

I half close my eyes, leaning into his space. His fingers travel through my hair, grazing the back of my skull with his fingertips. His thumb draws a line along my jawline at the same time, heightening the sensitivity of the nerve-endings under my skin. My body feels more alive than it ever has before. I’m jangling. I’m a shaken bell, full of energy and sound. The wind whispers by my ears, the cold turns every bare bit of skin into goosebumps. His face is so close to mine I smell a faint whiff of cigarettes and mint. Our lips brush.

Rain.

So much rain.

Seth pulls back and turns his head to the sky. “Your mum was right.”

The shadows of the clouds cover Seth’s face with their gloom. A ripple of thunder echoes through the air. Rivulets of water travel down his face, soaking his hair. Raindrops nestle within his stubble.

“We should go,” he says, almost shouting over the sound of the rain.

A bolt of lightning jerks through the sky, too close for comfort. “Okay.”

He takes my hand and we turn to leave, the moor stretching out behind us. But when we turn, I come face to face with a monster.

She hovers from the floor, her eyes fixed on mine, half obscured by the oil slick of hair covering her face. The red blood drips from her dress and fingers. Beneath the curtain of hair her skin is pallid, almost grey-blue tinged. The sight of her is so sudden it’s like hearing a bomb go off nearby. Time stops for a fraction of a second. My body freezes, and the rain drops hang in the air. The world melts away.

She is untouched by the rain. Of course she is.

I don’t care if I’m used to seeing the dead. I don’t care if I know she’s a ghost. I scream. I scream so loud it pierces through the rain, cutting through the rumble of thunder. And then, with Seth’s hand in mine, I run.

Chapter Eleven

Scientists say that under extreme stress, your body has two choices: Fight or flight.

Last time I faced a murderer—I fought. I was prepared then. I’d made the decision to face him, to fight him. This time, Amy catches me by surprise, and it leaves me reacting in an unexpected way: running for my life.

Seth tries to pull me back but I keep running. I dodge around Amy and she snarls at me, opening her black mouth to reveal dirty teeth. He chases me. Amy stands and watches me leave.

“Mary?” he calls. “What’s wrong?”

The rain plasters my hair, my clothes, my underwear, to my body. I’m chilled to the bone. I slow long enough to say, “We need to get out of here.”

He reaches for me again, but this time he never gets to my hand. Instead, he’s ripped away from me, tossed aside like a rag doll.

“Seth!”

I change direction. My feet squelch in the wet earth, sinking into the sodden grass as I hurry towards Seth. He is crumpled up on the ground, unmoving.

And then Amy floats towards him, her tiny toes dangling in the air.

“No!” I yell. “Get away from him!”

I throw myself towards the ghost, almost forgetting I can’t touch her. She snarls again, turning to face me, the tendrils of her hair moving slower than the rest of her body, as though disconnected with the laws of physics. Her tongue snakes out in a hiss. I freeze mid-step and her hand—a child’s hand—reaches out to grasp my throat.

She’s on me in a second, her blood-shot eyes inches away. She opens her mouth in a hiss, and her tongue snakes out preternaturally, twisting in sick, physically impossible motions. I try to pull away from her, desperate for distance from this hideous thing. This girl who isn’t a girl, who seems like she never was.

Her grip tightens.

I struggle for breath. My hands clench by my sides. I’m vaguely aware of my fingernails digging into flesh, but it’s nothing, nothing compared to the burning in my throat, the tightening in my lungs, the raw, animalistic fear that comes from lack of oxygen.

Amy’s hair lifts, moving against the wind and the rain. The tendrils stretch out, like a thousand tiny arms, or living snakes, spreading above her as though she floats in water. The motion reveals her eyes.

Those eyes.

Cavernous and black. Glinting with the red sheen of a rat’s. The bloodshot eyeballs fade into her blue-tinged skin. A hiss of air escapes from her mouth, putrid and inhuman.

“Please…” I squeeze out, struggling in the tiniest breath of air to keep me going.

She floats closer and the electric chill of her ghost form rubs against my wet body. I can’t look anywhere except her eyes, the caves of darkness, madness, searching me, searching my soul.

There’s a raspy, croaking noise. It takes me a few moments to realise it’s me. Panic fills my chest, rising from the pit of my stomach. My hands unclench and reach forward, my nails trying to scrape against her tiny ghost hands, but scraping my own neck instead. I claw at her face. It does nothing. I can’t connect… I can’t…

The grey-soaked spongy clouded scene drifts away from me in a fade of black spots.

My body is shutting down, giving up. I’m flighting.

This is it.

“Mary!”

Seth.

I try to croak his name. But I don’t know if it works. What must he be seeing right now? Me, dying on my own, stood in a field. Asphyxiating without anything to strangle me.

“It’s not her that you want.”

The words chill me deeper than bones, deep, deep into the marrow inside, into every vessel, every neuron, every receptor.

He can see her?

Amy’s attention is torn. Her fingers slip and I gulp in a deep breath of air. My lungs burn, but I need that air, I’m hungry for it. Her eyes are still on mine, but I feel the change, the lack of intensity, the need in her to turn.

She does.

Her fingers leave my throat and I rub life back into my crushed windpipe.

“That’s it, it’s me you want, isn’t it?” Seth says.

What is happening?

“Come on, come to me.”

I watch Amy’s hair cut through the rain. Her white sundress ripples around her. She floats away.

“What’s happening?” I croak. “You can see her?”

But Seth isn’t looking at me. His eyes are fixated on the dead thing in the middle of the moor.

“I know it’s me you want. So take me.”

Why does he keep saying that? Why would Amy want him?

Amy opens her blood soaked arms wide. She’s like a puppet, jerked by strings. The water effect lifts her hair, spreading out the tendrils. They are power-soaked oil slicks, each strand alive.

Seth flies back, hitting the ground with a thump. Suddenly the pain in my throat seems insignificant. I’m running towards him, ready to face her together. Before I know it, I’m on my knees at his side, staring up at the monster above us.

There’s one thing I can think of, one thing that might help us.

“Lacey!” I tilt my head back and shout as loud as I can. “Lacey!” My throat is raw, it’s like swallowing rocks, but I force the words out.

Then I help Seth to his feet, leaning him against me.

“Lacey!”

A bolt of lightning illuminates Amy. She rolls her head around her neck, tongue slipping in and out of her mouth, floating towards us. It’s the most hideous thing I’ve ever seen.

There’s a crackle. Another rumble of thunder. Then Lacey.

Her eyes are on me first. Her mouth is open in a question. Then she turns.

“Holy shit,” she says. But it takes a lot to rankle my dead best friend. “You must be Amy. Hi, nice to meet you. I’m also dead, but not quite as psychotic.”

Amy snarls, her blackened tongue snaking around her rotten teeth. With a lurch of my lunch, I realise that she can’t speak. That human quality is gone, now. All traces of humanity are gone.

Lacey and Amy size each other up. I can’t see Lacey’s face, only view her back, with her shoulders squared. My hand slips into Seth’s, instinctively.

“I can see them both,” he says. He exhales and his eyes widen. “Who is she?”

“My friend,” I reply. “My ghost friend.”

There’s a question on his lips, but now is no time to ask it. My friend is in danger and I don’t know how to help her.

Amy rushes forwards, her mouth open wide, a screech like a banshee ringing out through the open moors. Her feet trail the tops of the grassy reeds, dirty toenails pointing down. Lacey runs, shouting a war cry, flickering on and off as she moves, jerking towards the floating girl.

When they collide my stomach clenches. I grip Seth’s hand.

“Lacey, be careful!” I shout. A stupid, redundant shout, but it’s all I can think to do.

As they grapple, leaning one way then leaning the next, Amy’s hair tendrils slip down Lacey’s arms and she cries out.

“Lacey!”

“Mary, get the hell out of here! Get away from her!”

“No!” I won’t leave her. Not with that monster.

Amy pushes Lacey down and I can see my friend weakening. This ghost has five years on her. Five years of taking lives and gaining strength from it. But I should never underestimate the bravery of my friend, because she puts all of her weight into one last shove and throws the murderous ghost away from her. Amy doesn’t fall, but her neat floating trick fails and her feet are lost in the long strands of moor grass. Lacey, her form flickering as she weakens, climbs to her feet.

The monster is not done with her yet. My chest constricts with panic and fear as Amy tilts back her head and rolls her eyes. She stretches out her hands, the blood dripping from her fingers, pulsing with new life, and then clenches them into tight little fists.

“Okay,” Lacey says. “I think it’s time to run, now.”

But as we turn to run, a bolt of lightning shoots down from the sky, and it hits Amy bang in the middle of her forehead. She lets out an animalistic scream which descends into a hiss, before jerking her body backwards and forwards. With her eyes wide and her mouth open in a snarl, she flickers on and off and then she’s gone.

Her absence is sudden and strange. We stare at each other—now alone—on a moor that seems bigger than before. The rain disperses into a gentle pitter-patter, no longer the relentless torrent it was before.

Seth drops my hand and rakes his fingers through his hair. He stares at me first, then Lacey. “I have to get out of here.”

Before I can say a word, or lift a hand to stop him, he’s gone, his trainers leaving muddy footprints through the grass.

“Wow, what a scaredy-cat,” Lacey says with a shrug.

*

I could kill for a bath. Instead, I scrub myself clean under the pitiful excuse for a shower in the static caravan. The soap is a slither that escapes my trembling fingers every few seconds.

Every frightening horror movie moment flashes through my mind. Bathrooms are bad: women are hacked to death in shower scenes; they feel ghost fingers on the back of their skull. I daren’t close my eyes, not even when I wash the shampoo from my hair; instead I let it burn.

My fingers linger on my neck. She left no bruise. It was like she had never even been there.

A monstrous child with the strength of five men and the humanity of none.

I shiver again.

The shower turns off with a clunk. My feet slip a little as I step out, and I jump at my own reflection in the mirror. My soaked, straggly black hair is too reminiscent of the oil slick of tendrils around Amy’s head. Again, I shudder. That image will never leave me. Never.

And now a new mystery. Seth saw her, and he knew her. He said that it was him she wanted. Why?

That thought continues to plague my mind as I dress and leave the caravan. The air is clean and crisp. It smells like the end of a storm—fresh, but with the slight tang of wet soil. There’s a chill on the breeze which is pleasant against my clean skin.

I don’t want to be out in the clean air. Every instinct is telling me to climb into bed, pull the covers over my head and pretend Amy isn’t real. But instead, I’m looking for answers. I’m forcing myself to dig deeper. So I’m going to the one person who might be able to help.

Neil’s boyfriend is called Lemarr, and has little skulls threaded through his dreads. I’ve never met a mixed race gay Goth couple before, but they’re kinda cute together. Lemarr rolls his eyes at Neil’s lame jokes. They both gush over my “translucent” skin. Neither of them know a ghost is three feet away from them.

It was Lacey’s idea to meet up with Neil again. After all, he’s the one who knew about Amy in the first place. Now we’re in the village, on a ghost walk. Yep, that’s right. After nearly dying at the hands of a ghost, I’m on a damn tour of the most haunted spots in the area, with a ghost. Lacey—obviously—finds it hilarious. I had to talk her out of the idea of jumping out of shadows at the other ghost walkers.

It’s all a big joke. None of these people know what it’s like, and if they’d met Little Amy on the moors, they wouldn’t want to meet another ghost ever, ever again. They’ll never understand how my nightmares will forever be filled with tiny ghost hands against my neck and empty black eyes that search your soul…

I recognise the tour guide from the leaflets in the hotel. He’s the kind of guy you’d see treading the boards at the local amateur dramatic production of Dracula. He wears the full get up, tall Victorian black hat, coat-tails, black nail varnish… he out-Goths the Goths I’m with; shows them how to do it old-school, with class.

Everything is a performance, from the way he speaks, to the dramatic sweep of his arms. As we walk through the cobbles of the old streets, I discover the sordid history of the sleepy town, the opium dens and the arsenic murders, the mobsters hiding in the shadows, the organised crime that filtered all the way down to London from Nettleby; smugglers and wreckers who worked the nearby coastline; desperate men. He then goes on to talk about serial killers from the last thirty years and I can’t suppress my shudder.

“You all right, love?” Neil whispers. “I didn’t peg you for the easily spooked.”

If only he knew the truth. “I’m not. Serial killers give me the chills.”

Lemarr leans forward. “Me too.”

Our tour guide moves on. As we walk around the village, the isolation of the place hits me. I think of the way the moors stretch out on all sides, connected to the nearest town by one main road and a criss-cross of narrow lanes. There must be something about the moors that attract these murderers—that draw them out.

“Tell us about Little Amy,” someone asks.

Igor pauses. A shadow crosses his face. “That’s one murder I’ll never forget. I knew her, you know, I knew her parents. I don’t like to talk about it, because I knew her.” He shakes his head and looks away.

“Did they ever find the murderer?” another voice, male, pierced eyebrow.

“No,” he says. His voice is small and quiet. “No, they never found him.”

Lacey glances towards me. “Don’t you think it’s strange that Amy knew Seth?”

The words cut through me. Her face says it all. The murderer was never caught. It happened five years ago. Seth would have been fifteen, Amy twelve. I shudder. No, what is she saying? That can’t be right. I shake my head, no.

“Think about it, Mares. Think about the teenagers who have killed younger children, those with troubled childhoods and a fascination with death. It fits. I don’t trust him.”

I want to scream at her. She’s the one who told me to ask him out in the first place. She told me to go for it, to take a chance. When we almost died on the Ferris wheel, she encouraged me to put my life in his hands. Now she’s saying she doesn’t trust him?

“Not here,” I say with a hiss.

Neil turns to me with a questioning look in his eyes.

We move on. Lacey is quiet and I exhale with relief. But she never meets my eyes, instead she stares into the shadows between houses like she sees more than we can.

My mind is abuzz with thoughts, so I try to focus on the tour guide and the ghost walk. I almost will the ghosts of Nettleby to reveal themselves to me, longing for a distraction. At one point, a burnt girl stares from a window, her face an ember, a lump of coal. Charred ribbons hang from what little hair she has left. I never realised how many remnants there are left from those who have died. It’s not just the ghosts or spirits from the dead, it’s the echoes too—memories from those who knew them, items of clothing passed on to charity shops, antiques sold at auction, the houses standing tall and proud, trodden ground, walked on by millions of feet. No matter where we are, it’s an intrusion on where someone has been, where someone has died. I’m a speck—nothing more, nothing less—one of the billions who will come and go as the echoes remain. Instead of fear, it brings me comfort. I don’t feel so alone, somehow.

Neil gets us a cup of tea from a burger van outside the one nightclub in Nettleby.

“Fancy it?” Lemarr asks, nodding towards the entrance.

A parade of girls, barely legal, in heels as high as the stack of books I have to read, stagger their way down the steps. One pauses to puke.

“Erm, no. I think I might head back to the site.”

“We’ll walk you home,” Neil says. “You’re pale as milk. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I can’t help glancing at Lacey with a smile. She returns the smile, but with a guilty look in her eye.

“It’s okay. If you want to go to the club—”

“We’re coming with you,” Lemarr insists, putting his arm through mine. Neil does the same on the other side.

“Someone wants a threesome,” Lacey says with a smirk. “You up for it, Mary?”

I narrow my eyes at her. Neil notices and frowns. I know he suspects I’m hiding something. What I don’t know, is how deeply he actually believes in ghosts. If I told him, if Lacey revealed herself to him, would he turn and run a mile? Or would he help? Is he someone I can trust?

It’s a fairly short walk back to the campsite. I glance at my watch, not even midnight yet. My mind turns to Seth. There’s no way he’s the killer. He can’t be.

But how else would Amy know him?

Could I risk it? Could I risk talking to him? I think of how relaxed he made me feel, how at ease. Women felt like that around Ted Bundy as well, you dolt.

But Seth is no Ted Bundy, and Nettleby doesn’t have a high murder rate. There aren’t scores of missing little girls unaccounted for. There could be many reasons why Amy recognised Seth. Igor mentioned that he knew her. It’s a small village. I can’t make any judgements until I know more about the facts. Then, I’ll have to decide whether Seth could be a murderer. For now, I have to trust my instinct, and my instinct says he’s innocent.

The Five Moors sign comes into view, illuminated by the moonlight on a clear summer night.

“Home, sweet home,” Neil says.

“What the hell?” Lemmarr stops stock still next to me. His grip tightens on my arm. “Do you see that?”

Large, scrawled red lines appear on the sign as though they are being written by an invisible pen, except the strokes are unlike any kind of pen I know. It’s more like a fingertip dipped in… in… blood.

No.

My throat tightens, my chest heaves, and panic rises from deep in my bowels.

The words spell: You’re next.

Chapter Twelve

You’re next.

You’re next.

A cruel taunt followed by a sleepless night of imagining bloodied fingers scrawling along the walls of my tiny bedroom. And when I eventually fall asleep, I dream. Seth features in those dreams. Sometimes the bloodied fingers belong to him, and his impish grin, the one I found so swoon-worthy, turns into a manic smile.

Death seems as attracted to me as a moth to a flame. It’s not so much a lingering odour as a downright stalker. My thoughts are tinged with it, the world is tinged with it, the bright yellow glow of July turns to the gloomy fade of the coming winter. The few glorious days of summer we get each year in Yorkshire are on their way out. This is it. This is the end.

“Sausage?” Mum lifts one up with her fork.

My stomach churns. “No, thank you.”

“Is it because of that nice young man? Hasn’t he called, sweetheart?”

Dad raises an eyebrow. “Probably for the best.”

Mum shoots him a glare. “Ignore your father. I thought he was nice. I have good instincts for people, you know.”

“He never gave me his phone number. He had to dash off the other day and we never had chance.”

“Oh, that is a shame. Still, there are plenty more fish in the sea, darling. What about that nice Goth boy with the hair?”

“He has a boyfriend.”

Mum’s brow creases. “Really? Well, I never would have guessed.”

“I think I’m gonna go for a walk,” I say, pushing away my untouched plate.

On the way out of the caravan, I hear Mum say, “Poor thing.”

It’s one of those mornings where the sun is struggling behind low mist, the kind where there is a dusting of dew in the grass and you button your cardigan to the neck. There’s a hint of a sunny day trying to escape and in need of a little encouragement. The group of Goths in the nearby caravans haven’t woken up yet, but the elderly couple from the disco are power walking around the footpath. I raise a hand to them and say good morning. Then I make my way around our van.

“’S’up, bitch?” Lacey leaps out from behind the caravan, her image flickering like a flame.

“Do you want to give me a heart attack?” I ask, rolling my eyes in her direction.

“Well, that would give me some company in the afterlife,” she says with a grin.

On most days, even the tough ones, Lacey’s comic relief is just that. A relief. A breath of fresh air. But today, I can’t stand it. I can’t stand her flippancy when I know what is happening all around me.

“Hey,” she asks. “What’s the matter?”

That does it for me. I find my voice raising. “What’s the matter? What’s the matter? Well, let’s see shall we? First of all, I have a date with a guy and almost die when a bloody Ferris wheel goes bonkers. Then I get attacked by a ghost on the moors, oh, and almost die again. Then I find out that the guy I’m sort of seeing might be a psycho, and then, on the way home from a stupid ghost walk, I find out that the stupid ghost who tried to murder me, has sent me a creepy message in blood. That’s what’s wrong. Don’t you get it?”

Lacey’s blue eyes flash. Her image distorts like an un-tuned TV picture. “Amy appeared to you again?”

“No,” I reply. “She wrote the message but while she was invisible.”

“Don’t worry, Mares, we’re going to sort this out,” Lacey says. “We’re going to stop her.” She pauses, watching me with slightly narrowed eyes. “There’s something else bothering you, isn’t there? What is it? Is it what I said about Seth?”

“I don’t think he’s a murderer,” I say.

“Well, I don’t think we should rule out the possibility—”

“No,” I repeat, firmer this time. “I don’t think he’s a murderer. Look, you remember how I felt like something was wrong with Dr. Gethen in Magdelena? Well, it’s the opposite with Seth. I know he’s a good person. I know he isn’t capable of murder. It sounds stupid, I get it. I’ve known him a couple of days and that’s it, but it’s more than that. It’s about me. I think I have some sort of power that means I can suss people out. I think my instincts are stronger than most people. I can see badness.”

“Fine,” she replies.

“You don’t sound fine,” I say.

“I thought you’d listen to me, that’s all,” she replies. “I’m serious, you know. Amy recognised Seth and that means he could be dangerous. You shouldn’t see him.”

“You sound like my dad,” I say with a forced laugh. It’s starting to freak me out how serious Lacey is.

“Well maybe your dad’s right. You don’t know anything about the guy.” As she gets more and more annoyed with me, her hands begin to flail and her hair lifts from her shoulders. In one heart stopping moment I see a similarity between her and Amy, in the way they move.

I blink it away and let out a long sigh. “This is silly. We shouldn’t be arguing, we should be figuring out how to stop Amy from killing anyone else. I nearly died out there. She nearly killed—”

“She nearly killed Seth,” Lacey finishes. “That means we need to look at why she targeted Seth to figure out what happened to her. It might help stop her.”

“Mary?”

I turn away from Lacey. I never heard Neil approach me, and now he’s seen me talking to an invisible ghost.

“Neil,” I breathe. “It’s not how it looks.”

“Well, it looks like you’re talking to yourself, Mary. Are you all right?” he frowns.

“Tell him,” Lacey says. “He can take it. I know he can. I’ll show myself to him. He can help us stop Amy.”

“I don’t know…”

“You’re still talking to yourself,” Neil says. He keeps a safe distance away, in case I’m crazy enough to be violent. I’ve seen that look before, that keep-the-hell-away-from-me look.

“Neil, you know how we were talking about Amy’s death, and the fact that she haunts the campsite?” I say, carefully. “Did you mean it? Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Where is this going?” he says, still keeping his distance.

“If we go somewhere a little more private, I’ll show you.”

“Yeah, I’m not too sure about that, Mary. I think public is good, right about now.” He takes a step back.

Just once, I’d love it if someone gave me the benefit of the doubt, instead of treating me like a damn leper as soon as I act differently to everyone else. There could be a bloke with a gun walking down the street and people would still be more frightened of the unarmed guy talking to himself. Well, you know what? Maybe he has a ghost friend too, or he’s having a bad day, or the voices in his head are actually nice, you know? We’re not all murdering lunatics, us crazies.

“Please, Neil.”

He tilts his head, measuring me, weighing the chances of me running him through with a knife.

“For God’s sake, I weigh like half of you, as if I could hurt you.”

He sighs. “Fine. But within screaming distance of the campsite.”

“Agreed. You might be an axe murderer, for all I know.”

“I’m really not,” he replies.

I take him near to the abandoned fair. Lacey stays by my side, subdued, her eyes cast down towards her feet. There’s a part of me wondering if she hates Seth because she’s jealous that I’ve found someone. It must be frightening to see anything change in my life, because nothing can change in her life again. She doesn’t even have a life anymore. I can’t help it, the thought is there. How long will it take for her to turn into an Amy?

And if she does? What will I do?

“All right,” Neil says. “I get the feeling I’m either going to meet my violent end, or you’re going to show me something that blows my mind. Which is it going to be?”

“Prepare to have your mind blown,” I say. “Lace, you ready?”

No witty come back. She must be upset. But she nods, and then closes her eyes to concentrate.

Instead of watching Lacey I turn towards Neil, so I see the look on his face when he finds out that ghosts are real. I want this to work. I have high hopes that Neil and his death-obsessed friends can help us find out how to get rid of Amy once and for all.

“Remember last night, when we saw the words appear on the sign?” I say.

“I half thought that was a dream,” he says.

“It wasn’t. It was real.”

Neil jumps backwards when Lacey appears. His foot catches on a clod of dirt and he falls on his bum. I walk towards him and hold out my hand to help him up.

“What the…? Who’s that?”

“I’m Lacey,” she says with a small, hard smile on her face. “We’ve already met. Remember that cold chill you got when we were on the ghost walk last night? Yeah, that was me.”

Neil lets out a breath that’s more like a nervous laugh. “That was… that was… you? You’re… you’re…”

“A ghost, a spirit, a ghoul… whatever, yeah, that’s me. The dead girl who follows Mary around and inconveniently makes her look like a mental case.” Two cold little eyes turn to me.

“I’m a mental case anyway. I have the prescription to prove it,” I say.

“This is…” Neil can’t take his eyes off Lacey. “Can I… If I touched you, would my hand disappear right through?”

The questions continue for a while. Neil pokes Lacey in the shoulder over and over again, manically giggling every time he feels the electric charge of her ghost form.

“There’s something… I don’t know, magnetic? Static? Electric? How does it work?”

“I don’t know,” Lacey says. “Mary doesn’t know, either. And we don’t know any ghosts to ask.”

“So you see ghosts all the time?” he asks.

“Only if they choose to be seen, which many of them don’t. I guess they don’t want to be seen by anyone, not even someone touched by death, like me.”

“And regular people don’t see anything at all?”

“I have to concentrate hard to show myself,” Lacey explains.

“Huh,” Neil says. “And Little Amy, she really exists?”

“Oh, she exists all right, and she’s nothing like Lace. She’s a monster. She nearly killed me. That was her with the sign. She’s sending me a warning.” I finger my throat. “I’m next.”

“Why you?”

I shrug. “I think I know someone she doesn’t like.”

We tell Neil all about Seth and how he saw Amy and even talked to her. The hairs stick up on the backs of my arms as I relay the story, my heart twisting.

“I hate to break it to you,” Neil says. “But Lacey is right. Seth has a connection to Amy. There’s a good chance that he could be linked to her death. I’m sorry, Mary, I know you like this guy, but you don’t know anything about him.”

My skin prickles with the chill.

“Do you know how to kill a ghost?” I ask him. “I know you guys came here to see Amy. What do you know about ghost hunting? Do you know how to get rid of them? How to send them back to hell, or wherever they come from?”

“Does hell exist?” He turns to Lacey with his eyes open wide with fear.

She shrugs. “Maybe. I dunno. I think once you finally let yourself go, you don’t come back. It could be nothingness, for all I know. Maybe I’m nothing but a shadow, an imprint left by my existence. Maybe that’s why it’s all tied to static, to this weird electrical charge. I’m still matter, still functioning, somehow.”

“Is that how you feel?” I ask, surprised. She’s never revealed those fears before.

“Kinda,” she admits.

“But how would your brain work?” Neil says. “If you were an imprint, you wouldn’t be able to think the way you do. You’d be stuck in a loop, forever living out the last moments of your life. No, I think this is your soul, and your soul is controlled by you. As soon as you decide what you want to do, your soul moves on.”

And that’s when I know telling Neil was the right thing to do. Lacey’s features soften, become peaceful. We’ve no way of knowing if Neil is right, but it’s what Lacey needed to hear right now, and what I couldn’t put into words. He’s done my job for me, and he’s done it better than I ever could have.

“So, what’s next?” I say. “We’ve got a bat-shit crazy ghost coming after me. We need to make a plan, figure out what we’re going to do.”

Neil opens then closes his mouth. Eventually, he lifts a finger in the air. “I have an idea. Let’s go get some hot chocolate.”

*

Logic is fun. Logic helps you learn. But in this case, logic tells me Seth could be a murderer, and that we don’t know how to deal with Amy.

The facts: Amy was killed five years ago and her murderer was never found. A dog walker discovered her body on the moors. The killer hadn’t even tried to cover her up. She was the only young girl killed; there were no more murders after Amy’s death. Since her death, mysterious accidents have claimed the lives of men, varying in age from ten years old to those in their sixties. Amy is able to lift, push, hurl, squeeze, write, slither, and float. Lacey can hurt her. She can hurt Lacey. Lightning seems to at least startle her. Also, Seth and Amy have history.

“Maybe that’s the key,” Neil suggests. “Maybe we need another jolt of electricity to get rid of her for good.”

“But how are we going to hit her with electricity stronger than lightning?” I say. “Ooh! What are those power packs called in Ghostbusters? We need one of those.”

Neil almost snorts out his hot chocolate.

“No,” Lacey says. I relay everything she says to Neil. He can’t see her in the café, because then everyone would be able to see her. “Electricity makes me feel more alive. I don’t think that’s it. There has to be an alternative, an incantation, a spell or whatever, that will send her away.”

“What we need, is a ghost expert,” Neil says.

“Like Igor, the guy from the ghost tours,” I suggest.

Neil’s eyes widen in excitement. “Exactly!” He waggles his eyebrows mysteriously. Then he checks his phone. “Shit, I’m meant to be meeting Lemarr for lunch. Can we meet up after? Like two-ish?”

“All right. Ask around your crew, see if anyone knows more about Igor,” I say.

“It could be worth a shot,” Neil replies.

I turn to Lacey. “Yeah, why not.”

A weight lifts from my shoulders. Maybe Mum was right. I do need friends. Having Neil around feels like my problems are halved. His knowing about Lacey makes everything so much easier.

We take a leisurely stroll back to Five Moors. Someone has kindly removed the bloody graffiti from the sign, but my eyes linger there anyway. The sun never made it out of the mist and turned into an overcast day instead—one that feels like another thunderstorm lurks in the bellies of the clouds overhead. There’s a grey tinge to the world, an oppressive heat, and a pressure that builds up in your sinuses.

“No way,” Lacey says. She sees him first, sat on the same picnic bench as before, not reading this time, but staring at the moors instead. “I’ll deck him.”

“Is that Seth?” Neil asks. “Do not talk to him without me here. I’m staying with you.” He straightens up, stretching himself to full height. He swallows. “He looks kinda… muscular. Reckon I could take him? You know… if I have to do a citizen’s arrest?”

“You could take him,” Lacey says, even though he can’t hear her.

I ignore the both of them and walk straight up to him.

His eyes widen when he sees my expression. He raises his hands as though in submission. “I have some explaining to do.”

“Damn right you do.”

Chapter Thirteen

“So, you can see ghosts?” he says.

“Did you kill her?” I blurt out.

“Who?” He stares at me like I’m mad.

“Who do you think? Amy—the twelve year old ghost who almost strangled me to death.”

Neil stands behind me with his arms folded, his watchful eyes at my back.

“What the… No! What? How could you?” he shakes his head in disbelief. Then he lowers his voice to a rasping whisper. “I was fifteen years old when Amy Willis went missing. She went to my school. She played with my little cousins. I did not kill her.” He swallows.

“Then explain to me why Amy turned to you. Explain how you knew her, why you said she was coming for you. Explain that, if you didn’t kill her,” I say.

“You tell him, Mares.” Lacey rubs my shoulder with hers, sending an electric charge through my body.

He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. “It’s difficult. It’s… It’s not a memory I want to relive.” He rakes his fingers through his hair, pulling on the ends. He’s trembling, I realise.

“You have to,” I say. “Or I’ll arrest you myself.”

When he speaks, it’s like a dying breath, a croak. “I saw it. I saw him do it and I didn’t stop him…”

I’m half aware of Neil behind me. The air seems to thicken and darken, as though trying to clot. Seth’s eyes are almost closed, his hands are clamped around the edge of the picnic bench. Every part of his body is rigid with fear or frustration. He’s paler than usual, and his breath sounds laboured.

“What?” I whisper.

“I was there,” he says again. His eyes open half-way and meet mine. “But I didn’t kill her.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police?”

“Because… ” His nails grip into the wood of the picnic bench. He rocks forward and then back while staring at his shoes. Then he takes a deep breath and looks up to me, those brazil-nut eyes finding mine. “I look a lot like my father.”

“Eh?” Lacey says. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“He’s crazy,” Neil adds. “We should keep away from him.”

“No,” I say. “No… You mean… It was your father?”

A mist of tears cloud over Seth’s eyes. He blinks them away. “I saw him. He cut her.” His jaw clenches and he turns away. “I look like him. Amy is coming for me.”

“Why hasn’t she already killed you? She’s killed so many before,” I ask.

“I… I think she’s waiting.”

“What for?”

“Look, this is going to sound a bit crazy,” he says.

“Everything sounds pretty crazy right now,” I reply.

“A couple of years ago, when I was right out of school, I started working on a carnival over in Thirsk. A couple of us had this dare going on. It was stupid fun, you know, we were having a laugh. We had to go visit this psychic. She was total bullshit. She had the whole shebang going on, the tent, the crystal ball, the gypsy outfit… everything. When my mates went in, it was all the usual crap, you know, like ‘I see romance in your future’, ‘you are hiding a secret’, ‘there’s a career out there for you’, that kind of thing. Then I go in. At first it’s the same. She said I’d meet a nice girl, that I would experience heartbreak, and that I had some great task to complete, or some bull like that. Then she touched her crystal ball, her head snapped back, and her voice changed. It was like some demon was talking through her. Her eyes went black as night. I still see it all in my nightmares, I hear the voice, see the eyes. She said that I would die on my twenty-first birthday, that I would pay for the crime I ignored, that I have the eyes of a murderer.” He sighs. “My father’s eyes.”

“Whoa,” Neil breathes. I’d forgotten he was there.

“Yeah, man. Whoa indeed. Who the hell are you, anyway?” Seth asks.

“Neil,” he replies. “Mary’s friend, and the guy who will take you out if you hurt her.”

I turn back and raise my eyebrows. Neil shrugs his shoulders and grins. Who knew he had it in him? Probably not even Neil.

Then Neil says, “But, honey, I really have to go meet my boyfriend. Are you okay with Lacey?” and the moment passes.

I face Seth. “Just a second.” Then pull Neil away. “Do you believe him?”

“I didn’t think I would,” Neil admits. “But it’s so crazy it has to be true.”

Lacey shrugs. “I’m not convinced.”

“Holler if you need me,” Neil says. “I’m staying close, okay?”

I nod. Then I move back to the picnic bench and sit opposite Seth. There’s an electric crackle as Lacey takes her place next to me.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ll throw a stone at his head if he tries anything.”

“Who’s Lacey?” Seth asks.

“She’s my dead best friend.”

“The one who attacked Amy?” he says.

I nod.

“Wow, your life is as messed up as mine.” His eyes pull me in. His smile puts me at ease. I want to believe him so badly. I want to believe he’s good.

“I know,” I say coolly. “Carry on with your story. Tell me everything.”

“All right,” he says. “I first saw Amy’s ghost a few months ago, at the fair. I was working the waltzers. I looked up at the woods by the fairground and there she was, standing at the entrance, staring at me. I thought I was seeing things. I thought I was going crazy. Then, on my walks home, sometimes I heard these noises, these footsteps behind me. But whenever I turned, she was gone. It carried on for weeks. I thought I was going insane.”

“Why hasn’t she acted?” I ponder.

“She did the night of the fair, when she saw us together.” He pauses and swallows again. “I… I’ve never been on… dates. I mean, I’ve been… I’ve met girls in bars before, but I’ve never taken them anywhere public like that. Not until you came along.” His grin warms me from toes to fingertips. I mentally keep myself in check. I don’t know if I can trust him yet. “I guess seeing me with a girl tipped her over the edge, made her want to attack. Then Damo got in the way…”

“So much death,” I whisper. “She’s so angry.”

“I don’t blame her,” Seth says. “What I saw that night… I’ll take it with me to my grave. It’s with me every day. Every day. She is with me every day. We’re connected—like rope on an anchor—and we will be forever.” He shrugs.

“What happened to your father?” The wind whips my hair. I pull it back over my neck, covering the scars from the fire. He’s probably already seen them, but I do it anyway.

“He’s dead. I didn’t lie about that. He died when I was sixteen.”

“How did he die?” Lacey says.

I repeat her question to Seth.

“A car accident,” he says.

“Only a year after Amy died,” Lacey says. “She might not have been strong enough to kill him. It’s taken me months to lift a stone.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I say.

“Right about what?” Seth asks.

I explain. Then I say, “How did you live with him, knowing what you did?”

Seth rubs the stubble on his chin. “It was my birthday, the night she died. My parents threw a party for me in the village hall. Amy was there with my cousins, messing around and playing games. It’s different here, in the countryside. We do things as a community. We invite everyone who lives around us. But I was being a dick that night. I hated that Mum and Dad had invited the whole village. I hated all the kids running around at my party. In my head I was old enough to be chugging back beers and smoking spliffs. So a group of us went out walking with a bottle of vodka and a couple of joints. It got late. The others went home. I was wasted. We all were. I don’t know how, but I ended up wandering towards the campsite. It was on my way that I saw him. I saw him with her. They were walking hand in hand, like… I dunno. It was weird. I don’t know why I didn’t speak up. I guess I wasn’t in my right mind. I wasn’t even sure if what I was seeing was real and I didn’t want to get into trouble for being high. But still, I couldn’t figure out why Dad was with Amy, you know? I guess he could’ve been taking her home, but then… why?

“So I followed them. I followed them all the way down to the moors. I stood there, frozen, as he killed her. He was like a wild animal; a beast form of my dad… some hideous werewolf version of him. I dunno...”

His voice softens to almost a whisper. “I wish he had turned into a werewolf. It would have made it easier to stomach.” A pause. A beat. Then he continues. “I ran. I went home, I slammed the door to my bedroom. I lay down. I passed out.” His voice quietens even further. “And I forgot.”

“What?” Lacey and I say it at the same time.

“My mind, it… changed. As I slept, my brain worked everything out for me. It tried to fix me, and by trying to fix me, it messed everything up even worse. Whenever I think back to the morning after, it’s like a cereal advert of family happiness. Mum made us a fry up. Dad winked at me across the table, knowing I had a hangover, and confessed that he had one as well. Mum said something about how Dad went out drinking with his old pals. And as it all went on, I never remembered, not once. Not even after they found the body, not even when I was questioned by the police.”

“Were you a suspect?” I ask. “You were alone at the time of the murder.”

He nods. “They took my fingerprints and DNA, but it was too confusing because of the party. She’d been interacting with too many people to draw any conclusions. They took Dad’s, as well. I guess he was careful. Smart. A real psychopath.”

“How did he get away with it?” I whisper.

“Ask him when he remembered,” Lacey says.

I relay the question.

“Dad’s funeral. It hit me like a truck. One minute I’m tossing dirt on his coffin, the next he’s standing over Amy Willis, his face lit by the moon, a monster of a man. I spent the entire funeral having flashbacks, my mind a complete mess. I couldn’t believe it. I thought there was something wrong with me, that I was ruining the memory of my dad by making this shit up.” He shakes his head. His hands tremble.

“Did you tell your mum?” I ask.

“Never,” he says. “I’ve never said it aloud before.”

“You should have,” I say. “You should have gone to the police.”

“I didn’t think it would matter, what with him being dead. My mum… she doesn’t deserve to know what he did.” There’s a twitch along his jawline that makes me wonder if he is holding back information.

“How do you know she never knew?” I say.

“She doesn’t know,” he says firmly. “I’m sure of it. I’m positive.”

“You never thought your dad was a murderer, remember?” I say.

He rakes his fingers through his hair and then rubs the stubble on his chin. His face, his shoulders, they are tense. His eyes are drawn, haunted. “I know.”

“How did his dad get an alibi?” Lacey asks.

“His mates covered for him,” Seth answers, after I’ve repeated the question. “A couple of years ago, after I’d pieced together the mess that was my head, I asked one of dad’s old friends about the night Amy died. He told me that Dad had gone to him, told him he’d cheated on Mum and that he couldn’t tell her. My dad’s friend took pity on him and gave him an alibi so that Dad didn’t have to admit anything to the police. I could have punched him. But I really wanted to go back to me on that night, and save Amy.”

It’s then that his expression breaks through my reserve. I can’t help it, I reach forward and I take his hand in mine. I run my thumb along his knuckle. There’s the smell of rain in the air, lingering in low misty clouds. It takes me back to those moments on the moor, when our lips brushed together. For an instant, the world melts away, and a hot desire builds from my gut.

“Mary,” Lacey warns. “He could be lying. Don’t get too close to him.”

At first I think she means physically. But then I realise that she means to protect my heart.

“One child died,” I say, half to Lacey, half to myself. “If Seth did it, there would be more dead children.”

“Lacey doesn’t believe me,” Seth says. “I don’t blame her. It’s a crazy story. But it’s the truth. I swear.”

“I think if your dad had survived that car accident, there would have been more murders. When someone kills a child, like Amy, they don’t do it for motive, they do it for…” I shudder, “pleasure. It means they’d do it again.”

Seth nods along with me. “I think you’re right. I’ve thought about it again and again, over the last four years. Dad had two faces. My dad, and a psychotic killer. The problem is, I share his face, I have his eyes, and I’m the only way she can get revenge.”

Chapter Fourteen

On a rusty swing in the campsite park, I sit and push myself back and forth. Lacey sits atop the frame, cross-legged, like a yoga trained ninja.

The air is thick with rain that hasn’t fallen. Each time I swing forward, my eyelids are covered with the mist from the low fog. And when I swing back, the wind sucks my hair forward, blocking my view of the moors and the woods. The same moors where Seth’s father killed Amy.

“I believe him,” I say.

“I know,” Lacey replies. “I want to believe him, too.”

“But you don’t.”

“Even if his father did it, that doesn’t mean he can’t still be psychotic. What if it runs in the family? What if he learned to be violent from his father?”

“There are so many what-ifs,” I say, “that I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“You should eat,” Lacey says. “That’s one thing I know.”

“How are we going to stop Amy killing Seth?” I say. I plant my feet on the ground and stop myself swinging any further.

Of all the questions buzzing around my head, this is by far the loudest. And it’s messed up, because I should be thinking about how to stop Amy altogether, how to send her to whatever hell dimension or eternal plane of peace she should go to, but all I can think about is how I want Seth to survive.

I put my hand in my pocket and thumb my phone. When he left Five Moors, he finally gave me his number, and even his home address. Then he smiled and left with his head hung low, kicking the occasional stone from his path. I think of fifteen year old Seth, wandering onto the moors, watching his father commit the worst act in the world. I want that image out of my head. I want it to have never existed, to never have happened.

I want the world to be better.

I want Seth’s life to be better.

I want Amy to still be alive.

I want Lacey to still be alive.

I want Seth.

I want him.

“Whoa, Mares, what are you thinking about? Your expression, it’s like pain,” Lacey says. “You look like a girl with the weight of the world on your shoulders, like you’re about to have your heart kicked in.”

“Maybe I am,” I mutter.

A breathless Neil jogs around the corner of the playground. “Guys, I have news. Lemarr knows where that ghost walk guy hangs out. Apparently he drinks in The Nag’s Head, around the corner. We should go and talk to him, see what he knows about… You all right? You look terrible, Mary. Did Seth’s story check out?”

“I don’t know how to tell,” I reply. “If the police never had enough evidence to convict his dad, how would I be able to find out for certain?”

“But you believe him,” Neil says.

“Yeah, but is it enough?”

Neil doesn’t reply; instead he motions for me to get off the swing, and then he wraps a large arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. “Come on, let’s go find this ghost walker guy.”

“It’s only afternoon, though,” I say. “Will he be there?”

“Apparently he goes there every day before his ghost walks,” Neil replies.

I pull my phone out of my bag. “I should text Seth so he can meet us there.”

“Is that a good idea?” Lacey says.

“It’s his life on the line, Lacey. He has a right to figure out how to get rid of Amy,” I reply.

She frowns. “Okay.”

On the walk to the pub, Lacey is very quiet. It’s obvious that she doesn’t believe Seth’s story, but I can’t think of anything else that makes sense. She doesn’t understand that I have to go with my gut, and my gut tells me Seth is innocent.

Neil opens the door of The Nag’s Head and holds it open for me. It swings back as Lacey is stepping through, going straight through her.

“Thanks, Neil,” she says with a mean-spirited, sarcastic edge.

I flash her a look. It’s not like Neil can see her. Or that she even needs the door to be open.

We step through into the pub and the usual wall of chitter-chatter plus background music hits you in the face. It’s a proper “old-man’s pub”. The kind you find in the most remote of places. You can tell who the locals are because they turn around and stare at you with more than a little hostility; the old men wear flat caps and Wellington boots. They wouldn’t look out of place stomping through fields with a shotgun draped over one arm. The women are caked in make-up, with skirt suits in pastel shades. I imagine one of them in the passenger seat of a convertible, a headscarf tied neatly under her chin.

But it’s not all wealthy farmers in the pub. The thing about England is that no matter how posh the area is, it’s always near to a council estate, and in one of the rooms, a raucous game of pool is going on. I peek into the room to see beer sloshing over the sides of pint glasses, hitting the sticky carpeted floor. It smells like cheap antiperspirant and farts.

“What do you want to drink?” Neil asks.

He can’t persuade me to have a real drink, so instead he heads to the bar for a Coke and a pint of real ale, the ten pound note already in his hand. I wander through into the room with the pool players. It’s there that I find the guy from the ghost walk—Igor.

He sits at the small bar in the second room with his top hat next to him on a separate stool. His lanky hair, balding on top, straggles over the sides of his shirt collar and rests on the shoulders of his black waistcoat. There is the gold chain of a pocket watch peeking from his waistcoat pocket. He’s a man who would look out of place whatever the era. In the 21st century he is a Victorian Goth. If you transported him back to Victorian times, he would appear unkempt and scruffy—a man to be avoided.

“He can’t be that good of a ghost hunter,” Lacey says. I’d almost forgotten she was there. The sound of her voice makes me start. “He never even noticed me on the ghost walk.”

While I’m mulling over how much help Igor will actually be, Neil presses a cold glass of Coke into my fingers. I’d not even noticed him approach, or the way the pool players had stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at me.

“All right, love?” A lanky chap winks at me.

I reply with a half-hearted smile, hoping it’s enough to convey “I don’t want to be rude, but please don’t talk to me”, before following Neil towards our ghost walk tour guide.

Neil clears his throat. “Um, Mr. Igor?”

Igor turns and angles his chin down so he can examine us over his odd little spectacles. He is older than I thought, with hair greying at the roots and burst blood vessels around his nose. “What is it? Who are you?”

“We were at your ghost walk last night,” Neil continues.

He looks at Neil and then me, his eyes impatient, his fingers tapping the side of the pint glass. “And?”

“We wondered if we could talk to you, about… ghosts,” Neil whispers, leaning forward on his toes.

Igor sighs. “Not again. Look, I come here for a bit of peace and quiet, not to be hassled by teenagers. If you want a freak to point and laugh at, there’s a circus outside Leeds with—”

“It’s not that, Mr. Igor,” I say. “We need your help.”

Lacey steps forward and passes through Igor. His eyes widen and his back straightens. I nod to him as he begins to realise what has happened.

“We’re not alone,” he whispers, staring through me towards the back of the room. He pauses and remains still in contemplation. Then he raps the bar with his knuckle and leans towards the bartender. “Eileen, do you mind if I pop upstairs for a few minutes? These kids need to talk shop.”

“Sure.” She sets down a cleaned glass and picks up a set of keys from behind the bar. “Bring them back when you’re done.”

Igor lifts his hat from the stool, sets it on his head and takes the keys. He winks at her. “I know the drill.”

*

“So, you have a friend with you, then?” Igor says as he lifts his pint to his lips. The Guinness leaves a beer moustache on his upper lip.

I nod. “You can sense her?”

“Of course.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his legs, his ankle resting on the opposite knee.

We’re sat in the function room above the pub, on fold out chairs set on the wooden floorboards of a dance floor. There’s a stage behind us, the red curtains drawn. I wonder if they have local bands play, or whether they cater for the older crowd, employing pub singers and third rate comedians.

“Did yer think I were a charlatan or summat?” He narrows his eyes. The Yorkshire twang is gruff yet somehow comforting, evoking the tone of the Northern relatives you see around Christmas.

“We came to you for help, remember?” Neil points out.

“Aye, well. You’d be surprised how many folk come to poke fun. You’d think they’d have summat better to do.”

“We’re not like that, Mr. Igor. We need help with a powerful spirit,” I say.

“How powerful?”

“Strong enough to take another life,” I reply.

Igor’s eyes hold mine as he takes a long gulp of Guinness. He’s already put away half a pint while we’ve been upstairs. He smacks his lips and bangs the glass down. “Yer talking crap. There’s no way you’ve seen a murdering ghost.”

“It’s Little Amy,” Neil says.

Igor’s expression seems to lengthen. His jaw goes slack and his eyes widen. The rose coloured tint left on his cheeks by the alcohol fades, washing out his skin and making the shadows beneath his eyes more visible. He goes to stand up, but I put a hand on his.

“It’s true. I’ve seen her. You know it’s true. Someone like you must have noticed the mysterious deaths around here, the way men die on or around Five Moors? I know you’ve noticed. It’s time to stop ignoring it,” I say.

Igor drops back into his seat, leaning forward on the wobbling round table. “Amy’s death didn’t just affect me, or her family, it affected the whole village.” He lifts a hand and half-heartedly rubs his eye socket. “Terrible night, it was. Little lass like that.”

“We know it was tragic,” I say. “But we need to find out if you know how to banish a ghost for good. She’s killing people, Igor. She tried to kill me.” My hand goes to my throat. “I barely survived. It was Lacey, here, who helped.” I gesture to Lacey even though I know he can’t see her.

When Igor starts, I realise Lacey has revealed herself.

“Hi,” she says.

Igor fumbles with his glasses. “You’re a fresh one.”

“If you mean my corpse, it’s not so fresh,” she says.

“I’m sorry. I mean, you’ve not been dead long.”

“63 days 10 minutes and 27 seconds, but who’s counting?” Lacey replies.

I wish I could reach out and squeeze her hand.

“Whatever you want to do to this Little Amy chick, you’re not testing it out on me. Just thought I’d get that out of the way from the beginning,” Lacey says.

Igor lets out a sigh so heavy that it seems to age him. “I’d hoped to put all that behind me. But I suppose it’s time to start again. You see, I used to be in the ghost hunting business. Or rather, ghost extermination business.”

Lacey stares at Igor in horror, and I share a satisfied look with Neil. We did the right thing coming to Igor.

“You exterminate ghosts?” Lacey says.

“I used to,” he corrects. “A long time ago. Ghosts are extraneous spirits in this world, they shouldn’t, by rights, be here, and most of the time they cause problems for those around them. They become bitter, twisted… Oh, sorry lass, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Lacey stares down at the table between us. This time I reach out to try and take her hand, forgetting all about her non-corporeal form, and getting a chill for my efforts.

“We’re not all extraneous,” she says. “I have a purpose. I’m going to stop that Amy chick from taking any more lives. That’s what I’m going to do.”

Igor nods. “Well, all right then. It’s good to have you on board. When you’re taking on a revenge spirit, it’s good to have a team to back you up.”

“Have you ever worked with a ghost before?” I ask.

Igor drains more of his pint and burps into his closed fist. “This’ll be a first. Fifty-two and still having firsts in this world—ain’t that something?”

“So, how does the… umm, ghost extermination work?” Neil asks.

“Can’t talk about it here.” He leans to the side and rummages around in his jeans pocket. After a few moments he pulls out a small card. “Me business card. Yer can get hold of me on that number there.” He points to the number. When I reach out to take the card, he pulls it away, flips it over and takes a pen from a small clip inside his top hat. After scribbling on the back of the card he passes it to me. “That there’s me address and a time. Come to it tomorrow and I’ll explain everything. Wear warm and comfortable clothing.”

Igor stands to leave as I’m examining his card. There’s a picture of half his face, wearing the top hat. Over the top, a bad photo manipulation job has superimposed a skull. Igor – Professional Ghost Tours, it says. It’s almost exactly the same as the leaflet I’d put in my bag during the first ten minutes of arriving in Nettleby. Perhaps I always knew I would be led here.

The next moment, Igor drains his pint and his boots clip across the dance floor, leaving me with Lacey and Neil.

“Well, that was dramatic,” Lacey says.

Chapter Fifteen

We head back down to the pub to find Seth at the bar. His smile broadens when we approach and the first thing he does is ask if I want a drink.

“Watch out for poison,” Lacey says. I flash her a glare.

“Erm, ghost whisperer? You might not want to glare at the entire pub. She is invisible, you know,” Neil says.

I bite my lip. “Yeah, I keep forgetting that.”

“Next time you forget, you might find yourself in some psychiatric ward somewhere,” he continues.

“Not for the first time,” Lacey says. Her eyes flash with wickedness.

I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Seth doesn’t know about my stay in Magdelena yet. At least he can’t hear Lacey. But the thing is, the Lacey I know would never make a cruel remark like that. She has a mischievous sense of humour, and sometimes it cuts close to the bone, but she’s never cruel. I hear the distant ring of warning bells, and Igor’s words haunt me. Do all ghosts become bitter and twisted?

“So, you said something about coming here to get information?” Seth says as he passes me another Coke. “Did you find anything?”

“Yeah, actually we did,” I say.

Neil directs us over to a quiet table in the corner. There are three stools crammed around a small round table. Seth scoots over, sitting so close his knee is against mine. He flashes me a grin and my cheeks warm. Lacey stands around with her hands deep in her hoody pockets, a sullen expression on her face. When Seth smiles at me, she makes a guttural noise in her throat.

It’s Neil who excitedly begins the tale of meeting Igor. But he tells it like Igor spins his ghost stories, waxing lyrical about it being his idea, describing Igor’s hat in great detail, even putting on a Yorkshire accent.

“Wait, Igor the ghost tour guy? I know him. Sort of, anyway. He was friends with my dad, a long time ago,” Seth says.

“We might have to tell him what your dad did,” I say. “Is that going to be okay for you?”

Seth runs his thumb up and down the glass in contemplation.

“If it helps Amy get the peace she deserves, then we can tell him.”

Lacey scoffs again. “Shame he didn’t think about that when he watched his dad kill her.”

I try my best not to turn around towards my friend. Neil watches me, narrowing his eyes, picking up on the tension in my body.

“When are you going to wake up, Mares?” Lacey continues. “He’s not a good guy. He might not have killed Amy, but he stood and watched a terrible crime without doing anything about it. And now he’s carried on living his life without a single thought about getting justice for that little girl. Dead people have rights, too, you know. It’s not all about the living.”

“Lacey!”

Seth and Neil both turn towards me. Neil’s pint is halfway between the table and his lips.

“Um, everything okay?” Seth asks.

I shake my head. “No, not really. I’m… I’m sorry, I have to go.”

In my haste to get out of there, my stool tips over and I receive a hard stare from a man in tweed, and a tut from a woman in pearls. I trip over my feet dashing through the pub.

When the cold air of evening hits my skin, tears prick at my eyes. What is going on? Lacey hates me now? Why else would she taunt me like that?

A heavy weight presses down on my shoulders. I’m tired of the grey tinge that death leaves on my life, like a cigarette burn on a photograph, growing and consuming everything in its path. I’m surrounded by ghosts, and ghouls, and monsters. I’m half in this world with the other half being dragged to hell, or whatever exists after life. I feel like half a person. I think of the worried expressions on my parents’ faces when they realise I have no friends. It’s because I cloak myself in death and ghosts. I don’t live with the living.

“Mary?”

I turn back to the pub doorway. Seth stands hesitantly, the door half open in his hands. Him stood half in the pub and half out of it seems so much like how I feel. And, in some ways, he is exactly like me. Seth believes he will die in a few days. He doesn’t belong here, either. The barrier he maintains when he’s near me isn’t just a gentlemanly distance; he’s protecting himself, too.

“Take me away from here,” I say.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

I cross that distance between us and put my hands in his. “Yes.”

*

Seth’s car is unexpected. You would think that a twenty year old mechanic would have some souped up boy-racer car, with a spoiler and alloys, but he drives a sensible Ford. It’s even a newish one. I don’t know much about cars, but it looks like the sort of thing a mum drives when she goes to pick up her young children from nursery.

“Where do you want to go?” he asks.

It’s not quite sunset yet. I rest my head against the window and watch the moors fly past. Seth drives somewhere between safe and fast. He skims the corners and revs the engine when he changes gear. The juxtaposition is him in summation: comfortable and dependable, but somehow dangerous and dark.

“Anywhere.”

“What happened in the pub? It’s Lacey, isn’t it?”

I tap my fingers against the glass of the window, avoiding Seth’s concerned expression.

“Is she here now?”

“No.”

“What did she say?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

I lean into the window as he takes another corner. “Mary, is it about me? I don’t want to come between you and your… umm, friend.”

“Ghost friend,” I say. “You can say it. She’s dead. She’s a ghost. She shouldn’t even be here, but…”

But what? What’s the but?

“You can’t say goodbye to each other,” Seth finishes for me. “You love each other. I know how that feels.”

“You do?” I ask.

Seth lets out a heavy sigh. “I’ve been holding something back. What with everything going on, I wasn’t sure whether to even mention it. Earlier, when you asked why I’d never told my mum about what I saw that night, well, there’s a reason.” He flicks on the indicator and turns off the main road.

“What is it?” I ask. My skin prickles. What if I made a mistake getting in the car with this guy? Another secret? Another lie?

“I need to take you somewhere.”

“Where?”

He turns to look at me, taking his eyes off the road for an uncomfortable length of time. “Do you trust me?”

“Why are you asking me that?” I say.

“Because I need to know if I can trust you, and I guess it would be easier to trust you if you trust me.” He turns back to the road.

I hesitate. “That’s not fair. Trust is built up over time. I’ve known you a few days.”

“More than that,” he says calmly. “We’ve been through things together, shared more than most people share in a lifetime. I’ve held your life in my hands. I pulled you to safety on the Ferris wheel. I jumped with you when you told me to jump. That moment was worth a thousand days.”

His quiet voice sends shivers up and down my bare arms and legs. “I know. I trusted you then. My first instinct was to trust you. But…”

“You don’t trust your instincts, so you don’t trust me,” he says with a sigh.

“No, that’s not true. I’ve always trusted my instincts. I rely on them more than anything.”

“More than your ghost friend?” Seth raises an eyebrow at me.

“I… I don’t know.” I’d never thought about it like that. Lacey has always been a support to me. “This is the first time we’ve disagreed about anything. We’ve been through a lot.”

“Tell me about it, I want to know,” Seth says.

“All right. But, you’re not allowed to judge me. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Lacey and I were in a psychiatric hospital together…” I started, and then I told him the entire story. I told him about the strange monsters I saw at school and how they gave me messages. I told him about meeting Lacey for the first time, seeing this mess of blond hair and black eyeliner peeking over the top of her hoody. I told him about Mo, who put his faith in me even when he didn’t understand me, and about the boy who screamed and was silenced by a killer.

And then I told him what I needed to tell someone but couldn’t. I told him about Dr. Gethen, and about the way he taunted me. I told him about the night in the abandoned ward when he chased me and I crawled through the vents to get out. I told him about how I made a decision, a decision to face my fears, to face the prospect of death and stop Gethen claiming more victims. Finally, I told him how Lacey sacrificed herself for me, and how she’s been with me as a ghost ever since.

“At Lacey’s funeral, her mum slapped me,” I say. “She said I was a bad influence on her little girl, and that I’d forced her into that abandoned ward as some sort of game. Lacey stood right next to me, seeming so solid and yet so invisible at the same time. She laughed and said: ‘Pay no attention to that crack-addled bint. She wants to blame you so she doesn’t have to blame herself.’”

“She’s right. You shouldn’t blame yourself. None of it is your fault.”

“Lacey had this hollow look in her eyes all the way through the funeral,” I continue. “She kept joking, pointing out girls she’d had a crush on at school, the members of her family who had been in jail. That kind of thing. But she had this hollow look…” I shake my head. “It went away for a while, but sometimes it comes back. I worry that she’s changing.”

“She died. You can’t go through death without changing at least a little bit.”

“But what if you change completely? What if my friend isn’t my friend, anymore?” There, I said it. I finally said the words that have been beneath the surface of our friendship since Lacey’s funeral. The joking around, the energy, the girl I once knew still exists, but it has also changed. There are times when her jokes are cruel and bitter.

“You have to trust your instincts,” he says. The car turns into a car park. I hadn’t even noticed the journey while we were talking. “Like you are now. There’s no way you would tell me all that if you didn’t trust me.”

The sign next to the car park says Nettleby Royal Hospital. Why would Seth bring me to a hospital?

He parks the car and pulls up the handbrake. The door clunks open. It’s drizzling, so I put on my jacket as I close the car door. An empty crisp packet blows across the tarmac.

“What are we doing here?” I say.

Before we move towards the multi-story, multi-building hospital (why are they always so big and stretched out, like a microcosm of a dystopian underground city?), he turns to me and says, “I know this is a bit weird, taking a girl I like to a hospital. But I think it might help you understand me a little better.” He jams his hands in his jeans pockets and looks away. “I mean, I hope so.”

The drizzle becomes a shower, so we hurry towards the grey building. There are fresh coats of green paint around windows and door frames; it makes me think of the way undertakers put make-up on corpses. I keep my eyes on Seth as we enter the building and are hit by the stale, hot air I’m so familiar with. I watch him instead of seeing the sterile white walls and empty stares of patients. He knows where he’s going. He nods to one or two nurses. He squirts anti-septic serum into his hands and backs through double doors without breaking a step.

We reach a ward that seems even quieter than most. As soon as we’re through the door, a short, middle-aged woman waves to Seth and then fixes him a disapproving look. She puts her hands on her hips like a mother in the playground.

“It’s not visiting hours, you know,” she says.

“Ten minutes, Fatima. We won’t stay long, I promise.”

The woman glances at me and then back at Seth. A small smile plays on her lips. “All right. Ten minutes and then you’re out of here. I’m not getting a disciplinary for you, mister.” She waggles her finger at him, but I can tell she’s not really mad.

“Thank you.”

As we carry on down the ward, Seth slows down. His confident steps are gone, and instead, his hands grip the sleeves of his jacket. He lets out a long breath when we reach the door to one of the rooms. He hesitates before opening it.

“Mary, I want you to meet my mum.”

Chapter Sixteen

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

It’s the noise of the machines first. Then the bleach-like smell, hanging in stale air. Then you see the tubes, from her arms, from her nose, like something out of an alien autopsy. Her unmoving body is cocooned in a crocheted blanket. Bronze hair spreads out on the pillow, cushioning her head. Her eyelids are a sallow yellow, bruised looking. They are closed.

Seth moves forward and pats his mother’s hand. “I have trouble saying goodbye, too.”

“How long has she been like this?” I ask. I hesitate from stepping forward. The sheen on her skin makes her seem like a wax doll. I’m embarrassed to say that my stomach lurches. My natural instinct is to keep away from this sick creature.

“Since the car accident. My dad died and Mum was left in a coma.” He shrugs.

“So you’ve been going through all this alone?” I ask.

“My dad died in debt. I got a little bit of money back from insurance, but that went on the mortgage for the house. Since then I’ve been working two jobs to make ends meet. I don’t have time for much: girlfriends, friends, hobbies… But I do want to go to uni. When and how… that’s another story.” He lets out a hollow laugh. “I guess that dream is over, if Amy has her way.”

“Don’t say that. You haven’t given up on your mum, so don’t give up on yourself.”

“I told her I would never give up. Sometimes I think she can hear me, but I think it’s my imagination. The doctors have given me the choice, you know. They confirmed it months ago. They said that I can turn off the machines and let her go in peace. I can’t… she doesn’t know about him. What if he’s waiting for her? I can’t…” his voice cracks.

I step forward and slip my arm around his waist. “You mean your dad?”

He nods.

“You don’t know that for certain. None of us can know.”

“That’s the worst part,” he says, “the not knowing. How can I make the right decision for her, when I don’t know the outcome? I could be stopping her from finding peace, or I could be condemning her to nothingness, or I could prevent her from one day waking up and being Mum again. How do I make that choice for someone else?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

The silence hangs between us. I open my mouth, searching for the right words to solve Seth’s problem, or at least soothe his anguish, but there’s nothing. My heart beat quickens as I think about what it must be like for his mother, to be trapped in an empty husk of a person. Maybe the doctors are right, maybe she left long ago.

Fatima pops her head around the doorway of the cubicle. “Seth, the on-call doctor is doing his rounds. I’ll get a bollocking if you two are here.” She jabs her thumb towards the door and whistles between her teeth.

On the way out, Seth pats Fatima’s arm and smiles. She grips his fingers for the briefest of moments and then looks at me with eyes filled with pleading. Look after him, they seem to say. Help him. She must think I’m his girlfriend.

The one good thing to come from all this is that I understand Seth, now. Lacey’s continuous snipes had worn me down a little, made me begin to doubt my instincts. Seth lived with those memories alone, because he had too much to protect: a sick mother, a house, himself. I think about his story one more time. There’s no proof, no evidence. If he went to the police, there would be as much chance of implicating himself, as his father. Then who would look after his mother? I glance at Seth, seeing him as fiercely protective of his family, a man of morals who works to keep a life stuck in limbo while his mother wastes away in a hospital bed. Everything is frozen for him, right now.

We walk out of the hospital in silence, with a gaping space between us. What he showed me makes me closer to him than ever, but that closeness is so intimidating that I don’t know what to do with it. Eventually, as we step through the automatic doors leading to the car park, Seth reaches over and grasps my hand, holding it tighter than is comfortable. I let him.

When we get into the car, the question slips from my lips, “Seth, if Amy does kill you, who will look after your mother?”

Seth holds his car key in the air, frozen between the steering wheel and the ignition. He withdraws and leans back against his seat. “They turn off the machine. But I guess it wouldn’t matter, then. She wouldn’t have anyone to wake up for.”

I turn to him and take both of his hands, keys and everything. “I shouldn’t have said that. Amy isn’t going to take you. We’ve found someone to help us. Everything is going to be all right.”

The words sound hollow even to me. I’m talking to a boy who has been through more than anyone should, enough to make anyone give up.

But then he leans forward until our noses are touching. We’re so close I see the flecks of amber in his brown irises. He pauses, waiting. I can’t wait anymore. I let go of his hands and fling my arms around his neck, pressing my lips against his, in not so much a want but a need.

Seth hesitates for less than a second, but then his hands are in my hair, and he kisses me deeply, so deep I taste him; faint cigarette smoke, sweetness, like honey. His mouth explores mine with hunger, all the anticipation, the long looks, the electric touches, it all culminates in this moment as we cling to life in the face of death. Finally, finally, I am alive. I am alive with sensation as my body cries out for his touch. Every sensory receptor beneath my skin longs for the feel of his fingertips. I’m clamped up against him, twisted in my seat, pressing every part of me against him.

When his kisses meet the scars on my neck, I freeze up. My heartbeat quickens and I start to panic. Seth begins to pull away and it’s then that I come to my senses. I want Seth enough to make myself stop caring about the scars. They don’t matter as much as this moment matters. He kisses my jaw, and back to my lips. His hands gently pull on my hair, run firmly down my spine and grip my waist. I return the sensation, letting my fingers find the grooves of his body beneath his shirt, pressing deep into the muscles created from manual work, making him supple and firm rather than gym-tight.

I want him.

It’s unlike anything I’ve felt before. With Mo, I liked him enough that kissing felt nice. Being with him was sweet and loving. With Seth, it’s a need. I’ve never had this kind of attraction before. It’s like it turns off my brain to the rest of the world. All I know is skin and lips and warmth and kissing and kissing and kissing…

When he breaks away, the world floods back and it’s a horrible feeling, like grief forgotten for an instant. I know Seth feels it too, feels the weight of responsibility landing squarely on his shoulders. His mother, his father, Amy.

“We should go,” he says, panting as his chest heaves up and down. His lips are red and sore, and his hair is tousled from my fingers.

“Yeah,” I say, aware of how wide my eyes are. “Yeah, we should.”

*

Somehow, we didn’t need to decide where to go. I let him drive wherever he wants.

I roll down the window and stick my head out, feeling the whip of rainy-wind against my face until it begins to go numb. I turn on the CD player and the melodic sounds of The Beach Boys blasts out. I start humming along, tapping the hand rail, drumming the glove box. Before long I’m singing and Seth starts singing too. We’re singing at the tops of our voices, harmonising the ooo-ooo-ooohs, both out of tune. The rain comes down harder and Seth turns on the windscreen wipers. My legs are freezing cold and I regret putting on my shorts.

But all of it—my face cold and damp, my legs goosepimpled, my throat sore from singing, the raw scrape on my lips from kissing Seth—is like a rush of exhilaration, an emptying of weight. Manic freedom—the kind that makes you feel invincible, like you can take on the world and win.

The countryside roads change to village side streets. We’re still blaring out Pet Sounds and I sing as though the blurry faces of those going about their day don’t exist. Seth shakes his head and smiles. It’s so good to see him smile.

He pulls the car onto a drive in a quiet suburban street which is a fraction wider than the country lanes Dad drove down to get to Five Moors. There aren’t any lines on the road, and the verge is built up to dry-stone walls. When the engine goes quiet and the Beach Boys stop singing, it dawns on me that I’m alone with Seth, and that he has brought me to his house. It’s like a switch has been flipped back on. Heat spreads to my extremities, and my cheeks flush. Seth is turned in his seat with the seatbelt unclipped.

“You don’t have to come in if you don’t—”

I shut him up with my mouth on his.

*

When living in the moment, it’s not often that we know, at that very second, that we will remember it forever, but in this afternoon, I know I will think of Seth in his quaint, yet lonely, village cottage. I will remember how we talked, and kissed. Always the gentleman, we go no further than that, despite the heat burning under the surface when his fingertips touch my skin.

Of course, a part of me desires to know him more. But at the same time, I know it would ruin the magic. It would take away the tension that makes me long for him, and I’m not ready for that tension to go away. Maybe I never will be. Maybe, we are destined to know and connect with each other for this one week, and that’s all there is to it.

This is enough.

His bedroom is an explosion of Seth, whereas the rest of the house is plain, yet neat. Unframed paintings hang crookedly along the walls. Most are mixed media, incorporating pencil, acrylics and strange canvases like abandoned chunks of wood or torn cardboard.

One painting catches my eye. It’s unmistakably his mother, even though it bears little resemblance. It’s a half-sketch, half-painting filled with pinks and whites and browns, and it’s like he’s trying to piece her together, trying to fix something that can never be mended. Those pinks and browns, they won’t be restored, because you can’t just patch up a person. I see Lacey in that painting. I see Amy, too. In some ways, I see Seth.

“Are you hungry?” Seth asks.

We’ve been on his sofa for the last hour, with some daytime television programme on in the background. I’ve not seen a single second of it.

I turn back to him, which is a mistake, because it makes me want to kiss him again. Instead I stroke his cheek, rubbing my palm against his long stubble. “Actually, I am.”

He plants a big, wet kiss on my forehead before he goes, and I grin like a mad woman because it makes me feel like someone who matters.

“Don’t boil any bunnies yet, Mary,” I mutter to myself.

“Did you say something?” Seth turns back, naked to the waist and tattooed from shoulder to navel. Birds, feathers, poems and songs decorate his chest. There isn’t a single one I haven’t kissed.

“No,” I reply. “Nothing at all.”

As he leaves, I wonder whether Seth could paint me a little picture of himself before I leave Nettleby. Then it dawns on me. In a few days, I’ll be gone.

I sit up straight and curl my legs underneath me.

I always knew this was a fling.

Yet the thought of us parting twists my stomach.

I shake it away and instead take in the rest of Seth’s room. His paintings aren’t the only artistic traces. The décor is neutral yet manly and creative at the same time. He has a battered leather chair in one corner, a guitar in the other. Books are stacked in piles on shelves next to half-burnt church candles. His ornaments are heavy glass ashtrays mixed with photographs in wooden frames and tacky seaside snow globes. He has a desk covered in sketchbooks, journals and pots filled with paint brushes. Charcoal dust stains the cushions on the sofa. His bedside table is stacked with books. One looks like a diary. I resist the urge to flip it open. The others are high-brow literary novels—Nabakov, Fitzgerald, Hemingway. I think of this man, this talented, intellectual, working at a carnival to pay the bills. My heart aches.

And then I see the sketch.

I recognise her in an instant.

Dark hair hangs down her face. Her virgin-white dress is stained with red. The moor grass is underneath her feet. Behind her lurks a tall shadow.

Amy.

“Do you like toast? I hope so, because it’s pretty much all I have.” Seth places the tray on top of a precarious pile of books, filled with warm toast, butter, different jams, a pot of tea and a carton of orange juice. His concerned eyes meet mine. “Are you all right?”

I stroke his cheek one more time, taking in every part of his face, memorising it forever. “I’m good. I’m better than good, I’m starving.”

Chapter Seventeen

Where does the story end? That’s what it’s all about. It’s what we all want to know.

Some of us think we already know the answer. They are the people who close a book and never think about it again. To them, the story ends at the words ‘The End’ and that’s that.

Then there are the optimists. The story continues, but it stays the same. The princess lives happily ever after with her prince, probably pops out a few kids and carries on the bloodline. Marriages survive, families continue, and good prevails over evil. These are the people who cannot bear deviations from the rule. Everything fits into neat little boxes. When bad things happen, they ignore it, or use some quote about everything happening for a reason, or what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. They carry on without even talking about their bad experiences, pretending everything is all right.

Others wonder about the possibilities. Maybe the princess cheated on her prince with a dashing knight, ran away with him to live in the wilds, cheated on him with a neighbouring farmer and ended up working the fields for the rest of her life. These are the people who lie awake at night, frightened by the stars above them, intimidated by how the world keeps turning and it doesn’t matter if they live or die. These are the people who attempt to stop those thoughts by painting, or writing, or reading… anything to plug up that hole in the brain that gushes out a constant stream of consciousness.

As Seth drives me back to the campsite, I see those thoughts in his eyes. He’s wondering where our story will end. Will it be at the hands of Amy? Will she have her revenge? Will it be when I leave for good? Or will it be when someone, somewhere, stops writing the story?

It’s late. The sky is black-blue, but the rain has shifted away, leaving it clear enough to see stars and aeroplanes. Seth has his sleeves rolled up and I trace the line of swallows tattooed onto his forearms. After spending an evening eating, watching trash TV, and avoiding talking about our greatest fears, I feel like our story has just begun, but will end at the first chapter. I always knew it would be a holiday romance. And because I’ve always known that, I’ve fallen even harder.

He pulls into the same car park where the young boy fell from the roof. When he turns off the engine, I realise it’s almost midnight.

“Would you like me to walk you to your van?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I’ll be fine.”

He leans forward and kisses me. It has been a mere few hours since our first kiss, yet already this feels like the familiar, slow kiss, you get after being with someone for months.

When we break away, he runs his fingers through my hair. “Mary, this evening has been—”

“Don’t say it.” A sudden burning of tears pricks at my eyeballs. It’s all been so intense, from the hospital, to Seth’s house, to now. “I’m so glad you took me to see your mum. I’m sorry that—”

“Don’t say it,” he says.

“I wish I could help.”

His hand falls into his lap.

“There is something I can help with, though,” I say. “Come with us, to meet Igor. We can stop Amy together.”

“Okay,” he says, his voice devoid of emotion.

“At the risk of sounding corny, I think you’re going to have to really believe it to make it happen,” I say. “If you give up, if you don’t try, Amy will win.”

“That does sound corny.” He entwines his fingers with mine and lets out a chuckle. “Are you Peter Pan, now?”

“No, but I think we control our own destinies. I believe in us and our own minds. We can make things happen if we believe in ourselves,” I say.

“Ahh,” he replies. “That’s the psychology A-Level talking.”

I hit him lightly on the shoulder. “It’s me talking. And, maybe, a little bit my dad talking. He’s right, though. It’s like when a little kid bumps his knee. If you rush over and fuss over the kid, he keeps crying and crying. If you act like it’s no big deal and distract him with a teddy bear, he’ll start laughing and chew on its ear. The mind is powerful. The way we perceive things changes the outcomes of our actions. So if you believe you will live to be twenty-two, you will. Tell me you believe.”

He smiles and runs a thumb along my cheekbone. “All right, I believe—smart-arse.”

“Good,” I say. “It’s going to be fine, you’ll see. We won’t let Amy win.”

“Mary, Amy won’t win. She never won in the first place. She’s the only one of us who has truly lost. Everything.” His smile fades and he drops his hand into his lap.

I should have realised the weight he carries. It isn’t some romanticised moping about his fortune-telling, it’s the weight of knowledge from watching his father’s crime.

“You can’t carry his guilt,” I say.

Seth looks at me sharply. His brown eyes glisten in the dim light inside the car. Moonlight and flood lights filter through the car windows, but still half of his face is cast in shadow.

“Who else will carry it?” he says.

We kiss, then. I sink into it, cherish it. Later, as I lie in the tiny bed inside our caravan, I replay the exact same conversation in my mind. Should Seth feel guilty for Amy’s death? Should I be in this relationship with him? And lastly, what will happen when I leave Nettleby?

*

I wake up to find Lacey sitting cross-legged at the end of my bed, picking at her sleeves. She doesn’t say anything and neither do I, not for at least a few seconds. Even after I rub the sleep from my eyes and sit up, I somehow can’t find the words.

Eventually, she looks up. “I shouldn’t have said those things.”

“Did you mean them?”

She shakes her head. “No, I never did.”

“You don’t think I should be with Seth.”

“Because I’m worried about you,” she says, her voice rising.

I remain talking in a whisper. My parents can’t hear ghosts, but they can hear me. “Well, I’m worried about you, too.”

A line deepens between her eyebrows. “You are?”

“Of course I am.” I lean towards her, closing the gap between us. “You’re my best friend, Lace. You’ve not been yourself, recently.”

Her face falls. “I haven’t?”

“You seem out of sorts.”

“Well maybe that’s because I’m dead,” she snaps. There’s a long silence and Lacey continues to play with the sleeves of her hoody. Each time she pulls a thread from the cuff, it repairs itself, returning back to the exact same state as before. “It’s things like that, isn’t it?”

I nod.

She drags her hands through her hair. “I don’t want to end up like her, Mares. I don’t want to be some murderous revenge ghost, preying on innocent kids.”

“Okay, I’m going to say something and I don’t want you to get mad. But do you think it’s time for you to… move on?”

Her face pales and I hear thick emotion in her throat when she says, “You want to get rid of me?”

I try to hold her hands, forgetting—again—that I can’t. “No, I don’t I really don’t. I’m scared that I’m being too selfish, that I’m keeping you here when you shouldn’t be.”

“But I don’t want to go,” she says. “I don’t want to leave you.”

The words feel like having a bowling ball pressed on top of my chest. “I don’t want to be the only reason you stay here, Lace. It’s too much…” I sigh. “I just want you to be happy. You could be at peace, right now.”

“Or I could be rotting in my corpse body. Or I could cease to exist. I could fly around as some particle in the shitting wind. We don’t know. It’s all right for you to sit there and tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, but it’s not your decision. It’s mine. I choose to stay here and you can’t stop me.” She juts out her chin and a crackle of electricity flickers through her.

“Then I support you. I’m with you.”

Lacey shuffles against the bed. “But you said—”

“I want you to be happy.”

She catapults herself at me, and before I know it, a freezing chill and an electric shock ripple through my body. Lacey fades and then appears back at the end of the bed.

“Sorry,” she says. “Forgot again.”

“Maybe we can hover-hug,” I suggest.

The two of us lean forward and hug without touching. The hairs rise on my arms and the back of my neck from the chill.

My bedroom door opens and Mum appears in the doorway. I pull away from Lacey and put my hands by my side.

She narrows her eyes a little but says in a very calm voice, “Are you all right, Mary?”

I nod.

“I thought I heard you talking to someone?”

“I was on the phone to Seth,” I say.

Her face brightens at the sound of his name. “Oh, did you go out with him last night?”

My mind jumps to an image of Seth, half-naked, feeding me jam on toast on his sofa. “Yeah, we went to the pub with Neil.” It’s only half a lie.

“That’s great.”

I know that to her, me having a boyfriend and a friend is like some sort of validation that I’m okay. She needs those validations more than I do. I guess that’s what happens when you’re responsible for a human being; you begin to obsess over any tiny signal and what it might mean. How else do you know if you’re doing a good job?

As she tells me about the singer they went to see last night—apparently she was a Celine Dion impersonator called Selene Dior—I turn back to Lacey and we share a smile.

*

“Is this the right place?” Lemarr asks. “Because this doesn’t look much like the house of some spooky ghost hunter.”

I check the address written on the business card. “Yep. This is it.”

We’ve reached a yellow door in a sea of terraced houses. It took thirty minutes to walk to the village from the campsite, and another five to find Igor’s road, which is tucked away behind the main shopping street.

Like all of the houses in Nettleby, there are hanging baskets over the front door and potted plants underneath the window. Neil raps the door knocker three times.

On my right, Seth’s fingers graze mine, sending electric shocks up and down my wrist. On my left, Lacey’s ghost form gives me a chill, creating goosebumps along my forearm. I’m stuck between a doomed man and a ghost.

A shuffling noise comes from inside the house. After a man sighs on the other side of the door, a lock turns. Igor stands in the doorway, hatless and greying. He moves back into the hallway and ushers us in.

“You’ve brought the ghost with you, then,” he says matter-of-factly, finding my eyes. “I can feel her presence.”

Lacey moves closer to Igor and pretends to roar at him like a monster with her hands outstretched. I can’t keep the smile from my face.

“Tell her if she keeps getting that close I’ll have to put an extra jacket on.” Igor rubs the thin cotton of his white shirt.

Igor shuts the door and turns the key in the lock. We’re three teenagers, a young man, a ghost and a middle-aged man, cramped up in the hallway of a small terraced house. Igor gives Lemarr and Seth a dubious glance.

“I didn’t say owt about newcomers,” he grumbles.

“They’re cool,” I say. “They know the score.”

Neil gives me a funny look. “We’re not meeting with the mob.”

I shrug in reply.

“Bloody kids.” Igor pushes past us and we follow him into the kitchen, all the time he mumbles swear words under his breath. “Yer don’t take nothing seriously, that’s your problem. Kids today. D’yer not know that this is a matter of life or death? D’yer not know that?” He shakes his head. “Get in here.”

His kitchen is as quaint as the potted plants outside the house. The wallpaper is patterned with pink roses on a vine. The laminate flooring imitates beige tiles with intricate borders. Even the cabinets are chintzy, with pretend white painted wood grain and porcelain knobs. A pink woollen tea cosy sits over a purple teapot. On the window sill, by the sink, I spot a framed photograph of Igor when he was younger, his hair neatly cut, his face absent of lines, and a pretty young woman on his arm.

“Is that your wife?” I ask.

“Was,” he replies, without even looking in my direction.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Things make more sense now. Igor’s obsession with ghosts, his pink floral kitchen…

“Listen, you lot, d’yer want to catch this ghost or what?” Igor glares at us all. Then he narrows his eyes at Seth. “’Ere, you’re the Lockwood lad, in’t yer?”

Seth nods.

“You knew Amy Willis,” Igor continues. “Went to school with yer cousins, didn’t she?”

“That’s right,” Seth says. He moves a little closer to me. I sense his need for support and take his hand in mine.

“What are yer doing with this lot then? These out-of-towners?”

“It’s a long story,” Seth says. He adds a hollow laugh, aiming for easy and natural, but giving off creepy.

Igor folds his arms. “I’ve got all night, lad. If you don’t tell me, I’m not helping you get this ghost.”

“You don’t have to say anything—” I start.

“It was my dad,” Seth says. “He killed her. My dad killed her.”

Igor falls back into a chair near the kitchen table. “No. No, it wasn’t.”

“I saw it with my own eyes.” Seth’s voice is sombre, quiet and commanding. The tops of his cheeks turn pink and his eyes flit from Igor, to his shoes, to me, and then to the rest of the group. I can’t even imagine what it must be like to admit you saw your own father kill an innocent child. I squeeze his hand.

“I never… I thought… I knew him,” Igor stumbles through his words. His face is pale. Every trace of annoyance has been replaced with shock. “I saw him in The Nag’s Head. He was a right joker, always cracking everyone up. All this time. That case haunted me all this time, and it was him.”

“It’s a big shock,” I say. “It has been for all of us.”

Igor’s eyes flash. “You don’t know. Don’t tell me you know. This village has lived with that crime on its shoulders fer years. Don’t tell me you know what it’s been like, because yer don’t. You’ve been here less than a week, girl.”

Seth squares his shoulders. “Hey. Don’t talk to her like that. She was nearly killed by Amy. She has a connection with Amy’s spirit. Of course she understands how difficult this has been.”

Igor is suddenly on his feet. “And you were fifteen when that lass was killed. You’ve been covering up fer him all this time—”

“He blocked it from his memory!” I interrupt. “The trauma stopped him remembering until his father’s funeral.”

“How do you know that, eh?” Igor’s face moves towards mine. There’s spittle in the corner of his mouth and his words whistle through his old teeth. “How do you know they weren’t both in on it, or he did it himself?”

Neil groans. “Don’t you think we haven’t already had this argument? You know who might tell us the truth? Amy. Did any of you think of that when you were sniping at each other?”

Igor backs up. “The lad has a point.”

I take a chance and approach the man. “Don’t you think there would be other murders since Amy? Who kills a child and then goes back to their normal life? Not sickos like Seth’s dad. He must have been a serial killer.”

Igor sucks in a long, whistling breath and looks up at the ceiling as though seeking divine inspiration. “All right. I’m coming with you to put Amy to rest. At least then we might get some answers, and I’m not letting a bunch of kids try to do it alone.” He gives Seth a hard glare. “First sign of trouble and the police are getting involved.”

“All right.” Seth maintains Igor’s eye contact as the rest of us watch, shuffling our feet and clearing throats to break the tension.

Igor nods once and then turns to the kitchen table. It’s there that, for the first time, I notice the array of strange equipment splayed out. Most of the pieces are strange contraptions, like a rectangular black box, a little like a large walkie-talkie. It has a meter that runs from green to red, and a thin indicator lever.

“That’s an EMF reader,” Igor explains. “It detects changes in the electro-magnetic field.”

I feel a cold chill as Lacey moves closer. “Tell him to turn it on, I want to see if it works.”

“Turn it on,” I say.

Igor flicks a switch and holds the reader up. Almost immediately the level moves straight into the red and it beeps. “There yer go. It’s picked up yer friend. Now, did any of you bring torches?”

We exchange glances.

“Umm, no,” Neil says. “Should we have?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Igor pulls out torches from a black rucksack. “Got some.”

“Where are we going that requires a torch?” Lemarr speaks up.

“And why is there a very pointy-looking knife on the table?” Neil adds.

Igor lifts the knife by the blade and flips it in the air to grasp the handle. It’s ornate. The blade is brushed steel and gleams at the edge. The hilt is black with intricate symbols etched into the metal. It looks more like a dagger, the kind you would see in films with a religious theme. The kind where monks commit heinous crimes in the name of Satan.

“This isn’t a knife, it’s an Athamé. And the reason you need torches, is that we’re going ghost hunting. We’re going to send some unsuspecting ghost back to the afterlife.” Igor puts the dagger into a sheath at his hip.

The blood drains from my face. This sounds dangerous.

Chapter Eighteen

It’s on the way to wherever we’re going that Igor explains what the Athamé does. He takes long strides, his rucksack hanging low on his back. His top hat has been replaced by a more practical flat cap, a faded brown tweed.

“It’s a dagger used for rituals,” he says. “I don’t know much about owt, but I know it works.”

“How do you know?” I ask.

“I went to someone with questions, and they gave me answers. Listen, love, I’ve sent ghosts back using that same dagger. That’s all the proof I need,” he says.

“Okay.” I hurry along, struggling to keep up with the pace set by Igor and the others. Seth hangs back by my side. His fingers often brush against mine but he never takes my hand in his.

It’s a dark night, brightened by the occasional street light. The further we walk, the less frequent the lights are and the more the cold seeps through my light jacket. The scent changes from the tang of piled rubbish bins, to the whiff of wild garlic, and the road narrows around us.

“Not far now,” Igor says, his voice laboured with the effort of walking. Nettleby is full of hills, we’ve been up and down three so far.

Lacey zips in and out of us, bored by our dull human footsteps. She seems a little brighter than before. I hope that I can rely on her when we face Amy. I’m going to need all of her support if we’re going to stop Amy from killing again.

A large dark lump appears out of the shadows. It is encased with a rusting fence and crumbling walls. Igor steps forward and un-latches a gate, letting us in. It’s then that I realise—with a chill—that we’re setting foot onto church ground, and that large black lump is an old church building.

“Anyone else starting to think this might be a bad idea?” Neil says.

“Um, I am.” Lemarr lifts a hesitant finger up on the air, like a kid who needs the toilet in primary school.

Igor lets out a low, not very reassuring, chuckle. I find myself pressing my fingers against Seth’s. He entwines them in his, and warmth rushes through my body. I draw strength from him and use it to keep me walking up the path between gravestones.

“Yer wanted to know more about ghosts and that’s why I’ve brought yer here. Where else is better, ey?” Igor stretches his arms out wide as we follow him gingerly through the headstones.

“Have you, um, caught ghosts here before?” I ask. My voice wavers in the night air.

“Have I? Have I? Course I bleeding have,” he answers.

We tip-toe around the side of the church while Igor chunters under his breath, complaining about stupid questions.

“Is this church abandoned?” Neil asks.

“Yes,” Igor answers. “Has been fer years. The graveyard is full, you see, and the congregation are probably all buried in it.”

“I sense a presence,” Lacey says.

“Lacey can sense a ghost,” I relay to the group.

“Why doesn’t Lacey show herself, seeing as we’re alone?” Neil suggests.

“Hi, big boy.” Lacey appears right next to Neil. He lets out the girliest of squeals which has us all in stitches.

“Would you shut up!” Igor yells, turning back to us with eyes that gleam in the dark. “This is serious business.”

Everyone who is still alive stops mid-step and stares at Igor in terror. Lacey just says, “Oh, shut up yourself, you stupid old tosser.”

There’s the trace of a smile as Igor turns away and we carry on round the back of the church. Here the moonlight shows us the reeds of grass growing up to our knees by the church wall, the silent angels frozen in marble, the well-trodden paths between the stones, the crumbling mausoleum, the neater patches with rotting flowers at the headstones, the R.I.Ps, dark against the grey slabs, and the moss growing everywhere… and the ghost stood in the centre of the graveyard, dressed in white.

Lacey and I gasp when we see her. Igor focusses his cloudy eyes on her, but he doesn’t react.

She is beautiful in her wraith-like form. She is ethereal and floating. Her head is low when she flickers on and off. Her long white dress trails to her feet, old-fashioned in style but still recognisable as a wedding dress. Her hair ripples to her waist in waves of auburn and gold, unreflective in the moonlight. Her arms are held like a cradle, as though she still carries a baby. They are empty.

Her face is bent low, staring at the invisible infant in her arms, but I can tell she is lovely. Youthful looks have been permanently frozen on a translucent form, forever caught in this spectral goddess.

“What do you see?” Seth asks.

“An angel,” I say. The word slips out without much thought.

The spirit begins to sing a lullaby. Her voice is soft and soothing, but there is a shake of emotion and panic.

“Please quiet, my child,” she says, rocking her arms fervently.

“What is she doing?” I ask.

“She is reliving a memory,” Igor replies. “Ghosts relive memories when they lose their concept of reality.” His gaze turns to Lacey.

“You can see her?” I ask.

“When I hold the Athamé, I can.” He lifts the dagger up to show me.

“Can I hold it?” Neil steps forward towards Igor. “I want to see her.”

Igor passes him the knife, and Neil gasps. “Whoa, that’s insane.”

The dagger is passed to everyone in turn so they can all see the ghost before us. Each person lets go with reluctance. They don’t want to stop seeing such beauty.

“What’s happening now? What’s happening now?” Neil keeps asking whenever he’s not holding the Athamé.

“Still the same,” I answer. “She’s cradling her child.”

The woman seems oblivious to our presence. She is so caught up in whatever memory she’s reliving, that she never so much as looks in our direction. But as she continues to sing her haunting lullaby, her voice betrays more and more emotion. She starts to sob through the words, and her arms shake as she rocks the baby back and forth, back and forth.

“Something’s wrong,” Lacey says. “She’s losing it.”

The woman stops singing and lets out a low moan, like the rumbling growl of a Doberman.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Lacey says.

“Why won’t you stop crying? Why won’t you stop?” screeches the ghost. She tips her head back and screams in frustration. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

My stomach lurches with a combination of fright and disgust as the woman shakes her imaginary baby. She shakes and shakes, her arms out, screaming and wailing like a banshee. And then she stops. She staggers back. She drops the baby to the floor, and puts her hand over her mouth.

“Did she… kill her child?” Lacey says in a low whisper.

Neil is holding the Athamé. “Yes, I think she did.”

The ghost’s head snaps in our direction and I see her face for the first time. She would have been beautiful once, but not anymore. Now her features are twisted in rage. Her mouth is a tight grimace of fury, and it brings to mind the sight of Little Amy on the moor before she wrapped her hands around my throat.

“That’s not a friendly expression,” Neil says with a tremor in his voice.

“Athamé,” Igor commands.

Neil passes it without hesitation.

“Holy crap,” Lemarr says. “I can see her.”

“She’s revealing herself,” Lacey says with a faraway voice. “I think she’s angry that we intruded on her private moment.”

“Um, you think?” Neil replies.

Her wedding dress floats behind her as she moves towards us. I think back to that moment I called myself the corpse bride in my thoughts. I should never think that again. There is no glamour, no romanticism in being dead. No, it’s hideous and shocking.

Her hands outstretch towards us, formed into claws ready to rip us to pieces. Seth and I clasp hands at the same time, squeezing tight.

“Shouldn’t we be running away, about now?” Lemarr suggests.

Igor steps in front of us wielding the Athamé. With a deft hand, he arcs the knife into patterns. With each sweep, a glowing trail is left in the air, forming symbols. He works fast, creating one symbol and then moving onto the next. It stops the ghost in her tracks and she seems to freeze.

Igor steps around her, drawing the symbols on each side so that she is locked in an invisible cage of magic. It is unlike anything I have seen before.

“First you trap the ghost with the circle of protection,” Igor says. “It holds the apparition in place.”

The woman snarls and claws at the barrier around her, but she is unable to pass through.

“How does it work?” Seth asks.

“These are the symbols of protection. They control ghosts. That’s all I know. It’s all I was taught.”

“Now what?” Lacey asks. I notice she has taken a step back away from Igor and the Athamé, nervous of its powers.

“Now, it’s very simple,” Igor says. He turns away from the ghost, who is desperately trying to attack him. “You stab her in the heart.”

Lacey turns very pale, even paler than usual. “In the heart?”

“Yes, that’s correct. If they refuse to go themselves, because they are sick and twisted like her,” he jabs a thumb to the woman, “then this is the only way to do it.”

“Where do they go?” Seth asks.

Igor shrugs. “Do I look dead?”

Seth turns to Lacey.

“I don’t know, either,” she replies.

“Right then, I’d best get on with it.” Igor turns back to our captured spirit. “Time to leave this world, love.” Without any hesitation, he pushes the knife through the circle of protection, through her wedding dress, and into her chest. “You’ll know if you’ve got the heart, because they make a terrible noise and then disappear.”

She wails like a banshee, her arms flailing around her head. But there is no blood, and that I’m glad of. It looks nothing like killing a person. Instead, she flickers on and off, on and off, over and over. It takes around thirty seconds for her to disappear. A fleeting moment before she does, her face changes back to young and vulnerable, with an almost serene expression on her face. I see the person she was before she died, before she became this twisted creature.

She whispers, “Elizabeth,” before she dies.

“Elizabeth?” Lacey asks.

I shrug.

“She seemed peaceful at the end,” Seth says.

“They always do.” Igor inserts the Athamé into its sheath. There’s a trace of sadness in his voice. Or maybe it’s relief, it’s hard to tell.

“I hope she found peace,” Neil says.

“She was a child murderer,” Lemarr replies. “Maybe she doesn’t deserve peace.”

“We don’t know that she intended to kill her baby. The circumstances looked unpleasant,” I say. Seth squeezes my hand a little harder.

“It doesn’t matter, now. She’s gone. And now you know how to get rid of a ghost,” Igor says.

“Well, not really. We don’t know how to do those symbol thingy-mi-bobs,” Neil points out. “They looked complex.”

“Yes, well,” Igor replies, his voice prickling with annoyance. “I was about to get to that.”

For what feels like hours in the cold night, Igor demonstrates how to perform the ritual, showing us each symbol one at a time. Seth takes a small notepad out of his jeans pocket and sketches each symbol. We don’t see any more ghosts for the night. But we do manage to form a circle of protection. Igor wanted Lacey to be in the middle, but she refused, choosing to stand sullenly by the church. She hid herself so that only I could see her without the Athamé.

As we walk back to Five Moors I think about Amy. When we perform the ritual on her, she will revert back to the little girl she was before she died. Will she tell us what happened to her before she goes? I like to think that Igor’s ritual is helping the ghosts move on. If we are sending them to some hell dimension, surely they wouldn’t look so serene at the end? But then, maybe everyone looks serene when their story ends, no matter where they end up.

Chapter Nineteen

It’s the day of Seth’s twenty-first birthday and I’ve bought him a lame present from the Nettleby gift shop. It’s a tiny bust of Beethoven. When I saw it, I thought of Seth at his desk, with the sketches surrounding him, working in solitude.

We have only tonight to perform the ritual on Amy. But first we’re going to The Nag’s Head, because there’s a local band playing there and, according to Lemarr, it’s the one night of the week that all the stuck up locals stay at home.

With Lacey in my room helping me choose outfits, I put on coral lipstick, ring my eyes with kohl—not enough, according to Lace—and don a denim mini-skirt over black tights. There’s not much I can do about the scars on my neck. I apply a little foundation, but too much and I start to look like the orange faced women who work on the make-up counters in Boots.

“Are you nervous?” Lacey asks.

“A little,” I admit.

“She’s ten times as powerful as the ghost in the graveyard.”

“I know.” I’m dreading tonight. I’ve barely eaten all day, and what I did eat I feel like I’m about to throw up.

Worst of all, Mum seems to be watching me more carefully. She made me take my medication in front of her this morning and I had to cheek the pills, the way I learned to in Magdelena. One day I will tell her that I don’t need them, that I’m not crazy; but right now, I can’t. I have to focus on saving Seth.

“I don’t like that Athamé,” Lacey says. She hesitates. “I don’t like what we’re about to do, either, but I know it needs doing.”

I turn away from the mirror with a mascara brush in my hand. “She kills people.”

“I know,” she says. “But it’s just… the thought of someone forcing me away from this world… I can’t…” Her eyes are down and her voice is more sombre than I’ve ever heard it. “Promise me you’ll never do that to me.” She looks up at me with large, misty eyes. “I couldn’t face it, being torn away from here. I couldn’t… it’s a violation—”

“Lace, it’s okay, I would never do that to you.”

“You promise?”

My skin tingles and I don’t know why. My stomach squirms as I say the words, and somehow I already feel like I’m making a bad decision. But I don’t know why I feel like that. “I promise I will never perform the ritual on you.”

We hover-hug each other and then I apply another coat of mascara.

*

There’s a chalkboard advertising the band outside the pub, and a fat man with a straggly beard takes a pound from me for entry. Lacey pulls faces behind his head, and jokes about his bald patch. She even pulls on a strand of his beard, and the guy starts in his seat, looking all around him.

Lemarr waves from the bar. “The band’s upstairs. I got you a vodka and coke.”

“Thanks,” I say. I hadn’t planned on drinking.

“We need Dutch courage,” Lemarr explains as he hands me the drink. “Lacey here?”

I nod.

“Hi, Lacey,” he says, smiling.

Lacey pulls on his dreadlocks and the poor guy almost drops his pint.

“She says hello,” I translate. “Is Seth here, yet?”

Lemarr answers as we make our way up the stairs to the same room we discussed ghost hunting in with Igor. “Not yet.”

I finger the strap of my bag, thinking of the tiny gift inside, and wonder if everything is all right. We’d arranged to meet at 7:30 and it’s already 7:45. I was late because Dad decided to lecture me about staying “safe”. I cringe just thinking about it.

The music thumps, bass reverberating through the handrail of the stairs. There’s the twang of an electric guitar and a few cheers from a small crowd. It sounds like they’ve just come on stage. My pulse responds to the beat of the music, quickening to match the pace, and the vodka loosens my muscles, making me want to dance already. Heat spreads up my neck in nervous anticipation. I’m jangling tonight. I feel like the electric guitar, itching to be strummed.

When we enter the room, Neil and Igor are stood together near the back. Igor’s mouth is fixed into a tight line while Neil talks. Neil’s arms flail in wild gestures, his drink spilling onto the dirty carpet. His jeans are so baggy they cover his feet entirely, and his hair spikes up at all angles.

“All right, Mary,” he says. It sounds like a question, but it’s an acknowledgement. I nod in response.

Lacey steps forward and tugs on Neil’s nose ring.

Half of Neil’s drink sloshes to the floor and Lacey doubles over in a fit of giggles.

“Don’t worry, it’s Lace,” I explain, shouting over the music.

I glance at my watch. 7:50. Seth should be here, by now. What if something has happened to him on the way here? We should have been more careful. We should have stayed with him for the entire day. I should have made the most of our time together, because soon I will be leaving Nettleby for good. Not even stopping Amy will prevent that from happening.

“The band are good, aren’t they?” Lacey whispers by my ear. She dances to the music, jumping up and down, flickering like a flame in the wind. Every now and then she crackles with excitement, and the electricity catches my arm. Her sparks are contagious. They always have been.

Before long I’m dancing, with Lacey next to me, letting the music control my body. But I can’t let go, not when I don’t know where he is. Not when I don’t know if he’s safe.

Lemarr nods his head with the music, sometimes counting the beats with his fingers and jumping high off his feet. Neil shuffles forward and back with his eyes closed. Igor leans against the table with a grimace, but I see him tapping along with his left hand.

The more time goes on, the more unease grows in my stomach. Lacey watches as I keep glancing at my watch and checking my phone for missed calls. Eventually, I text him; I’d been holding off so as not to look too clingy.

At about 8:15, a shaken Seth walks into the room. There’s a glazed look in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to… It was Amy.”

I push him back towards the door so I can hear him. “Did she hurt you?”

“No… I… I want to…”

And then he kisses me urgently, pressing me against the door frame so that someone has to push us out of the way to get past. His stubble rubs against my chin but I don’t care, I lean into him, forcing our bodies to become one, ignoring the dozens of people around us. When we break, his breathing is laboured.

“Let’s dance,” he says, pulling me into the crowd.

We’re lost in an instant, away from our friends, anonymous in a sea of people. I face Seth instead of the band. We move as one, with our hips jammed together. The music controls us like a spell. We’re compressed by the crowd and our noses touch. We kiss. Seth’s hands travel over my back, around my waist. I think of that glorious afternoon in his room. I think of now, and how invincible I am, how we’re going to win tonight.

I’m not consciously aware of song changes. Instead, I let my body move to the music. When a slow song comes on, my hips sway with Seth’s body. When a fast and rocky song comes on, and when the lead singer screams into the microphone, I let the crowd around me throw me into Seth, jumping with them, letting the film of sweat build on my forehead. We kiss and it’s salty and our teeth bump together. We break and our palms find each other. Our eyes never stray.

We don’t even notice Neil gesturing to us. We don’t notice when the band announce their last song. Neil has to pull Seth away.

“It’s time,” he shouts. “Igor wants us to go.”

I glance at my watch, it’s almost ten. Where did the time go? Seth swallows thickly; his eyes seem reluctant to leave mine. I reach out and stroke his hair away from his face. A tremor twitches along his jawline. He’s afraid.

*

When we leave The Nag’s Head, we walk in a silent line. Igor leads. Neil and Lemarr follow close behind him. Lacey flickers on and off, third in the row. Seth and I lag behind. I want to give him his present.

My heartbeat quickens. I’ve never liked giving gifts, it makes me nervous. I don’t know what to say when I hand them the present. I never know what to expect from their reaction. It always takes me a while to summon the courage to do it.

I haven’t even said happy birthday to Seth yet. Neil did it as we were leaving the pub. He did it with ease, slapping Seth on the shoulder, like they were old pals. Why can’t I be more like that?

“I have a gift for you,” I say. “It… it’s for your birthday. Um, happy birthday, by the way, I should have said it earlier, sorry.” I can feel myself beginning to mutter. My fingers work the clasp on my bag, taking three attempts to open it. “I’ve not wrapped it. And it’s only a small token, it’s… I mean…” I sigh and hand over the Beethoven bust. “I don’t know why, but it reminded me of you. I thought you could put it on your desk, or whatever. It’s stupid, really—”

“Why did it remind you of me?” Seth asks. I can’t read his expression in the dark. I think he’s confused.

“Well, I figured if Beethoven could compose the ninth symphony when he was deaf, you can survive Amy and get to university. It reminded me of you, because I think you’re brave and a survivor. You’ve gone through so much and that could change someone. It could strip away their goodness. But you’re still good. You’re still compassionate and caring.”

Seth stops in the road and stares down at the bust in his fingers. He lets out a little laugh and then he pulls me into him by the lapels of my jacket and kisses me.

“Happy birthday,” I say as we break.

“Thank you.”

“Hey, love birds,” Neil shouts from further down the road. “Hurry up. We’ve got to get to the moor.”

We run, hand in hand, as though we aren’t about to face a murderous ghost together. I tip my hair back and let the night breeze catch it. Neil has his hands on his hips when we get to him. He’s standing half on the bottom step of a stile, and half on the grass of the moors.

“Igor’s going to have an aneurysm if you don’t hurry up. He’s still chuntering under his breath every two minutes. Only now it’s getting louder, and more sweary.”

“All right, we’re here.” I step up onto the stile and Neil moves away to let me through. Seth follows, his Beethoven bust tucked away inside his coat.

The moor grass squelches under my feet, wet from recent rain. I pull my jacket around myself, lifting the collar to protect my neck from the wind. It’s bleak here. There isn’t any cover from the weather. A chill passes deeper through my skin.

What a place to spend your last moments.

This is it. This is where we face Amy. I can already feel her. She’s coming to us. She’s coming for Seth.

Chapter Twenty

Our torch beams bob along the grass, bouncing with our steps. It’s a cloudy night, and when I look up, searching for the same stars I saw on the Ferris wheel, there are none. It seems like an age ago. I turn to Seth and imagine him lit up by the colourful blinking lights like the first night we met. If we survive tonight, I need to decide whether I want to keep him or let him go. It was only ever supposed to be a holiday fling, but somehow we’ve crossed a line into something more.

“Right then, lad,” Igor turns and says to Seth. “You were there, that night. You know where she was…”

Not even Igor can say it. I suck in the cold night air. It’s too awful to speak of, too disgusting to say. A child, killed for enjoyment. I shudder.

Seth grits his teeth before he speaks. His eyes are dark, as though they sink back into his sockets at the thought of what they saw that night.

“Towards the campsite. I think we need to follow this path.”

Even Lacey is silent as we take a right turn and continue along the moors.

When I flash my torch around the surrounding area, an overwhelming sense of agoraphobia seizes my chest like a sudden fist around my lungs. For an instant I can’t breathe as I stare out at the miles and miles of moorland all around us. If we died right now, no one would know. No one would hear us scream. We would be waiting for the dog walkers in the morning, stiff and still.

“Mary?” Seth puts an arm around my shoulders. “Are you all right?”

I nod, eyes wide and unblinking.

“The moors, they’re so…”

“Vast,” Neil finishes. His torch light catches my eye and I squint.

“Yeah,” I say. “I didn’t realise…”

“Do you want to go back?” Seth asks.

I shouldn’t be this afraid. I’ve faced danger before. I’ve accepted the coming darkness with dignity. Yet there’s a quality about this place that unleashes a primal instinct. I do want to go back, and the itchy feeling in my stomach tells me I’m ashamed that I would abandon Seth to the murderous Amy. As I stand there, with my knees almost buckling beneath me, it’s Lacey’s eyes I seek out in the dark, it’s Lacey I look to for the strength to continue, and the only thing she needs to do is nod to me. Then I know that I can go on. I can face Amy with her.

“No, I’m all right,” I say. “I got a little overwhelmed for a minute.”

“Bloody kids,” Igor mutters under his breath.

We go on. It feels like we go on for miles. I check my watch to see that it’s 10:30, yet I could have sworn it was almost midnight. But that’s what the moors do to you. They stretch out your perceptions, stretch and stretch you until you can’t think straight. They are always in control, even when you think you’re in control.

No one talks. I concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, following Seth as he leads us to the place where his father killed Amy. It has to be where she will show herself to us. We’re coming to finish this once and for all.

“Stop!” Seth says. “I think we’re close.” He shines his torch around us in a sweeping arc. “I recognise those stones over there, and the bushes.” He leaves the footpath and walks over to the cluster of rocks, climbing up and down the undulating mounds of moor-grass.

“Are you sure?” Neil calls out. “It was a long time ago.”

Seth shakes his head. “No, I remember. I remember everything.”

I believe him.

We follow Seth up a steep bank and down into an alcove amongst hillocks. The land is boggy, and water seeps into my shoes. The air is laced with mould and heather tickles my ankles.

“It was here,” Seth says. He paces around the small space, pointing at the ground. “I hid behind those stones over there.” When he turns, he whips around so fast that I start. My muscles clench. “I hid there, and I watched him.” He lifts his head to the sky. “It was different, that night. It was clear and there was a full moon. I remember the way it lit his face. I remember the blood on his hands and on hers. I… I… remember now. He wore latex gloves.”

I hurry to him and take his hand in mine. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”

He shakes his head. “Where did he get the knife from? He must have been carrying it with him all night, waiting. He planned it. On my birthday. The police never found it. They searched the moors, combed them, but never found it. That’s how he got away. He wore gloves and he killed her like it was something to remove from his to-do list. I don’t understand…” He wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Why?”

“We’ll never be able to understand, because we’re not like him,” says Igor. “You can’t always stop bad folk from committing evil acts, but you can counterbalance it with good. My Shirls was killed, too. I’ve spent nigh on a decade looking for her in the afterlife. I never found her, but I know that she’d be proud of me, tonight. We’re putting that little lass to peace after all them years, and stopping her from killing again. I know, deep down, that little lass doesn’t want to kill over and over. It’s the ghost in her that won’t stop.”

The ghost in her.

I can’t help it. I look at Lacey.

Does she have a ghost in her?

“What if she doesn’t turn up?” Neil says.

“She’ll come,” Igor replies.

Lemarr moves closer to Neil and shifts his torch so they can hold hands. Without any conscious planning, we’ve formed a circle. Lacey is opposite me. When Neil and Lemarr jump back a step, I know she has revealed herself.

“Thought you might want to know where I am,” she says with a shrug.

“What do we do now?” Lemarr asks.

“We wait,” Igor replies.

Each time I check my watch, the minute hand has hardly moved. It has those glow-in-the-dark edges that make it look like there’s a clock face tattooed onto your wrist. Bright and neon. I wore the watch tonight because I thought I might need it. Now I wish I hadn’t, because staring at the time makes everything worse.

The wind picks up and moves my hair from my neck. Every time, I imagine Amy’s hands shifting my hair away so she can attack me like last time, asphyxiating me with her tiny fingers. But each time it is a mere gust of air blustering along the moors. It begins to beat my ears and attempts to throw me forwards. We can no longer talk to each other. If we want to communicate, we have to shout.

For the first time since I arrived in Nettleby, I’m freezing cold. My jacket is too thin, my hands are bare. The chill on the wind seeps in through my thin tights, turning my knees to ice. My teeth chatter. It’s far too cold for a July night, but these are the bleak, bleak moors of the North, and I should have known better.

I rub my hands together and blow on my nails. Nothing works. It seems to be an age before Lacey breaks the silence. She shouts over the gale, “She’s coming, I can feel her.”

And then the wind beats against my jacket, turning it into undulating waves of polyester. Lemarr and Neil look all around them, moving their heads in synchronised jerks, searching for the ghost they came here to find. Igor retrieves his Athamé and stands ready. Seth’s chest heaves up and down, up and down, his eyes like plates. His mouth is parted and twisted in a grimace.

“She’s here!” Lacey shouts again. The wind hardly touches her. She is an image of calm as we battle with hair and coats against the squall.

I steel myself for what is to come. I’d tucked my torch under my arm to warm my hands, but now I hold it aloft, illuminating the centre of our circle, waiting for her to show herself.

“Amy, we’re here to help you,” Lacey shouts. Her eyes are locked on an invisible presence in the middle of us. “We’re here to get you to back to…”

“What is it?” I cry. “What is she doing?”

“She doesn’t want to go,” Lacey replies. “She doesn’t want…”

“Lacey!” I scream.

But Lacey can’t hear me. Her eyes begin to bulge from her skull. For a horrible moment I imagine Amy with her hands around her neck, strangling my best friend. What happens when ghosts attack each other? Where do they go, then? But Lacey isn’t struggling against Amy. She’s in shock because something has happened, something we cannot see or hear.

Lacey turns towards Seth and utters one word. “You. You killed her. She wants you dead.”

“No,” Seth says, backing up. “No, it was my father.”

“What’s happening?” I scream.

“She says it was you.” Lacey’s ghostly form jerks towards Seth.

“She’s lying! She’s lying to you because she wants you to kill me,” Seth pleads. He trips backwards and lands with a thud on the cluster of stones he hid behind all those years ago.

“Seth!” Before I can think I’m running towards him.

Lacey chases me, but I get to him first. “What are you doing? He’s a murderer!”

“No, he isn’t! I believe him, Lace. I trust him. I know him.”

“Because you’ve had sex? Don’t be so stupid and naïve!” She tries to push me away but her hands go through me, chilling me; she’s strong enough to move stones but not a person.

“No, we haven’t! And it’s more than that… I know in my heart…” I hold my hands out, trying to stop her from getting to him.

Her hand connects with my face, and I gasp, shocked that she hit me, shocked that she could hit me. Lacey stands before me, open-mouthed.

“I’m sorry,” she says, stunned. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Yes, you did.” I turn away from her to help Seth up from the rocks. When he’s on his feet, she’s gone.

It’s then that I see Amy in the centre of our broken circle.

She floats. Her head is down, letting the oil-slick of hair cover her face. It moves like snakes around her head, and her mouth is slightly open. The white, virginal dress floats around her like she’s underwater.

Neil and Lemarr are frozen in fear, clutching each other tightly. Even Igor is pale. When he steps forward with the Athamé, he stumbles. The knife slips from his hand.

I’m shaken, but it’s not from Amy. I keep hearing Lacey’s accusation playing over and over in my mind. It can’t be true. It can’t be. I know him.

Igor bends down to retrieve the Athamé as Amy floats towards me. I stand between her and Seth. My palms are slick with sweat and my throat burns with the memory she left for me. She lets out a long hiss that forms one word.

Rise.

Igor leaps back, away from the dagger on the ground, his gaze remaining transfixed on the grass by his feet. He clutches his chest with one hand, and shines the torch with the other. It’s the torch light that picks up the cause of his fear.

All around us, clods of earth are being forced up, and out of the ground come dark, twisted shadows.

My blood runs cold. Neil’s screams rip through the wind. Lemarr runs away and Neil turns to chase him. I seem to be rooted to the spot. I can’t stop staring at them. I can’t stop myself.

It grabs my ankle.

A shadow hand is attached to my leg, pulling me down into the boggy earth.

“No!” Seth snatches hold of my wrist as I’m pulled down. My torch drops to the floor and bounces down the moors. Igor hurries forward and helps Seth pull me away from the shadow hand.

We scuttle back from them, but when I turn around—breathless, with the wind whipping my hair into my face—the shadows are dragging themselves out of the dirt and heading towards us.

“Run!” Igor shouts above the wind.

I dip down and retrieve the Athamé before running as fast as my legs can take me. Without my torch I have no way of knowing where I’m heading, and no way to find the footpath. Seth runs along next to me. I can barely see him in the dark. Sometimes the shiny black of his jacket fools me into thinking that it is Amy beside me.

“Mary, watch out!” Seth shouts.

But I don’t hear his warning in time. The ground disappears beneath me for one horrifying second. Then I’m tumbling. I’m rolling and rolling, tossed from one mound to the next, dirt finding my ears and nostrils, my mouth, my fingernails. Stones graze and bump my cheeks.

I’m falling… falling… with my eyes tightly closed.

Somewhere I hear my name called.

Somewhere… it seems so far.

And then nothing.

Chapter Twenty-One

I wake up to the sound of wind howling in my ears. The squall continues to engulf the moors and chill me to the bone. I have to spit mud, and when I stand up, a stab of pain runs through my ankle. My face is sore, grazed and bruised from the fall. The Athamé is no longer in my hand. I check my mobile phone, but there is no signal.

“Seth?”

I doubt he can even hear my call over the wind. I squint into the darkness, but it’s impossible to tell how far I fell. There’s a long, sloping hill to the left, but it is too dark to see the crest. Behind me, it is all flatland. There are no lights in the distance. There is nothing.

Unarmed and alone, I drop to my knees, patting the grass for signs of the Athamé. Without it, I can’t defeat Amy. As I scramble through the moor grass, something crawls over my hand and I snap back, screaming. My blood thunders along with the wind in my ears. It was probably a spider, or a mouse. I shouldn’t panic. I shouldn’t…

“Seth!” I yell into the nothingness. “Seth!”

He could be hurt. He could have lost me in the dark. He’s probably wandering around the moors right now, as alone as I am… or worse… killed by Amy, cold and stiff on the ground.

How long was I unconscious for?

“Seth!”

My heart pounds as hard as the wind buffets my jacket. The last time I was filled with so much fear, I almost burned in a fire. The scars on my neck seem to heat, as though I am right there again.

The image of Gethen with the knife in his hand…

“Stop it. Stop it.” I whisper it aloud, as though it will prevent my mind from conjuring any more frightening images. Maybe it will.

I fall back to my knees, searching for the knife as fast as I can, trying to work in a sequence, but finding myself going over the same patches of grass each time. As my hand works, my mind wanders, thoughts twisted by the loneliness of the dark and the stretching of the moors. What if Seth is the murderer? He’s out there somewhere, waiting to kill me. But, no, he can’t be. I saw his heart. I saw his mum in that hospital bed… the friendly nurse…

It could be a ruse. He could have them all fooled. The quiet, thoughtful boy with the tragic past, the sort of young man always loved by middle-aged women and anyone else who longs to mother him. How do I know his father died in a car accident? How do I know he wasn’t the cause of his father’s death and his mother’s coma? I trusted him blindly, relying on the warm gooey feelings in my stomach instead of the cold hard facts. I let lust control me.

There is no one to turn to. No one at all. How can I trust a vengeful ghost, a known killer? I know ghosts to be tricksters, driven to invent problems out of boredom. Lacey is sympathetic to Amy because they share a desire. Neither of them want to move on to the next plane of existence. Amy stays for revenge, while Lacey stays for… me?

She could be motivated by jealousy, annoyed that Seth has taken a place in my life so abruptly, warped by her new ghost form. She is unable to feel human contact ever again. She will never be able to love again.

Because Gethen took her away from me, leaving me with an echo of what she was.

No, I mustn’t think like that. Lacey is different to Amy; she is still the same Lacey I met in Magdelena, the same girl who came to help me, even though she knew she could die.

Tears fall down my nose as I continue to crawl through the mud with my hands outstretched. Once or twice I mistake cool stone for the cold metal of a dagger, and both times it seems like a cruel trick, played on me by the moors.

I hate the moors. They are a hateful, spiteful place. They are the crime scene of the world, witness to our bloody history, lying silent and placid as humans empty their black hearts onto their carpet of heather. A scourge.

I let out a scream, but this time it is just for me.

If I don’t find this dagger, I may as well give up. Perhaps I should go to Amy right now, exposing my neck—my pitiful, scarred neck—so she can have her way. At least then Lacey will have company in the afterlife. At least then we will be equal again. My parents would adjust. I imagine the attention is quite nice for a daughterless mother. In time she will enjoy the consoling looks and sympathetic touches.

The moors have me now. They are controlling me. With each trembling shuffle through the grass, I lose a little piece of my sanity. Bitterness creeps in. I imagine it running through my veins, making its way to my heart.

“I can’t keep going,” I sob. Every part of me is cold and battered by the wind. I’ve searched and searched, but there is nothing.

Then it comes to me.

The Thing.

A zombie-looking monster of a thing could never be a comfort to anyone, except me at that moment. It beckons me forward, and I shuffle on my knees, following its call. Its skull shines from its face like an x-ray, like moonlight on exposed bone. A piece of flesh falls from its finger.

As I’m about to give up and get to my feet, a sharp blade pierces my fingertip. I cry out, but the sound of my pain is mixed with joy. I found it! I found the Athamé. My fingers wrap around the hilt, never so grateful to feel anything within their grasp. And as I stand up, the laughter bubbles out of me. I forget all of my dark thoughts, putting them down to the moors getting to me, the cold perverting my mind. It’s okay. Seth isn’t a killer; Lacey isn’t bitter; everything is going to be all right. I look up, and the Thing is gone.

“Thank you,” I say to the darkness.

With the Athamé, I have at least some protection. Now I need to find the others, so we can complete our mission together.

“Seth! Lacey!”

My happiness is premature. I have to find the others first.

“Igor? Lemarr? Neil?”

Nothing.

The wind goes: Shhhwooooo-zhoooooo-vrooooooooo.

Shhwooooo-zhoooooo-vroooooooooo.

I have no torch and no way to see through the dark. All I can do is begin to climb the long ascent I tumbled down.

I start with a step.

It’s steep. My feet slide and slip in the mud. It’s the moor grass that keeps me going, jutting out in soft ridges, tough enough to hook my feet onto and push myself up. Sometimes I use the Athamé to help.

I’m almost vertical, and it’s a long climb, with some parts steeper than others. At times I walk almost upright, with sweat pouring down my temples. My ankle is hurt but I can walk on it, and that’s all that matters. I hope that I can still run, if it comes to it.

On and on in a relentless plod. My breathing is loud and laboured, but barely audible, even to me, over the wind. My bruised muscles ache. Every few steps I stop and call uselessly.

Seth. Igor. Neil. Lemarr.

Lacey.

Seth. Igor. Neil. Lemarr.

Lacey.

Both ghosts should be able to sense me. Neither of them come anywhere near me.

Where is Amy? What is she doing to Seth?

Lacey is refusing to answer my call. Is she so angry that she has left me for dead? Does she want me to suffer that much?

They are wearing me down again. I don’t know which of the five moors I am in right now, but it is chipping away at my resolve. Step by step, slip by slip, tread by tread. Not long ago, I felt the cold fear as something crawled across the back of my hand. I think about it now, and each time, it gets bigger. What if it was a snake? They are rare, but venomous snakes exist in England. Worse still, it could be some creature escaped from whatever exotic place it came from. You hear of deadly spiders transported in crates of bananas, or dangerous snakes flushed down the toilet.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead onto the back of my jacket. The ground is beginning to level out, now. I can’t be far from the summit. Surely, surely this is the end. This is it.

And what happens when you get there? What are you going to do next?

When I finally find level ground, my trembling fingers pull my phone from my shoulder bag. Still no signal.

“Seth?”

The wind is my one reply. I close my eyes in frustration.

When I open them, I’m not alone.

“Amy, you don’t have to do this. You can stop now, I’ll help you find peace. I’ll help all of your…” I search for a word to describe the strange shadows, “friends find peace and move on.”

She advances. Her tongue snakes out of her mouth.

At first, my muscles tense with the longing to run, to turn around and sprint into the darkness. But what good will that do me? What is the point in running when I don’t know what I’m running to?

The Athamé is in my hand.

“Amy, I’m going to free you. Don’t you understand?”

I step towards her and lift the blade. Her eyes flicker for a moment, and she backs away from me, unused to her victims standing up for themselves.

“Okay,” I say aloud. “The first symbol, what is it?” I think back to the night in the graveyard when Igor showed us how to create the circle of protection. “A sweep to the left, arc underneath, two strokes right…” The symbol begins to take shape, burning brightly through the air. Amy’s eyes follow the movements of the knife like a cat watching a spider crawl across the wall. When it’s done, she stands still, quiet and observant.

This isn’t the murderous ghost I’m used to.

I take a sidestep to the right and begin the second symbol. Three strokes left, up and down, to the right… It burns in the air, suspended by nothing. Amy is still.

It’s working and I don’t want to jinx it. I don’t want to spook her, so I step slowly to the right again, ready to draw the symbol behind her back, but this time, my mind draws a blank. Whenever I think back to Igor’s teaching, I can’t remember the third symbol. Why can’t I remember? Because Seth paused to kiss your nose and you lost concentration.

Stupid Mary, stupid, stupid. Think. Your life depends on it, think. I close my eyes.

Cold fingers grip my throat and I open my mouth to scream. As my eyes begin to flutter open, a horrible thought pops into my head. During that split second when my eyes had been closed, I’d imagined Seth with his hands around my neck, his face twisted into an animalistic grimace. It made me hesitate, for a fraction of a moment, frightened by what I might see, frightened that someone I care about could hurt me, and frightened to see Amy with her small wrists under my chin.

I open my eyes.

Amy.

Should I be relieved?

She presses her forehead against mine, and I feel her like she’s flesh and blood.

“Don’t…” I croak. “You don’t have to…”

The air crackles with energy before another shape appears. At first the shape is shadowed in dark, and I think that one of Amy’s strange shadows has come to finish me off, but then it steps forward and the moonlight catches yellow hair.

Lacey.

“Get off my friend, you silly cow!” Lacey grabs a handful of Amy’s hair and pulls her back. “I gave you a chance and you blew it. I wanted to help you.”

Amy lets out a noise like a yelp as Lacey drags her backwards. Her hands release my throat and I rub the life back into the bruised skin. I find myself staring at the two ghosts, gormless and in shock. It takes me a moment to realise I still have the Athamé in my hand.

“Lacey, hold her still, I’ll perform the ritual.”

But Amy twists from Lacey’s grip and yanks herself away. Stunned by the confrontation, she gawps at us both, and her blackened eyes humanise with amazement. Her mouth opens and closes as though she is trying to speak.

“I wanted to help you,” Lacey says.

Amy drops to the ground. Her bare toes are no longer floating inches from the grass, and it tugs on my heart to see her at her natural height. She’s tiny.

“I wanted you to trust me,” Lacey continues in a small voice.

It never occurred to me that Lacey might take this mission so personally. We’ve always talked about stopping Amy from killing, but we’ve never taken the time to see her as the frightened child she is. I realise then that Lacey has grown attached to the girl. They’re both ghosts, and neither of them want to be dead. They were both killed by a murderer. They have a bond I could never understand.

As Lacey talks, Amy’s strange hair begins to calm. It floats down to her shoulders, lying flat down her cheeks, dropping to her collar bones as hair should fall. She wrings her bloodied hands and the blood stains slowly fade away.

“I still want you to trust me. We’re not here to hurt you. We just want you to stop hurting other people.”

Amy’s mouth becomes a normal mouth, her eyes normal eyes, and her dress is whiter than before. Her skin loses the green-blue tinge; it is peachy, pink in the cheeks.

I’m in awe of my friend. She tames evil before my eyes. She has brought the humanity back to a ghost long caught in a hostile revenge loop. I never imagined that Lacey could be this powerful.

When Amy speaks for the first time, her voice is tiny. It is the fading wind that allows me to hear her. “I never meant to.”

“I know,” Lacey says. “I know you didn’t.”

“Are you going to send me away?” Amy says.

“Only if you want to go.”

Amy nods. She turns around and walks, like a regular human child, through the moors. I exchange a glance with my friend, and she indicates for us to follow Amy. We walk together in silence, following in the footsteps of the murdered child.

Chapter Twenty-Two

There’s a reason many people don’t read the newspapers anymore, or watch the news at 10pm every night. Those who do keep up with current affairs assume that these people are ignorant and stupid. But that’s not the reason at all.

The news is traumatic. It’s an information ticker of all the worst things human beings are capable of doing. It’s a run-down of the worst deaths from across the world. Some people can’t handle it, and they make the right decision to ignore it.

Sometimes I wish I could ignore it, too. Maybe I could, if I stopped paying attention to the Things and stopped hanging around with ghosts. Maybe then I wouldn’t find myself on the moors at midnight, with my ears battered by gales and most of my friends missing.

But I don’t feel like a watcher at all, I feel more like the reporter sent to warzones, like I have a duty to fulfil. There aren’t many people who can hear the dead. I assume there are others like me, out there somewhere, but I don’t know of anyone. So, right now, I’m all Amy has. I’m the only one who can listen to her story. The only living person.

She shows us.

We walk back to the spot where Seth told us he crouched behind the rocks and witnessed his father stab a little girl. Amy stands and looks down at the grass with her hands folded behind her back. She has an almost serene expression on her face, one of acceptance.

When I see him, my stomach lurches so hard I think I might throw up. It’s the eyes first. They are clear, even in the darkness. They are brazil-nut brown, but with a hard glint. Dark stubble lines the jawline that I know so well. He has his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. He stands over Amy and the knife blade glints in the moonlight.

“It’s not him,” Lacey whispers. “It’s okay, it’s not him.”

Seth’s father is a flickering flame in the night. He’s here as some part of Amy, as she shows us her last night alive. Now I will share those memories with Seth. I’ll have a part of him with me forever.

After it’s over, Amy walks away again. She is smiling now, like she didn’t just spend the last few minutes watching her own death. She waves us along with her.

I should be relieved that what I already knew has been confirmed. Seth is not a murderer, but then I saw his heart, so I knew. But I wasn’t sure… It was the moors. I swallow thickly. It was the moors, playing with my mind. Of course it was.

Amy winds her way through patches of heather, up and over hillocks, down into vales, walking and walking until I wonder if she might be leading me to my death. As the wind rushes through my hair, more strange moor-inspired thoughts pop into my mind—like Amy and Lacey, plotting together to murder me and keep me as a ghost. I shake my head. The moors cannot play with my friendship with Lacey. I trust her.

Finally, she stops. Without saying a word, she points to a patch of grass, nodding.

“You want me to dig?” I ask.

Amy nods again.

I turn to Lacey and she shrugs.

I get on my knees for the second time tonight, using my hands, and the Athamé, to dig into the soil. It’s damp and easy to shift. Clods of grass are teased away with little fuss as I plunge the knife into the soil. With each motion, my gut clenches, anticipating what I might find. It could be the remains of another victim. I know that. My fingers shake with every dig, yet I keep going because Amy wants me to, and Amy deserves to be heard.

When my fingers hit cloth, I panic. Tears fill my eyes.

I don’t want to see… I don’t want to…

But Amy nods me on. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to. She simply nods.

I’m cold all over when I grasp that cloth. I screw my eyes shut as I pull it from the earth. It’s only when I realise how light the object is, that I open them again.

It isn’t remains. There’s no second body buried in the dirt, Amy has led me to the murder weapon. Wrapped in a bloodied, muddied shirt, is a kitchen knife.

It looks so small, so small and insignificant. It’s the kind of knife you would use to dice onions into fine mulch. It doesn’t seem sharp enough, somehow.

I recover it and place it in my bag.

“I’ll take it to the police,” I tell Amy’s ghost.

She steps forward with a small smile on her face. She was a beautiful little girl, with skin as soft as peaches. Her cheeks are filled with a delicate blush, and her raven coloured locks fall down to her chest, covering part of her white dress. My heart is sore for her. It’s as though I’ve been scraped with a cheese grater, leaving me raw and utterly shredded.

“I’m ready now,” she says, in a voice that was robbed of its opportunity to grow up.

I can’t believe that the girl in front of me is the same creature who tried to kill me—not once, but twice. She seems so calm. All it took was to listen to her story, to watch her memories, and find the evidence to deliver justice.

“Are you sure?” Lacey asks her.

Amy nods three times and smiles broadly. Lacey rushes towards her and pulls her into an embrace.

I wipe the dirt from the Athamé and when Amy has taken her position in front of me, I begin the first symbol. This time, it flows through me as though I was destined to carve this symbol in the air. When it comes to the third symbol, I see it so clearly in my mind that it seems as though I’m looking at a picture. After the fourth symbol, Amy places her hands gently on the circle of protection.

“I have to put the dagger in your heart,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she replies. “I don’t think it will hurt.”

When she goes, it is with that same smile on her face. I have tears wetting my cheeks, dripping down my chin. A strange calm descends, finally soothing the squall, bringing with it a little drizzle, to cleanse me of the mud and memories of murder.

I wish I could ignore the worst things humans do to each other. But if we all ignored them, the victims would never have anyone to hear them.

*

I’ve been twisted and hopeless on the moors. Time stretches and the cold seeps into your bones. I’ve never wanted to be away from a place so badly as I do at this moment in time. It’s different to being in a fire. That is quick and filled with adrenaline; this is a slow wearing down of your resolve. Without Lacey I would be curled in a ball, begging for it all to end.

There is no phone signal. I stumble around in the dark, calling for the others.

“I think we should go this way,” Lacey says.

“Can you sense them?” I ask.

“I’m not sure. Not in the same way I sense you. I’m just vaguely aware of life. It’s like some sort of pulsation in the air.”

I’m too tired to think of what that might mean. I want to see Seth, and yet I don’t. I doubted him, even for a moment, and somehow I think he’ll smell it on me.

“Mary? Mary?”

“Neil?”

Lacey breaks out in a grin as my heart begins to pound. We rush forwards. I trip over my feet in haste. Lacey moves in jerking motions.

“Neil, we’re coming…”

A dark, Neil-like shape is visible ahead, and it energises my legs a little more. When I see his face, and his nose piercing, and his spiky black hair, I wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze him hard.

“Easy, chick,” he says, a soft ripple of laughter escapes from his lips. “We’re here. We’re all here, but…” His body stiffens and I know something is wrong.

I pull back. “Is it Seth?”

Neil shakes his head and moves to the side. That’s when I see the shape on the ground. Above it, someone is punching its chest, and I dash forward to stop them. That’s when I realise that the shape on the ground is Igor, and the shadow punching his chest is Seth attempting to resuscitate him.

“Oh no…” I drop to my knees next to Igor’s long, lumpy body. My fingers grope for his hand. “What happened?”

It’s Lemarr who answers. He almost startles me as he appears from a shadow, but I’m too worn out to be frightened anymore. “He took a tumble down one of the hills and hit his head real bad. I managed to get a signal on the hill over there and phoned the police. They’re sending an air ambulance, but it might take some time to find us. I tried to call you, Mary, but your phone kept cutting out. We looked all over for you. Seth was beside himself.”

Seth blows air into Igor’s mouth and pumps his chest in a rhythm. All I can do is hold Igor’s hand and try to get some warmth into his body.

“How long has he been like this?”

Lemarr doesn’t answer. He drops his eyes instead.

“Have there been any more of those shadows?” I ask, meaning the strange creatures that tried to pull us into the ground. The thought of them sends a shiver up and down my spine.

“No. What happened to Amy? I can’t believe… I can’t believe I saw her.” Lemarr fiddles with one of his dreadlocks, staring down at the grass with wide eyes. “She was so real.”

“Very real,” I reply. I’m half aware of Lacey, sitting next to me on the grass, and the electricity of her ghost form. “But she’s gone, now. She showed us what happened to her, and I found something… Something that I need to give to Seth.”

“Guys, I think Igor has gone,” Neil says. “He’s dead.”

“No,” I say. “Not yet.”

It’s Lacey who whispers into Igor’s ear, “It’s time to go, old man.”

And he does.

It’s not like in the films where a soul haloed in white light floats out of a body, it’s more like a crackle and a pop and then there’s a person who looks exactly the same as the person on the grass, but now he’s next to you. I stand up and face him.

“Looks like I’m off, lass,” he says. “You’d better keep hold of that Athamé, eh?”

“I’m sorry—”

“No, don’t be. Maybe I’ll finally find her.”

“I hope you do.”

Igor flickers once, twice, and then he’s gone.

But Seth still doesn’t stop. He pumps at Igor’s chest, keeping that rhythm, that relentless rhythm. I approach him slowly.

“Seth… stop now,” I say. I ease my hands onto his shoulders. “Stop now. It’s over.” I crouch down so that I’m at his level, and run my hands down to his, pulling him away from Igor’s body.

“No, it’s not over. He can still come back,” he says.

“He’s gone.” I pull Seth up, letting him lean his full weight on me.

A gradual roar sounds from above, and a light beams down on us. As the air ambulance flies overhead, Seth whispers into my ear, “It’s all my fault.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

My parents are mad. Oh goodness me, they are very mad indeed. Mum can’t even look at me. Dad tuts under his breath and repeats the same question over and over again: what were you thinking?

We all agreed on one explanation. We employed Igor to take us on a special ghost hunt on the moors because we wanted to find Little Amy. But when we were out there, we were spooked by the creepiness of the moors, scattered, dropped our torches and freaked out. It was then that Igor fell down the hill and landed on the rocks.

The young detective gave us all a lecture on moor safety. He glared at each of us, and as he talked, spittle flew from his mouth.

“A man is dead! A man is dead.”

Lemarr bursts into tears when he says that.

Of course we can’t tell him what we were really doing on the moors at night. We can’t tell him about our dangerous mission, and about how we stopped Little Amy from claiming any more lives from Nettleby. We can’t tell him any of that, because I will end up back in a psychiatric facility.

After he leaves, I manage to get some time alone with Seth. We walk to his mother’s ward in silence. When we’re alone, I tell him about the knife and his father’s shirt in my bag.

At first he’s quiet, and I’m unsure whether he is going to agree with me about taking it to the police.

“Amy showed you where it was buried?” he asks.

“Yes, she made me dig it up.”

“Then she wants the world to know who killed her. You should give it to the detective with the spittle.” He flashes a half-hearted impish grin laced with sadness.

“What about you and your mum?” I ask.

“Mum is never going to wake up again. I have to face up to that. And me… well, I will tell the police everything.”

“But you could implicate yourself. You could be seen as an accessory to murder,” I insist.

“And if I don’t, I live with this burden for the rest of my life. That, to me, is a prison cell anyway.” He turns away and stares out of the window.

“You were fine before I came along,” I say, following his gaze. The sun is in the beginnings of rising, but it is blocked by an outbuilding. Still, the sky is tinged pinky-blue and laced with thin clouds. It reminds me of candy floss from the carnival. That seems like so long ago now. “I brought all of this back up. I pulled open the past—”

Seth moves to me and takes my hands. “Are you kidding? I thought I was going to die, last night. I thought I had until I was twenty-one, and then that was it. I carried that for a long time. No one ever knew. Then you came along. Have you any idea what it feels like to share that kind of secret?”

Tears burn at the back of my eyes, and my throat thickens. I can only nod.

“Well, then you know what it’s like.” His fingers find their way to my hair. He strokes my cheek, moving down, trailing the scars on my neck. “You’ve changed everything, from the way I see the world, to the way I want to live my life.”

My face flushes. I know I’m turning red, but there’s nothing I can do about it. “Seth…”

“I know,” he says. “You don’t have to say it.”

“It’s time to let go, Seth.” My eyes mist with unshed tears.

We kiss for the last time. When I leave, he stands by the window with his profile to me. The pinks and yellows of the sunrise light up his face, like on the first night I saw him.

*

When the young detective sees the knife, he stops shouting. He goes very quiet and hurries off back to the police station. I’ve probably just made his career.

Mum and Dad decide to cut the holiday short. They are reluctant to let me say goodbye to Neil and Lemarr.

“I’ll email you my address in Brum so you can visit.” Neil lowers his voice. “Bring the Athamé, yeah?”

I’ve already agreed to go ghost hunting with them both. What am I getting myself into?

As I pack up my things in the caravan, Lacey sits on the bed and we talk in whispers. It’s going to be a while before I have the same sort of freedom as I’ve had this week. I crossed a line with my family’s trust, I know that, but I also know it was necessary.

“You know, in a weird way, I’m going to miss Nettleby,” Lacey says. “I’m going to miss Neil and Lemarr a lot. I might pop in on them, every now and then.”

“You’re going to end up making them poo their pants, Lace, if you keep popping in on them,” I remind her.

She grins. “Yeah, that might be an added bonus.” She pauses as I try to fit my clothes into one suitcase. Even though I haven’t bought anything extra, for some reason I can’t fit everything in. “I’m sorry I said those things about Seth.”

I look up from my suitcase. “It’s okay. You were right to be cautious.”

“You’re going to keep in touch with him, though?”

“No, we’ve decided not to. He’s going to the police about what he saw his father do to Amy and I think he’s got too much on his plate.” I think about Seth’s mum in the hospital. He’d faced up to her death, at last. He didn’t say it, but I know he’s going to turn the machines off.

“I’m sorry,” Lacey says.

“Thanks. That means a lot.” I flash her a grin. “Seeing as you didn’t like him.”

She feigns incredulity. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on.”

“All right, yeah, but it was because I didn’t trust him. He seemed all right in general.”

“Wow, that almost sounded convincing.”

Lacey stands up and paces the room, swinging her arms from side to side. We’re avoiding saying the rest—about how Lacey became jealous of a minor change in my life, and about how she turned on me on the moors. Somehow it doesn’t feel like the right time. It feels like one chapter is ending, and another is beginning, and somewhere along the story, Lace and I will have to face up to our issues. Right now, we just need to move on.

“Lace,” I say.

She turns to me with her eyes open wide. It’s one of those moments when she looks so real, so alive, that I almost forget she’s dead. “Yeah?”

“I want to carry on Igor’s work. I want to help ghosts like Amy. And I want you to help me.”

Lacey smiles. “I want to do that, too.”

Later that day, as Dad’s car pulls out of the Five Moors car-park, I can’t help but think about how much was let go in the last week. Seth let go of his dark past, and faced up to letting go of his mother. Amy let go of her revenge and moved on to the other side. Igor let go of one life and accepted his new journey, whatever it is. Lacey let go of me for a short time, and found her own feet.

I let go of Seth.

Mum was right about my holiday romance, and what a romance it was—all intense, and mysterious, and passionate, and all-encompassing. But it belongs in Nettleby. It was destined to last a week and, somehow, that seems perfect.

It has been a week where many things have fallen into place for me. I’ve figured out what I want to do with my life. I want to listen to those without a voice, and Lacey is going to help me. In the boot of my parents’ car, nestled amongst many suitcases and bags and old blankets, is my backpack. Inside my backpack, tucked in a leather sheath, is the Athamé that once belonged to Igor. Now it’s mine.

~ A Note from the Author ~

A huge thank you for supporting independent authors by buying this book. As an author who has self-published her book, I rely on readers to spread the word. Why not take a moment to do just that and leave a review?

If you haven’t already, check out the novella that started it all: My Daylight Monsters described by reviewers as “creepy and atmospheric” and “intriguing and suspenseful”.

Be the first to find out about POSSESS, the next book in the Mary Hades series.

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About the Author:

Sarah grew up in the middle of nowhere in the countryside of Derbyshire and as a result has an over-active imagination. She has been an avid reader for most of her life, taking inspiration from the stories she read as a child, and the novels she devoured as an adult.

Sarah mainly writes speculative fiction for a Young Adult audience and has had pieces of short fiction published in the Medulla Literary Review, Apex Magazine, PANK magazine and the British Fantasy Society publication Dark Horizons. Her short story ‘Vampires Wear Chanel’ is featured in the Wyvern Publication Fangtales available from Amazon.

Sarah is currently working on an upcoming YA fantasy series. Keep in touch for more information!

www.sarahdaltonbooks.com
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@sarahdalton

THE FOREVER GIRL

A Novel by Rebecca Hamilton
www.theforevergirl.com

The Forever Girl Series | Volume One

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without the permission of the publisher. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.

Copyright © 2012 by Rebecca Hamilton

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-9850818-2-9

Third Edition

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

Sophia’s journey is representative of one fictional Wiccan, not all real life Wiccans. No character’s actions are intended to represent any religious group or sect. This novel is for entertainment purposes only and not intended as social commentary. I do not subscribe to or condemn any belief system.

DEDICATIONS

For my husband, David: It took three laptops, countless hours, and all your patience, but we’re here, and you’re mostly still in one piece.

For my business and writing partner, Rudy: May we forever evade unfollowing, email-blocking, pineapples, and all other phobias.

And, most importantly, for my children: I love you for who you are and who you’ve made me. Thank you for being my heart and inspiration.

{one}

MY MOM DIED DURING AN EXORCISM on my eighteenth birthday. On that same day, an ever-present static moved into my head like a squatter I couldn’t evict.

Ever since, I thought getting rid of the noise would be my best shot at survival—like all I needed was silence, even if only within myself, to feel at home again.

I was wrong.

I crossed the black-and-white tiled floor to the jukebox, hoping Pink Floyd’s ‘Wish You Were Here’ would drown out the wasping in my mind.

Instead, Mrs. Franklin’s high-pitched, singsong voice cut into my thoughts. “So-phiii-aaa!”

Bound by my waitressly duty, I gripped the sides of the jukebox and turned my head toward her. “Yes?”

She smoothed invisible wrinkles from her paisley, ankle-length dress. “Check, please. I’d prefer to leave before any secular music touches my ears.”

She actually touched her ears as she said this, and it took all I had to suppress a groan.

I walked to the register, printed her check, and headed over to the red vinyl booth where she sat. “Anything else, Mrs. Franklin?”

“I was hoping you’d reconsidered my offer on your house.”

Of course I hadn’t. Why would I sell my inheritance unless I would make enough to leave this rotten town?

“I’m not interes—”

She grabbed my arm, and I forced my glare from her whitening knuckles to her scowling face. I considered pulling free, but if we caused a scene, I would be the one to go down. The customer’s always right, after all.

She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Your mother would have wanted it that way,” she said sweetly.

I stared back, uncertain what to say. But I didn’t need to say anything. She gave me a long, condemning glare, then released my arm, gathered her purse, and hurried to the checkout counter.

I get it, I thought at the back of her head. You think it’s my fault my mom died during the exorcism.

Why not? Everyone else did. After all, it’d been my touch that killed her. At least they weren’t blaming me for my father’s murder, but that was likely because I was only six at the time.

On my way back to the kitchen, one of the two boys sitting at table four flagged me down to request a milkshake. I tried focusing on the order as I ran the blender, but I couldn’t tell where the sounds in my head ended and the sounds of the real world began.

“I heard she’s a witch,” the older boy whispered loudly.

His friend grinned. “She’s blonder than your sister, even . . . and probably twice as dumb.”

Right. Sophia Parsons, town idiot. Pale, blonde, and brown-eyed. As bland as oatmeal, yet somehow I was the rumor mill’s hot sauce.

I wanted to dump the boy’s shake over his greasy little head, but instead, I recalled the Wiccan Rede that had so long guided me: An it harm none, do what ye will.

Too bad my Colorado State University education was proving fruitless. Apparently, no one wanted to hire a twenty-two-year-old fresh out of college to teach history.

The greasy-haired boy nodded toward the diner’s front door. “Let’s get out of here. She’s giving me the creeps.”

Though they left, the itchy feeling of their judgments did not. I blew a stray hair from my eyes and gazed past the booths, out the window to the Rocky Mountains on the horizon. Belle Meadow was thirty minutes from Denver but ages from the modern day. This town was a trap, a collection of crazies. Including myself. If Colorado was the heart of the southwest, Belle Meadow was a clogged artery.

The ding of the diner’s front door opening brought me back to reality: burnt grease and coffee on the air, along with my duty to serve whoever strolled in. It just so happened that ‘whoever’ was Sheriff Locumb. He entered the diner with a purposeful gait, scanning the room before heading my way.

“Hey, Sheriff.” I righted an upside-down coffee mug and began to pour. “Anything besides the usual?”

His mustache twitched. He brushed some crumbs from where his stomach bulged against his brown police uniform and lifted his gaze. “Miss Sophia Parsons?”

I stopped pouring mid-cup. Hello? I serve your coffee every day. “Yeah?”

Jack came up beside me, drying his hands on a towel. “Hey, Sheriff. What’s going on?”

Locumb cleared his throat. “I’m, uh, afraid I need to ask Miss Parsons to come with me.”

Jack and I stared at each other and then back at the sheriff.

“Is this a joke?” I asked.

I didn’t really think he was joking. Sheriff Locumb wasn’t the joking kind. Everyone in the diner watched. Even the jukebox went silent.

Jack leaned closer to the sheriff, lowering his voice. “What’s this about, Jerry?”

Locumb sniffed. “Can’t discuss it. We just need to ask Sophia some questions.”

My heartbeat picked up. Sheriff Locumb could be a nice guy . . . in a diner. But I didn’t want to be on the other end of his questioning. Not again. Not ever.

Trying to appear calm, I removed my apron and gently placed it on the counter.

“Okay,” I said. “Let me get my stuff.”

After promising Jack I would make up my shift over the weekend, I headed to my Jeep and pulled up behind Sheriff Locumb’s cruiser.

I spent the drive to the sheriff’s office in a cold sweat. No handcuffs, no reading of my rights. At least this time I wasn’t under arrest. He was even allowing me to follow him to the station.

That whole thing with Mr. Petrenko—that was long over with, right? I’d only found his body.

I hadn’t killed the man. No matter what anyone thought.



SHERIFF LOCUMB AND I sat in a small room with a table and two chairs and a cheap light embedded into the suspended ceiling overhead. I wiped my palms on my pants, but the sweat kept coming.

He pulled up a picture on his cell phone. “Look familiar?”

Maybe he should’ve gotten an eight-by-twelve print. What was the picture of? Wood? A reddish-orange figure eight and a cross? I frowned and shook my head. “Should this look familiar?”

“Someone spray-painted this on the abandoned grain elevator,” he said coolly. “Why don’t you tell me what you know?”

“What I know about spray-paint?”

“Look.” He leveled his gaze at me. “Mrs. Franklin said one of the women in her congregation—well, her daughter got sick. They think you had something to do with it.”

“Mrs. Franklin thinks I have something to do with everything.”

“Well?” he asked.

“Well, what? I didn’t get anyone sick.”

He puffed his cheeks and blew out a breath. “I’m not saying you got anyone sick, Sophia. They think you hexed their child by spray-painting this satanic symbol.”

“You think I hexed someone? You’re kidding.”

Belle Meadow might be a small town, but surely it wasn’t so dull that they needed to call me down to the station for this.

“You’re here because Mrs. Franklin suggested you might be the one who vandalized the abandoned grain elevator, not because you ‘cursed’ someone.”

“And?” I asked.

“Well, did you?”

“I’m Wiccan.”

He stared blankly. “What’s that have to do with the case?”

“Wiccans don’t believe in Satan.”

“Listen, lady. I don’t care what you believe in. Why don’t you just tell me where you were when the offense took place?”

“Which was when?”

“May tenth.”

“At Colorado State, taking my senior year finals.” Something a few minutes of research would have told him without dragging me down here. Besides, how did Mrs. Franklin know the date? Did she take daily drives around town with her calendar and journal, looking for signs of demonic worship?

Sheriff Locumb leaned back in his chair, slapping his hands against his knees before standing. “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind waiting here while I check with the school?”

I gestured toward the door. “Go ahead.”

I would like to say I enjoyed the silence while he was gone, but the constant hushing in my brain made that impossible.

Sheriff Locumb returned with a cup of coffee and an apology. I didn’t drink the coffee, but I did ask him about the sick kid, and he told me it’d just been a case of chicken pox. Not a demonic plague or anything like that.

After squaring everything away, I returned outside to my Jeep and gripped the steering wheel. I couldn’t deal with Mrs. Franklin’s crazy accusations and the damn hissing. Something had to give.

Taking three deep breaths, I pushed the hissing as far into the back of my skull as possible. I wasn’t about to go back to work. Someone was bound to interrupt my relaxation efforts with a request for a drink refill or a complaint that their jalapeno loaf was too spicy or their ginger-lime chicken wasn’t chickeny enough.

As I drove home, I concentrated on the road—on one mailbox after another, on the way tree branches laced overhead, even on the glare of traffic lights, counting the seconds until they turned green. Anything to distract me from the noise.

My Jeep shushed along the pavement, but the roll of the road didn’t do me any good. The quieter the world around me, the louder the buzzing in my brain. Coping was no longer a viable option.

At the last major cross street before my neighborhood, the noise in my head roared. I slammed my palm against the steering wheel, gritting my teeth.

Enough was enough. I flicked my turn signal in the other direction and veered onto the highway before my courage fled. It was time to turn away from caution and toward Sparrow’s Grotto. Toward something that might silence the hissing forever.



THE FORTY-MINUTE DRIVE to Cripple Creek, home of Sparrow’s Grotto, was worth spending the bit of cash I made at the diner. A Wiccan shop would not fare well in Belle Meadow, but thankfully the surrounding towns had pulled themselves into modern America.

I shrugged off my seatbelt and grabbed my list from the glove compartment before stepping out of my Jeep. A wad of fingerprinted gum blocked the parking meter slot. No way was I hunting down another space. I dug the gum out with the blade of my car key and forced a quarter past the sticky residue.

There. Twenty minutes for me.

I stared at the shop I’d first set foot in when I was sixteen—the place that always provided answers. Doctors hadn’t been able to help with the noise. Tinnitus, they’d said, as if this were only a ringing in my ears.

Tinnitus, my ass.

But I’d gone to them first because magic was something I turned to only when necessary. After today, I was convinced this was one of those times.

I shoved my thoughts aside and headed into Sparrow’s Grotto, where coyote figurines prowled the shelves, patchouli and sandalwood infused the air, and notes of Celtic music relaxed my nerves. The wall opposite the checkout counter was stacked with books, and the center aisles were filled with herbs, oils, candles, chalk and salts, small dishes, and other ritual implements. Athames, bolines, and other sharp objects were kept locked in the back.

Paloma, the shop owner and my long-time mentor, burst through a beaded curtain, her out-swung arms breaking the image of bamboo shoots. Her long hair, brown as coconut husks, tangled in her large, gold hoop earrings.

“Oi, Sophia!” she said. “It’s been far too long!”

“You’re telling me. How’ve you been?”

Following a quick bout of chitchat, she reviewed my list, her gaze only interrupted for a moment as she wiped a stray hair from the sun-weathered skin of her forehead. “What sort of ritual do you have in mind?”

“Something for positive energy.” Less demanding than a ritual for silence; I never felt right making demands while using magic.

“Ah,” she said, tapping a finger against her lips. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She disappeared behind her beaded curtain while I admired a few antiques on a shelf near the counter. A small violin charm made me smile. I set the charm beside the cash register. It would be a perfect addition to the bracelet Grandfather Dunne had given me shortly before he died. He’d even removed several links so it wouldn’t slip from my wrist.

Paloma returned with four plum-colored herbal pouches strung shut with thin black cords. “I hope you don’t mind, but we’re out of agrimony. I’ve substituted with eyebright.”

“I thought agrimony was best for banishing negative energy?”

“The eyebright will bring balance. My mother used this for a similar ritual in Belém when I was young. In Brazil, we grew agrimony in our garden. The sweet apricot scent is lovely.”

I bit my lip. Eyebright was not part of the plan, and I hadn’t come all this way for air freshener. Mental clarity might help, but it generally wasn’t suggested to rush into a ritual. That included changing details at the last minute. One herb could change everything, and I didn’t have time to redo all my research.

But I needed the noise gone—yesterday.

“Have I ever steered you wrong?” she pressed.

She had a point.

“One more thing,” she said, retrieving a large book from under her counter and handing it to me. “A gift. For you.”

The leather binding displayed a labyrinth of leafy spirals and branches of laurel. A handwritten cover page read Maltorim Records, Volume XXVI, Salem Witches.

“Are you sure?” I asked. Gifts always made me feel as though I needed to do something nice in return, and I could never figure out what. “It looks . . . valuable?”

“You mean it looks old? That’s why I’m giving it to you.”

“You’re giving it to me because it’s old?”

She waved me off. “You know what I mean. You study those ancient texts and all, don’t you?”

“Paleography,” I said, surprised she remembered the special interest I’d had in college. If the book was handwritten, I’d certainly enjoy analyzing the text.

“I’ve no use for it,” she continued. “In some people’s hands, that book would end up as a gag gift and eventually a door stop in some old man’s house with too many cats and too many back copies of newspapers, not to mention that one woman who used to come here to buy books just to burn them.”

“You mean Mrs. Franklin?” I asked, only half-joking.

“I’m rambling again, aren’t I?” She let out a brief sigh and gestured toward the book. “Consider it an early birthday present.”

Early was an understatement. The start of September was a far cry from December 21st.

“Thank you, really.” I pulled some crumpled bills and a few Tic-Tac-sized balls of lint from my pocket.

Paloma tapped several keys on her register. “A discount, since I didn’t have the agrimony,” she said. “Now how about a cup of tea before you get going?”

We chatted in the back room, the light aroma of green tea hidden beneath the scent of hot ceramic. I smiled at the mismatched crockery stacked high in Paloma’s pale blue, doorless cabinets and her eclectic selection of orphaned dining room furniture. For the first time all day, I could almost relax. Almost—if only the hissing in my head would stop blotting out my thoughts.

Paloma wanted to hear more about the ritual, but every time I opened my mouth, I told her about something else instead. I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her about my curse—yes, a curse. The incessant hissing was too dreadful to think of as anything else.

After we caught up, she saw me to the door and made me promise to call if I needed anything.

“Anything at all,” she pressed, closing the door behind me.

I wasn’t halfway down the walk before I told myself I’d misread the concern in her voice.

{two}

INKY SHADOWS from the oak tree in my front yard cloaked the soothingly dark windows of my colonial-style house from the eyes of prying neighbors. I went inside. The bedroom at the end of the hall had been Grandfather Dunne’s before he passed away, willing my mom the house along with his scrolled walnut furniture. Now this family home was mine, without a family to share it with.

This place, however, was not a reflection of me. I certainly wouldn’t have put sea-foam green carpeting in all the bedrooms. Here, I was merely a placeholder, occupying free space, keeping the house in the same tidy condition my ancestors before me had left it in . . . except for the closets and drawers. Those were mine for the taking. I had a lovely habit of cramming my disorderliness out of sight.

My down comforter called me to sleep, and my small carriage shelf-clock urged the same, but there was something I needed to do first.

I set the supplies from Paloma’s shop on the dresser and tucked the book she’d given me in a drawer, unsure when I’d have time to tackle such an immense read. I retrieved my Book of Shadows and an altar candle from beneath some clutter in the next drawer down and unfastened the hatch on the casement windows to swing them out like shutters.

A stone-topped altar sat flush against my windowsill, and I kneeled down to place a white candle on the altar pentacle’s spirit point. This wasn’t what Mrs. Franklin and her cronies liked to think of my Wiccan practices. Judging by the way they acted, one would think I performed naked rituals in front of the local elementary school or spent my evenings sacrificing animals. Goats, perhaps.

But that wasn’t true. I practiced indoors, fully-clothed, using only an open window to connect with nature. Not a single animal sacrifice, either. I hadn’t even been able to evict the raccoon family that spent last winter in my attic.

After reading through the ritual, I adorned the remaining pentacle points with four wooden dishes filled with the herbs from Paloma’s shop, then chanted the Wiccan Rede:

“Be true in love, this you must do, unless your love is false to you. With these words, the Rede fulfill: An it harm none, do what ye will.”

Then I lit the altar candle. The flame cast a pale flickering glow over the pentacle. Outside, moonlight filtered through the trees, throwing patchwork shadows on the rain-soaked grass below.

I sprinkled chalk dust on the sea-foam green carpet to create my physical circle, then called forth the Guardians to watch over my rites and cast my circle in the spiritual realm as well.

Tonight would be the perfect night—a waxing moon, the fresh fall of rain.

Come what may.

I lifted the sage from the pentacle and blew across the dish’s surface to conjure wisdom. The sage flittered like snowflakes to the ground outside. Tipping the next dish outside my first floor window, I listened as cloudy fluid dribbled into the bushes, sure to evaporate in the early autumn warmth, garnering truth.

Where was that balance Paloma had promised? So far, the white noise in my mind had only amplified. A cool breeze drifted in, and I lifted my hair away from my neck and shoulders to help me relax.

I crushed marigold petals between my fingertips until they stained my skin, releasing an almost chemical scent, and envisioned a fire burning away all negative energy. I leaned out my window and tossed the marigold to the sky. The petals swirled and rained from above, scattering into my hair, back onto the altar, and across my front lawn.

I inhaled deeply, listening to the breeze in the trees and the chirr of crickets below. It was as though I could hear the sound of night—the sound of the very moon looming above and the sound of the bruise-like shadows beneath the bushes.

The right edge of my vision darkened. A streetlamp on the other side of the street had winked out. A man stood beside the iron post, staring. The overlapping spread of light from the flanking streetlamps revealed the muted gloss of black shoes with red outsoles and the frayed hem of denim, but otherwise, the shadows obscured his features, leaving him silhouetted against the Jackson family’s prized hydrangeas.

My heart flip-flopped, and I narrowed my eyes, a silent dare for him to keep standing there. He stepped further into the shadows. When he didn’t reappear beneath the next streetlamp, I squinted into the darkness. He couldn’t have just disappeared.

Forget it. I needed to center my thoughts on bringing in positive energy. Getting distracted during a ritual was dangerous.

I settled back into the room. Light spilled from my window to illuminate teardrops of water on the blades of grass below, and I sprinkled the myrrh resin, watching it plummet downward to carry the request for transformation.

As the first speck hit the ground, the offering bowls toppled, clattering against the altar. The remaining herbs stormed through my room. My altar candle extinguished.

I fumbled around, frantically grabbing at the dishes, unsure what was happening. The bottle of liquid eyebright tipped, its contents staining the altar to a darker shade of gray. Flecks of myrrh resin stung my eyes. I blinked, but the gritty substance blurred my vision.

What the—

Strong currents pressed through my window with unnatural intensity. The lights flickered. Through the chaos, I saw someone in the street again. A glimpse of a girl standing across the street. No. Four girls.

Just as quickly as they appeared, they were gone.

Maybe it’d just been a strange reflection in the dark windows of my neighbor’s house, but that thought didn’t stop the howling wind from swirling around me, assaulting my senses and stirring panic in my chest.

The bedroom stilled, but my heart did not. Leaning against my dresser, I took in the mess scattered across the bedroom.

A swarm of voices rushed into my mind. I spun around and glanced back out the window, but the streets were empty.

The whirring and rattling in my brain—that was gone. Instead, the haunting white noise passed in spurts, punctuated by voices, as though I was rapidly switching from one radio station to the next, never settling on one clear signal.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts and focused instead on the rustling breeze of early autumn and the cool scent of earth and leaves. I would clean the mess in the morning.

After closing my circle, I climbed into bed, listening as the sounds of evening ticked on. Televisions blaring. Babies crying. I lay awake until all of that faded, until all that remained was the hush of curtains whispering against my bedroom walls.

That . . . and the sound of my curse, pecking away at my senses with static-like crackles. Just as I started to drift off, I heard someone talking. I jolted upright. Voices echoed through my window, but it felt as though they were echoing through my mind, saturating my brain with strange vibrations and overlapped whispers.

I pulled my curtain aside. Four figures in brown hooded cloaks strolled down the street. The limited outdoor light revealed little of their features, but their eyes glowed in smoky purples and eerie greens.

The face of one of the cloaked figures contorted into something wolfish before quickly transforming back. My heart thumped, and the air in the room thickened until it felt solid in my lungs.

The figures glided down the road, their formation choir-like, their rhythm without sync. Shapes bobbing into the distance until all I could see were the backs of their hoods. As they turned the corner onto the main road, their unintelligible mutterings faded from my mind.

What was that?

But the longer I stood staring at the empty street, the more I questioned what I’d really seen. What if my problem wasn’t that I was losing my mind . . . but that I already had?



THE NEXT MORNING I sat at my kitchen table with a blend of white tea flavored with wild cherry bark and blackberries. I nibbled at an English muffin as I picked my way through the classifieds. Nearly every job for teaching history required experience. How was I supposed to get experience if no one would hire me without already having some.

I had to consider the real reason no one wanted to hire me. Death followed me everywhere I went. My dad when I was six, my mom when I was eighteen, and Mr. Petrenko two years before that. Even the cops considered me a suspect for Mr. Petrenko’s murder.

Mrs. Franklin, one of the first to arrive on the scene behind the flashing lights of police cruisers, hadn’t been quiet in her implications. What she—and everyone—wanted to know was why my clothes were saturated with his blood and why I hadn’t called the police.

I didn’t know who called them. I couldn’t tell anyone I watched him die—watched him die, but hadn’t seen who’d killed him. No one would believe that. I just said I found him that way.

No one believed me, but there was no evidence to say otherwise. When my mother died at my touch two years later, the rumors began.

It had started innocently enough. When I was fifteen, Mom and I moved from Keota to Belle Meadow. Shortly after, Mrs. Franklin showed up in our lives, inviting Mom to her ‘church’ with a promise of a cure for her  Bipolar Disorder.

Truth was, I’d lost my mother a couple years before the exorcism. I lost her when she stopped taking her Lithium—medicine was the witchcraft of man, Mrs. Franklin said. After that, life took a drastic turn for the worse. Dishes careening through the kitchen. Fists pounding the floor.

The exorcism was supposed to fix it all. But I’d had enough. I’d wanted my mom back—the woman she was before Mrs. Franklin showed up. I stormed into the church/basement and grabbed my mom’s arm, intending to pull her from her seat and drag her home. I wasn’t sure what I would do after that, but I never had the chance to figure it out. Mom died the instant I touched her.

Many nights after that, Mrs. Franklin and her congregation would gather outside my house, clasp each other’s hands, and try to pray the Wicca out of me. They believed it was my pagan faith that brought a plague of death to our town, though she never considered that Mr. Petrenko had died before my beliefs began.

Mand. Br. Shhh. -kened. Shhh.

I put a hand on my forehead and pushed my breakfast aside. The voices in my head demanded my attention. Before I did anything else, I needed to silence the overlapping whispers rattling through my brain. If they didn’t shut up, I would go certifiably insane.

If I wasn’t already.



THERE WAS ONLY ONE PERSON I could go to without turning to the doctors who had failed me before: Great Grandpa Parsons, my great-grandfather on my father’s side. A man I’d never met.

Only one problem: he was dead, leaving me with nothing more than records and mementos. He’d spent years researching the human mind to find answers about his mother, Abigail. The family called her schizophrenic, but Great Grandpa Parsons insisted her affliction was more complicated.

The thought propelled me from the couch to the fraying nylon cord hanging from the attic loft hatch in the hall. Inside, light spilled through the rusted blades of a stilled fan that blocked the porthole window, exposing unfinished beams and cardboard boxes.

Grandpa Parsons’ old chest rested between two dust-covered lamps near the window. I would have rummaged through these things sooner had the curse presented itself as a whispering from the onset. Instead, I’d spent years chalking the noise up to some kind of post-traumatic stress caused by my mother’s death. I’d wanted it gone, yes, but not nearly as badly as I needed to get rid of the voices that replaced it.

The voices in my head rushed by, one thought indistinguishable from the next.  I tried a few deep breaths.

Please, GO AWAY.

My stomach churned as I struggled to find a quiet place. After several minutes, the overlapping voices finally faded.

I sat and traced my finger over one of the trunk’s tarnished metal buckles. Then, hands trembling, I unfastened the cracked leather straps and lifted the lid. Buried at the bottom of the chest, beneath old sepia pictures and plastic-sheathed Spiderman comics, awaited a promising book: Voices—Into the Minds of the Disturbed.

My fingertips scanned the words as I read, releasing the book’s essence into the air. Having studied old texts, I knew this scent—vanilla, anisole, and sweet almond—wafted from the pages because the paper was fabricated from ground wood. I inhaled with a smile. Books often made better company than people.

My smile faded as I pored over the words for nearly an hour, my posture wilting more with each page I turned. None of the afflictions outlined in the text sounded anything like what I was experiencing.

Big surprise.

I probably needed to look into something current. I snapped the book shut and placed the book back into the trunk. But before I closed the lid, I noticed the corner of a handwritten, yellowed slice of paper with quill pen calligraphy sticking out from between the pages of another book. I gently lifted the document and found a photocopy tucked behind the original.

This wasn’t how old documents should be stored. I slipped one of the old comics from a plastic sheath and eased the brittle paper inside. The plastic cover wouldn’t do for the long-term, either; I would find an acid-free folder to store it in later. I set the original document aside and rested back against the chest to read the photocopy.

On this 28th day of February in the year of 1692

I, John Thornhart, Magistrate, being of the Jury last week at Salem Court, upon the trial of Elizabeth Parsons, am desired by some of her relations, due to the disappearance of the body after hanging, to supply reason why the Jury found her Guilty of witchcraft after her plea of Not Guilty. I do hereby give reason as follows:

Standing to consider the case, I must determine her words as evidence against her, for her attempt to put her Sense upon the Courtroom. Anne Bishop affirmed to the Court that her sister, Sarah Bishop, had been afflicted by Elizabeth, myself being of witness to this affliction as the words of Sarah Bishop on that day were found to me as principal evidence against Elizabeth Parsons.

Within these pages are the words of the Court, as spake by the condemned and those present at the time of conviction.

My heart knocked against my chest. I searched the trunk for the remaining pages. Nothing. I could almost imagine what it must have been like for my ancestor to be an outcast in her own town. The trial, the conviction, the hanging. Then what? She certainly didn’t rest in peace, not if her body went missing.

I’d read legends of entire families cursed over such things, and now I wondered . . . was that what the whispering voices were? A hereditary curse? A new energy coursed through my body. There had to be more information somewhere. If this curse ran in my family, then finding out what really happened to Elizabeth’s body might be my only hope of silencing the unintelligible whispers.

{three}

I TUGGED on a pair of Eskimo boots, piled my long hair into a messy bun, and tucked the book Paloma had given me into an organic wool tote. I wasn’t sure of the book’s credibility, but it couldn’t hurt to give it a read. I wasn’t sure how much I could trust Internet sources, either. Besides, I couldn’t afford a computer on my salary, and I couldn’t exactly borrow Ivory’s computer or use the computer at work for this kind of research—not unless I wanted to explain what I was looking up and why.

On my way out the door, a kid on a skateboard rushed the sidewalk, scaring the Inca doves from my lawn. The rapid flutter of wings whipped against the air, startling me, but I shook away my nerves and hopped in my Jeep.

Sunlight beat the sides of buildings to cast a shallow shade, but despite the bright sun, the weather was much cooler than I’d expected. Since Paloma’s book was only intended as backup to more legitimate resources, I stopped by the library and checked out the only two books they had on the witch trials.

Miriam Jennings, the librarian, was all-too-eager to help. It was a fellow outcast thing. In high school, she’d been the one Mrs. Franklin’s church shunned. Apparently, they wanted to save lesbians from burning in hell, too. After all, Wiccans weren’t the only ones who needed such godly help.

I didn’t profess to be a theology guru, but I was certain of one thing: if hell existed, no one as sweet as Miriam Jennings would be sent there. While she scanned my books for checkout, I offered her a small smile and asked her how her partner was doing. The entire exchange renewed my sense of hope. I didn’t need to let people like Mrs. Franklin get under my skin.

Outside the library, an elderly woman gave me a sideways glance, her gaze shifting over the top of her aviator-style glasses to my skirt and boots. I shrugged. Today it was my clothes. Tomorrow, they would think my hair was the wrong shade of blonde, or that I was too short and read too much.

Once back on the road, I turned onto Midland Avenue, heading toward the edge of town—toward my favorite forest trail, where I could connect with nature while I read. The road narrowed near City Hall and curved to the left. The area used to be a graveyard, but when they decided to build a street there, they dug up all the coffins and moved them to the new cemetery, which, even if not uncommon, was still weird.

As I passed by City Market, the darkness of memories I’d rather not remember rolled in. The streetlight turned red, and the whispering curse throttled through my mind. For once, I wished the whispers were loud enough to distract me from my thoughts.

To tourists, the market was merely a place to stop in and purchase a few items for their hotel fridge. Belle Meadow, mountain resort town! They didn’t care about the town’s history in coal mining, and they certainly hadn’t heard about the murder, or how Mrs. Petrenko, now a widow, sold the building to City Market. The windows had been replaced with new treatments, the parking lot repaved, and the inside freshly painted and retiled. But the shell of the building remained, a constant reminder.

For months after the murder, I’d visited Mrs. Petrenko twice a week. She taught me to garden, taught me to identify the different herbs and their natural properties. She inspired me to look at what connected nature with humanity, which ultimately led me to my Wiccan faith, though I was certain that hadn’t been her intentions.

Mrs. Anatoly Petrenko was perhaps one of the sweetest women I’d ever met. And her pelmenis, hands-down, made for the best Russian cuisine I’d ever tasted.  A few times, she told me I was the daughter she’d never had. She and Mr. Petrenko had come here to start their own business, and their hardships had gotten in the way of starting a family. For all these reasons and more, I eventually stopped visiting.

I didn’t deserve her kindness.

A car honked behind me—the light had finally turned green. I hit the gas and took off toward the hiking trails.

According to local legend, a girl had once been killed in the forest on this side of town. Eaten alive by cannibals. Bite marks all over her body—not quite human, not quite animal. The local teenage rite of passage was to spend a night in these woods, to face the ghost of the girl or the demonic forest-beings who had slaughtered her.

Of course, it was all a fallacy. We just sat beneath the forest canopy drinking cheap liquor. By adulthood, our fears eased. The poor girl had likely been mauled by a mountain lion.

I parked my Jeep and hiked to a small clearing. I sat on the ground and leaned back against one of the aspens. Cracks in the bark carved a road map to the rusted leaves above, and the sun leered through the tree’s skeletal branches.

I took my books from my bag and laid them out in front of me, inhaling their camphoric, oily smell. I cherry-picked relevant notes from the two library books, trying to find record of my ancestor.

When the library books bared no mention, I opened the book from Paloma. The preface spoke of the more than two hundred people accused of witchcraft. At first, only the homeless and the elderly had been damned. All because Reverend Parris’ daughters had a few temper tantrums. Or maybe it’d been the weather causing ergot of rye, which led to alkaloid poisoning. The result? Screaming, seizures, and trance-like states.

Soon after the early accusations, witchcraft became a weapon against those with enviable plots of land, those too old to be unwed, and those who were simply misunderstood. Twenty innocent people were executed. More died awaiting trial.

A footnote on the page read: ‘Only one true witch was executed during these times. She remains unlisted in traditional history.’

One ‘true’ witch? Who had decided that woman was really a witch, and on what basis?

At the same time, my mind began entertaining ideas. Elizabeth Parsons’ execution had taken place shortly before the Salem witch trials, and all I had to go on was the court document I’d found in my attic. Maybe traditional history books didn’t list her because her body had disappeared. What if she’d been the one assumed true witch? Or was I nuts to consider any of this?

I flipped idly through the pages, stopping at one with markings scrawled along the margins: ‘LC 47’ and, beneath that, a partial address: 793 Basker St.

The home of the previous book owner? If so, they might know more about the book.

A voice interrupted my thoughts: Can’t you do anything right?

I clutched my bag and glanced around. It’d been clear. Distinct. Not tangled with the mess of voices usually in my head. But, as quickly as it’d come, it was gone, sinking back into the pits of my mind.

Something wet struck my lip. Clouds gathered above, threatening rain as dusk closed in, the moon already visible. Absorbed in the book, I hadn’t noticed daylight slinking away.

A family of raccoons darted across the clearing, straw-like grass crunching beneath their paws. As they ticked across the field, my gaze followed them until a soft breeze picked up and muffled voices crept from the shadows.

I scanned the glade. Nothing. “Anyone there?”

The evening wind changed direction, carrying a moist chill and the stink of death.

I tossed my books into my bag and hurried down the path. As I stepped over a fallen tree, the thicket of silvery peeling aspen trees clustered together and obstructed the remaining light. The darkness sent tingles up my spine, just like in my childhood.

I will not panic. I am not afraid of the dark.

If I told myself enough times, maybe I’d believe it.

Tugging at my jacket sleeves, I waited for my eyes to adjust, then plowed through the underbrush and made my way over the knobby roots of the forest path. A squirrel scampered in front of me and perched on a cluster of burgeoning mushrooms.

I jumped back. Squirrels aren’t nocturnal, and there was something wrong with this one. Its eyes were lucent and the color of green apples. I’d never seen eyes like those—not in people or animals. I leaned forward to get a closer look, but it bolted into the brush.

A saccharine odor weighted the air. A dead raccoon, its body twisted and bloodied, slumped against a tree. Newly dead, too, if the blood still smelled sweet and only a little rusty. Beyond the raccoon was a pile of several more discarded animals, torn apart, blood matting their fur.

Unable to catch my breath, I stepped back. Something crunched beneath my boot. Don’t look. But I couldn’t stop myself. I’d stepped on a raccoon’s head. Its tail twitched by my foot. Nearly getting sick, I covered my mouth.

What would cause this? A mountain lion? How had it gotten so many animals all in one place?

Okay, Sophia, don’t panic. Don’t be like that idiot girl who ran and got herself killed by some wild animal.

I tried to remember what to do. Back away and keep eye contact. Keep eye contact with what? And I wasn’t supposed to turn my back to the mountain lion. I could throw rocks or sticks to scare it away, but now that I thought about it, that made no sense. How could I pick up rocks and sticks if bending over would make it easier for the mountain lion to lunge for my neck?

I scanned the spaces between the trees, looking for any sign of life.

What if it wasn’t a mountain lion?

Footsteps fell behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. A dark figure, running away from me, turned back, and I glimpsed a man’s face before his shape bled into the shadows between the trees.

I ran for the main trail. My foot caught on a tree root, and I shot forward, my bag tumbling from my shoulder to the ground. Wet soil dampened my palms and knees.

Two feet away, several more dead animals were piled beside a tree. I looked down to my palms, realizing the soil was not wet from rain or water but from blood. As I tried to back away, something pulled at my scalp. My curls had tangled in a branch.

Shaking, I wiped my hands on my skirt and carefully untangled my hair. I climbed to my feet and looked at my hands. The darkness and my trembling made it impossible to see straight, but my stomach lurched when I spotted the cut bleeding on my palm, near my wrist.

Please don’t tell me any animal blood got in there.

I bolted the rest of the way down the forest path, slowing to glance back as I neared the trail’s entrance. A dark shape moved between the trees. What the heck is—

I stumbled into something.

It moved.

I shrieked and jumped back, my hand fanned over my chest as I sucked in a large gulp of air. “Shit, you scared me.”

Ivory, my friend from college—not the boogieman—stood in front of me. She grabbed my shoulders and held me at arm’s length. No wonder I hadn’t seen her. She was dressed in a black sweater and dress pants, with a black cable-knit beanie pulled low over her ears.

Sleek bluish-black hair brushed her shoulders as she leaned to look past me into the woods. She shifted back, crystal blue eyes on mine. “Are you okay, Sophia? Why were you running?”

“Is everyone hell-bent on sneaking up on me?” I snapped.

Her eyebrows knitted together and the moon cast a pale glow on her milky skin. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing.” I dug through my bag for my car keys. I thought she mumbled something else, but when I glanced back, her lips weren’t moving. Stupid, crazy, unintelligible voices. “What are you doing here, Ivory?”

She pointed to my Jeep. “I passed by on the way to Lauren’s and saw you parked.”

“Lauren’s home from Cali?”

She vacationed there every August to attend the Nihonmachi Street Fair in San Francisco and Nisei Week in Los Angeles.

“You’d know that if you answered your phone,” Ivory said. “No one can get a hold of you.”

“I left it at home.”

Part of me wished I’d gone with Lauren this summer. The year before, she’d taken me to see the pageants—the ones she refused to participate in because some people there didn’t think ‘haafus’ should enter.

It wasn’t the first time Lauren was shunned for her heritage. Lauren’s dad, after learning his parents weren’t thrilled he had married and impregnated an Irish woman, stopped speaking Japanese, changed his daughter’s name from Yumi to Lauren, and, as she grew older, forbade her from studying the Japanese language.

Now, with her parents gone, Lauren was eager to connect with the culture of her ancestors . . . while I stayed behind waiting tables.

Ivory grabbed my wrist, drawing my attention back to her. “You’re bleeding. And your skirt is covered in blood.”

“I fell.” I snatched my hand away and rubbed where her fingers had pressed. “Why are you going to Lauren’s anyway?”

“For the love of the Goddess, Sophia. She might not be the illest person on the planet, but it’s not like I hate her.” She was laying heavy into her Boston-talk. Sometimes I wondered if she did that purely for my amusement, or if she’d just lived there too long to shake the slang.

Ivory was still staring at my wrist, and I gave her a pointed look. “I fell, Ivory.”

“Yeah.” She frowned and took a step back. “You all set? Lauren’s expecting us.”

Great. Now she thinks I’m suicidal or something. “I can’t go,” I said. “I have work early tomorrow.”

“You’re a mess, Sophia. You need to . . . you know, be a normal twenty-two-year-old. Have fun and stop stressing.”

Just being in her presence was rapidly calming my nerves. My reaction in the woods had been a huge overreaction. Dead animals in the woods—really not that uncommon. Not even worth mentioning, especially not to Ivory, who would just laugh at my paranoia.

“I’m taking you out next weekend,” she said when I didn’t respond.

“I don’t know if I can. I might have work.” Truth was, the idea of going out in the city frightened me a little. At twenty-two, it seemed I had little more experience with life than I’d had as a teen.

“You’re going,” she said, matter-of-fact. “You can’t use your studies to get out of it like you did in college, and you know Jack will leave you off the schedule if you ask. Besides, it’ll be wicked cool. I’ll take you to that club I told you about.”

It was almost amusing listening to her, because only Ivory could say all that with about as much excitement as someone reading the Gettysburg Address.

“You can meet Adrian,” she said, perhaps picking up that I needed further convincing.

“The guy with the books?” I asked.

“I’m talking drinks and dancing and your mind is on books.” She shook her head, her expression somewhere between amazement and pity. “Yes, the guy with the books.”

Ivory had shown me some of Adrian’s Wiccan spellcasting books before, and they were definitely more legit than anything I’d found in stores. Maybe he would even have something that went more in-depth on the Salem witch trials. I could look into those first, before I worried about intruding on the lives of whoever lived at 793 Basker Street.

“Fine, I’ll go,” I said.

With that, Ivory took off in her little red Honda, and I headed back over to my Jeep. I fumbled around the glove compartment for some napkins to dab the blood away from my wrist. My stomach lurched at the bright red on the napkin, and every time I closed my eyes, images of dead animals played behind my eyelids. With my company gone, anxiety crept back in, and my hands got jittery again.

I started the engine and switched on the heater, hoping the heat would somehow calm my nerves. The scent of warmth filled the car long before the chill subsided, but my shaking remained.

There was a flash of green and what appeared to be an owl perched on a nearby fence. When the owl turned its head, goose bumps rushed over my skin. That owl did not have the same eyes as the squirrel I saw earlier.

It just didn’t.

Before I could speculate further, the owl flew off, its image becoming nothing more than a lingering memory.

For a long time, I sat staring at the roots of an old oak that had broken through the earth. I spotted a toppled bird nest, and, a few feet ahead, close enough to the road to be illuminated by the streetlamps, a small bird twitched its wing.

Damn it. I couldn’t leave it there.

After scanning the area until I was certain no monsters were going to pop out at me, I slipped on the winter gloves I kept in my glove compartment, crept over, and gently scooped the bird into my palms. It weighed next to nothing, but it wasn’t too young to be saved. And it was a cardinal, no less, which was odd, seeing how cardinals weren’t common in these parts.

I hurried back to my Jeep, set the bird on my passenger-side seat, and eased the door closed, though I wasn’t so gentle about getting my own ass back in the car. I might have been crazy paranoid, acting like my six-year-old afraid-of-the-dark self, but I was not about to spend one second more than necessary out there alone.

Once in my car, I headed for the nearby animal clinic. I’d be able to sleep better if the bird still had hope.



MY EVENINGS AFTER THAT were filled with nightmarish sleep: dreams of my ancestor, Elizabeth, and her hanging; dreams of people in town learning of the whispered voices in my head and condemning me next. Sometimes I woke in a cold sweat, chiding myself for letting my subconscious affect me so deeply.

One of these nightmares woke me early on the morning I was meant to go with Ivory to the club. I headed to the kitchen, not realizing the nightmare had been more premonition than subconscious freak-out.

I leaned against the wall beside the birdcage Paloma had given me on loan. It was a charming little thing, the feeders and iron bed painted sage and the wooden top embellished with rose and cream porcelain flowers. The vet who’d set the bird’s wing with green tape said my cardinal should be able to fly again within six weeks.

Not that I was thinking of him as mine.

“I know you won’t be here long,” I said to the bird, “but perhaps you need a name.”

The bird tilted his head and chattered softly.

I crouched to meet his gaze. “How about Red?”

He pinned his eyes on me and made a whoit, whoit, whoit sound.

“Red it is.”

So maybe I’d never been very original when it came to naming animals. Bob the bobcat, for example, was my ‘backyard pet’ when I was seven.

I took a small bag of peaches from the fridge and arranged them with vanilla beans and cinnamon sticks in a large metal bowl. The centerpiece filled the room with a spicy-sweet aroma, like freshly baked peach pie.

Things were looking up. Ivory was going to introduce me to someone who might help me find out more about Elizabeth Parsons.

But as anxious as I was to find answers, I would have called and cancelled if I’d known how the night would end.

{four}

IVORY PICKED ME UP at eight. Trees rustled outside the car window as she navigated the wind-raked road. I wished I was home, curled up in bed, but Ivory insisted tonight would be fun. Stress-free. A chance to pick up some books that might solve the problems she didn’t know I had.

A blur of crimson and gold leaves and the occasional blip of yellow highway paint raced outside the passenger window. If only I could shed the haunting visions of dead animals and the layers of voices blotting out my enjoyment of the autumn scenery.

The sun disappeared behind a wall of trees, and I pushed away the lurid images, leaning forward to read a green and white road sign: DENVER 30 MILES.

“Where is this place?” I asked Ivory.

“You’ll see.” She hooked onto an exit ramp for Castle Rock then turned onto a side road miles before the city. This wasn’t the Castle Rock I was familiar with; this place was some run-down, off-the-map kind of place. “We’re almost there.”

Several blocks later, she turned down a narrow, garbage-strewn road. The street was a dead end, with a beat-up building backing up to a wooded area. A rickety billboard towered without anything to advertise. Ivory pulled into the lot and parked beside cars I hadn’t noticed from the road.

Soft whispers throttled through my mind. A chill prickled at my arms and goose bumps ran all the way up to my scalp, a tingle burning the back of my neck and along my ears. Taking a deep breath, I fought to push the voices away.

“Guess I’m overdressed?” I asked, motioning to my silk dress.

“You look good all decked out. Black suits you.”

She climbed out of the car and tugged the bottom of her charcoal gray sweater as she walked to my side, while I slicked on some iced-pink-champagne lip-gloss. When I stepped onto the sandy asphalt, my foot slid, but Ivory caught me by the arm.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, regaining my balance.

High heels—especially of the strappy variety—were not my forte, but Ivory had insisted the Eskimo boots stay parked in my closet tonight.

“I think you have the wrong address.” I waved a hand, indicating the lone warehouse and long-abandoned gas station on the other side of the parking lot.

“This is Club Flesh.” Amusement laced her voice. “You’ll love it, trust me.”

I would have loved anything indoors at this point. The air was far too cold for late September. I nodded toward a steel door lit by a lone, broken streetlamp. “We going in?”

Ivory grinned. “That door’s just for show.”

Turned out the real entrance was the storm cellar doors on the side of the building closest to the forest. Ivory pressed a brick jutting out from the wall, and the storm doors opened. Faint notes of music, seductive and enchanting, carried on the air. I peeked in, only able to make out the first few concrete steps descending into the subterranean depths.

Talk about an underground club. The design must have cost a fortune yet seemed like a lawsuit waiting to happen.

Ivory led me down the dark stairway. My nerves kicked up, but once the light source ahead revealed the last few steps, my heart rate slowed. When we reached the landing, the doors clanged shut, and I jumped.

“Door sensors,” Ivory said offhandedly. She sauntered through the dimly lit stone passage, heels clicking in an even, upbeat staccato.

The eerie dance music grew louder as we walked toward a distant, crimson door. An imposing figure emerged from the darkness, powerful arms folded across his chest and black hair slicked back from the high slope of his forehead.

Ivory’s hand slipped from mine as she bounced up on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Hey, Theron, busy night?”

“You vouchin’ for that one?” He nodded toward me.

“Sure am. Now, don’t give me a hard time. Let us through.”

Theron spoke in a low, unintelligible rumble, but he must have said, ‘Go on in,’ because he opened the door and stepped aside.

Ivory patted his shoulder. “Lighten up, will ya?”

Once inside, Ivory leaned close, her voice overpowering the thundering music. “Pretty neat, right?

‘Neat’ might not have been the word I would use for the wine-colored walls, stone flooring, and black tables. Gloomy, maybe, if a place can be gloomy and classy at the same time.

I smiled. “It’s . . . nice. Yeah.”

Ivory pulled me past the bar and around the crowded dance floor to snag us a booth in the back corner of the club. A buxom waitress, bulging from her black patent-leather skirt and a red corset, came to take our order. Her springy blonde curls bounced even after she stopped, and her cheeks were bright from too much rouge.

“I’ll take one of the house’s reds.” Ivory snapped the menu shut and handed it back.

I reviewed the list, trying to decide.

The waitress used her whole body to roll her eyes. Good thing, too, because I wouldn’t have noticed her annoyance otherwise.

“Are you going to order, or what?” she asked.

Ivory pointed to a selection on my menu. “You’d love their Bordeaux. It’s fabulous.”

“Okay, the Bordeaux it is.”

Eye-Roll Barbie snapped her order pad closed and stomped off. She returned impossibly fast and slammed our drinks—wine served in tall beer glasses—on the table.

“Sixteen-forty.” She held her hand out and tapped her foot until Ivory forked over the cash.

Once she took off, I turned back to Ivory. “So where’s the ever-elusive Adrian?”

“Books, Sophia? Really?” Ivory frowned. “He’s the DJ. We’ll catch up with him after hours. For now, we drink!”

Great.

For the next hour, we chatted while tossing back drink after drink. I wished I could tell her about the voices, but my gut told me to wait, to test the waters first before revealing something that would most certainly make me sound crazy.



IVORY CONVINCED me to join her on the dance floor. The dark music quickened my pulse and one song blended into the next: smooth, enchanting, hypnotic.

A gathering of voices, somehow clearer than the music, swelled around me, reminding me of the real reason I’d agreed to come along. If I didn’t take a break, I’d burn out before I got a chance to talk to Adrian about his books. I hollered to Ivory that I would meet her at the table.

On my way, I passed a group of women piled into one side of a booth, crowding a decent-enough man. Two other men sat across from them. The lady-killer captured my gaze, and a cool sensation, followed by warmth, tingled my brain. For the first time in weeks, my mind grew quiet. But, instead of the calm I expected, the silence was unsettling.

He leaned across the table to one of his male friends. After they exchanged words, the friend rose and approached me.

“His name is Marcus,” the friend of the woman-collector said, leaning in close and speaking over the music. He was shorter than me and smelled of beer and disinfectant. “He’s visiting from Damascus. Would you like to join him?”

No thanks. “I’m sorry, I was just—” I glanced around for an excuse, but found nothing. “You’ll have to excuse me.”

Dazed, I hurried back to my table, plopped into my seat, and scanned the crowd for Ivory.

But Ivory was not who caught my attention first.

A young man by the bar, clad in dark-washed jeans, took a final sip of his wine and slipped a tip for the bartender under his glass. His fitted black shirt showed the confident set of his shoulders, the contour of his chest, and his trim waist.  The way he dressed, the way he carried himself . . . he looked both entirely in control and completely reckless at the same time, standing out in the sea of people as though the crowd had parted around him, though that wasn’t the case.

The case was, he was sexy as hell.

And I hated him for it.

When his gaze captured mine, he offered the briefest of smiles. A curious swooping pulled at my stomach, and I quickly glanced away. When I dared to peek again, he’d seated himself at a nearby table beneath the golden glow of one of the wall sconces. I dreaded the idea he might catch me staring, but I couldn’t stop myself. His toasted-almond hair fell forward to shroud his eyes, and flickers of blue—or was it green?—peeked through the disheveled strands.

The whole thing felt strange, as though I’d seen him before, seen him from this same distance.

It was then, with his body turned away from the table and one foot resting on the opposite knee, that I realized how I knew him. His shoes—dull, black shoes with a red outsole—gave him away. He was the mystery man who’d been outside my window the night of my positive energy ritual.

I should’ve marched over to him and told him off, but what was I supposed to say—‘How dare you walk down a public street and look at a woman throwing flower petals out her window?’

His eyes flickered to mine as though my staring had drawn his attention. There was an intensity in his expression, something dark as his gaze slid over my body, assessing me, and I started surveying the room in hopes he’d think our eye contact had been accidental.

No one looked at me like that, let alone someone so absurdly handsome.

I peered at him from under my eyelashes, but I couldn’t tell if he was still looking at me until too late. Until I’d already been caught checking him out.

He turned away, but it wasn’t shyness that averted his gaze. The strong lines of his jaw were softened by his uplifted cheeks and the curl of lips. He smirked, shaking his head.

Realization set in: He was laughing at me.

Heat rushed to my face, leaving me thankful for the club’s dim lighting, dark enough to hide the blush that surely reddened my cheeks.

Staring at my drink would be a safe bet. Drinks don’t stare back. I plucked nervously at the hem of my dress, wondering what the hell had come over me. I didn’t have time for this. I needed to find Adrian.

“Dance with me,” came a husky but gentle voice.

I looked up, and my heartbeat stuttered. It was him. How hadn’t I noticed him take the seat across from me?

The way he stared—his crisp, teal eyes pinning me—sent a current of warmth through my body, pulling the fear under and away. Even in the low lighting of the club, the stark contrast of blue and green in his eyes was evident, like the oceans off the coast of Greece.

Determined to appear unruffled, I tipped my drink against my lips and drew in a sip of my Bordeaux. The earthy wine provided a momentary relief to my rattled nerves.

“Do I know you?” I asked.

A half-smile rumpled the perfect symmetry of his face. He was even more gorgeous up close—fiercely beautiful, from chiseled cheekbones to strong, shaded jaw and attractive Roman nose. “Clearly you recognized me, no?”

“That doesn’t mean we’ve met,” I countered.

He knew he looked good, he knew I thought so, and now he was mocking me. Great.

“You’re funny when you’re angry,” he said.

“Glad you’re amused. Keep it up, and I should be able to keep you laughing all night.”

“All night?” The tumble of his hair obscured the sudden arch of his eyebrow.

I wanted to stay mad, but it was a lost cause. Annoyance had always been my defense against attraction, but his looks and candor were crippling. “You haven’t answered my question.”

He tilted his head to one side and scratched the nape of his neck. A grayish-pink scar lined the inside of his forearm, and I dropped my gaze, as though I’d somehow intruded into his life, though it was more like the other way around.

“Well?” I asked.

“I thought you wanted something. You were staring.”

“No I wasn’t,” I replied too quickly.

He crossed his arms, slouching back, and challenged me with a grin. “No?”

My pulse quickened and my breathing went shallow and I wished I would just disappear. This time, I wasn’t going to respond. He kept his gaze steady against mine, his dark, tangled lashes framing his eyes. Lauren would’ve recommended some special eyelash comb. Thinking of Lauren might help distract me from this gorgeous specimen sitting before me.

The roof of my mouth felt like the shell of a walnut. I wanted to swallow and lick my lips to relieve the dryness, but his staring made me hyper-conscious. His gaze dipped, and I felt a rush in my chest.

Was he checking me out? Was he aware of my erratic breathing or the rapidly beating pulse in my neck?

His gaze continued down.

To his watch.

Not checking me out.

When he lifted his eyes to mine again, my insides filled with a chaotic energy. Attraction or warning, I didn’t know, but I couldn’t break away. The men in Belle Meadow had no interest in me, but this guy—he didn’t know me. He hadn’t heard the rumors, hadn’t heard about my mastery of the dark arts or how I sometimes painted demonic symbols on abandoned grain elevators.

The longer I went without speaking, the more uncertain I became that I’d find my voice again.

I crossed my arms. “So you’re stalking me, or what?”

He chuckled. “Pretty full of yourself, are you? Do all pretty girls think every man in a public place must be stalking them?”

What? “I’m not—” Grrr. I refused to defend myself to his moronic accusations. Even if he had called me pretty. “It’s one thing you saw me through my bedroom window, but are you telling me you just so happened to show up here, too?”

“I must be pretty special to have followed you here but arrived first.” He reached into his pocket and slid a wrist bracelet across the table. The fine marker-script on the side of the band displayed today’s date beneath the club’s logo. “Happy hour discount—starts at eight here. You’d have gotten one if you’d arrived before nine. Now, then, perhaps I might inquire if you are stalking me?”

“Well—”

“Well what?” he asked smugly. “Believe me, darlin’, I’d prefer you weren’t here. It doesn’t bode well of your sensibilities.”

“My sensibilities?”

He smirked. “Tell me why you were watching me, and I will help you get out of whatever you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Now he scowled. “Don’t test my patience. I’m offering you an out.”

What was his problem? “I have no idea—”

“Fine,” he said. The angry lines in his expression relaxed, but his posture remained slightly stiffer than it’d been minutes ago. “We’ll go with that for now.”

“If you would tell me what you’re talking about—”

“If you’ve truly only come here for the drinks, I recommend you find another place next time.”

“That won’t be necessary. I don’t go out much.”

“I can tell.”

Okay, so maybe I was being a little edgy. Ivory shouldn’t have let the hermit out to play. “Point taken.”

He rested his forearms on the table and leaned forward. “Was that a yes or a no to dancing?”

I shook my head, but my smile said ‘yes’. Not to mention Marcus was still staring—and in the least intriguing way. He gave me the creeps. If I was dancing with someone else, that might get the weirdo’s attention off me. I spotted Ivory dancing with another girl, perhaps a friend she’d met here before, and figured one dance without her wouldn’t hurt.

The man across from me stood and offered his hand. My palm warmed as I accepted, but when I rose to join him, my balance shifted. I wobbled, nearly falling right back into my seat.

He hooked his arm around my waist, supporting me against his body, his breath soft on my ear. “Careful there.”

At his sudden embrace, a small shock flashed through my body. After a moment, my vision steadied. With his biceps behind my back and his forearm against my side, I felt somehow smaller and safer at the same time. I tilted my face up, catching his gaze. The candlelight from the table danced inside his irises. He cocked one eyebrow slightly, his amused expression also somehow gentle.

The moment rapidly becoming too intimate, I tensed. I needed to put some distance between us, to ignore the unwanted fluttering in my stomach. I stepped back. The air in the room lacked the warmth and comfort of his body.

“I’m okay,” I said, which could’ve been true, depending on what one’s definition of ‘okay’ was.

We wedged into a small opening in the crowd near the speakers. The burning scent of hot electrical wires replaced the fruity aroma of liquored drinks. He tilted his head down toward me as he stepped tentatively closer, then he rested his hands firmly on my hips, his arms bent at the elbow, relaxed.

I was decidedly not so relaxed.

I peered up at him, unsure what he expected. I’d never danced with a guy before.

Awkwardly, I placed my hands on the front of his shoulders, steadying myself as I swayed with him. A shiver flashed down my spine at the firmness of his body. How could he be so solid and still so graceful? His hands easily covered my hipbones, his fingertips pressing just behind my sides, into the muscles of my back. In that moment, I felt another kind of vulnerability.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to my ear. “You all right?”

I nodded, stepping closer and sliding my hands around to the back of his shoulders. I buried my face against his chest, safe from his imploring gaze. He smelled like vanilla and musk and sandalwood, and I tried to commit the intoxicating scent to memory.

What the hell was I doing? I hesitated backward, away from him, but he easily guided me right back, and I had to stifle a gasp as an unexpected shudder ran through my body. The heat radiating from his flesh burned through my dress, the warmth igniting in my stomach and snaking outward in an involuntary arousal.

“My friend is probably looking for me,” I said unconvincingly.

“Ivory?” he asked.

“You know her?”

“Well enough to know she’ll wait.”

There went my iron-clad excuse for getting away from the moment without revealing what an idiot I was.

The seduction of the music wound around us, sinking into my skin and pressing us closer. Each bass note reverberated along my spine, playing over every nerve in my body, and every time his hand grazed a new place on my skin, my want for control melted away, replaced by a desire to return his touch. He trailed his finger across my collarbone, over my shoulder, down my arm.

Soon, the music muffled beneath a cottony sensation in my head. His hands slid up my waist, over my ribs, his thumbs barely grazing the sides of my breasts. My breath caught in my throat, and I smiled nervously.

His jeans rubbed against the bottom of my dress and my bare legs, and the heat there spread over my thighs. This was more than I could handle.

“My name’s Sophia,” I said. It was a little late for introductions, but I wanted to shift the conversation and move as far away from the arousal as possible. “Yours?”

“Charles,” he whispered. His voice sounded clear, as though the music in the room had faded to make room for him to speak. He cleared his throat and dipped his gaze to mine. “I saw you in the woods the other night.”

I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “And through my bedroom window.”

“Yes,” he replied.

“So you were stalking me.”

“I was unaware the woods belonged to you alone,” he said against my ear, his hands moving to the small of my back. “Is there anywhere else I shouldn’t already be when you get there, in the event you might continue with your accusations?”

“Jack’s Diner,” I said, fighting to hold onto the conversation instead of the arousal. “I work there, so you might want to stay away unless I invite you.”

“Then invite me.”

I bit my lip. Of course I wouldn’t have shared that gem of information with him if I didn’t want to see him again, but I hated that he realized this.

“Sure,” I said quietly, hoping he wouldn’t hear me over the music as easily as I could hear him.

“That night in the window . . . you looked so . . . strange.”

Was that supposed to be a compliment?

I started to pull back, but it only brought our faces closer together—so close our lips nearly touched.

“And in the woods?” I asked carefully. “Did I look strange there, too?”

“No,” he said, his voice cold now. “I hadn’t expected to see anyone else out there. I stayed only long enough to make sure you were all right.”

“Why?” I asked, like it was a bad thing.

“Why not?” He closed his eyes, tensing his jaw. “Do you always assume the worst of people? Or is it yourself you think so poorly of? Perhaps you might consider life is complicated enough without you helping things along.”

Damn him. Yes, I could be immature and even a little insecure sometimes. Okay, a lot of times.

His eyes flashed on mine, and he stepped away, his expression shifting to something apologetic and regretful. “You should go, Sophia.”

{five}

“GO?” I ASKED.

“That’s what I said,” Charles replied.

His sudden mood swing left me bewildered. I searched his eyes for answers, but there were none.

“If you don’t want to dance anymore—”

“I didn’t say that,” he snapped. “I just said you should go. Now, please, get out of here.”

“I don’t under—”

His eyes flashed with the anger of a storm. “Leave!” he shouted. “Go. Home. Forget about this place. Back out of any agreements you have before it’s too late.”

He started off, but then backed up two steps, turned around, and grabbed my arm.

The cursed whispers invaded my thoughts all at once, scattering like marbles down a staircase, making it impossible to think . . . impossible to make out what they were saying. Just the shhhing and the fragments again—a word here and there . . . dangerous . . . too late. The rest of the words overlapped and tripped up my own thoughts. I couldn’t push the voices away—only press them into the background.

A pulsing sensation tapped against my mind, followed by a compelling voice: Come here, little mouse.

I stepped back, but Charles slipped his hand to my elbow and shouldered his way through the crowd, ushering me past my table. He snatched my purse and thrust it toward my chest. The room spun as I staggered beside him.

“What’s going on?”

He didn’t answer, and I didn’t get a chance to tug my arm free until after we were already outside, standing beside the forest with the club’s storm doors clanging shut behind us.

I glared at him. “What the hell are you doing? I’m not leaving without my friend. You can’t just tell me when to leave.”

He spun toward me and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Sophia, listen. Whatever brought you here, I won’t judge you, but now—”

The club doors flew open again, and his grip tightened. A couple rushed out, stumbling for the parking lot in a cloud of drunken laughter. Lipstick smeared the woman’s flashing white teeth.

“Sophia,” Charles said, his voice gentle now.

“What?”

His eyes steadied on mine. “You’ve associated yourself with the wrong people.”

“Obviously,” I said, thinking mostly of him.

“We should get you out of here. Ivory will catch up.”

“Get out of here why?” I asked, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

His hold loosened. “You don’t know what you are involved in. I will pay you double just to leave.”

A fog settled over my mind. I blinked rapidly, bringing his face back into focus. My thoughts were muddy. “Huh?”

“Do you understand me?” he asked. His voice was far away, ominous.

“I’m drunk, not stupid.” I didn’t feel drunk though. I felt . . . confused.

His jaw tensed. “Why did you come here?”

“Me?” I raised my eyebrows. “You’re asking why I’m here?”

The doors opened again, and this time one of the guys from the lady-collector’s table stepped outside. He smoothed his dark, thick, shoulder-length hair away from his face and grinned with pale lips.

“Charles. Good and well to see you,” he said, but he was looking at me, not Charles. The man clasped his hands in front of him and leaned forward with a slight nod. “Marcus would love her company.”

Charles clenched his jaw, and a quiet growl reverberated in his throat. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Cody.”

“Marcus won’t be very happy if she declines,” Cody said in a playfully warning voice. He turned to me, smiled, and hooked his arm out. “Care to join us?”

It didn’t sound like a request.

“No thank you,” I said, inching closer to Charles. “I’m only here to spend time with my friends.”

“Marcus is your friend.” His smile twitched on one side. “But if you are certain?”

The more he pushed the issue, the more certain I became.

Charles pulled me back a step. “We’ll be in shortly. Tell Marcus to order us a few drinks.”

Like hell.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Charles gave me a measured glare. He offered the man a tight-lipped smile. “He’d want you to deliver that message, wouldn’t he?”

Cody studied Charles for a long moment before disappearing inside.

“We need to go.” Charles’ voice sounded more demanding now. “You’re putting us both in danger.”

“We were just dancing,” I said. “And Ivory—”

“She’ll meet us.”

“No.” I shifted away. I’d read things like this in the paper; it never ended well.

“You’re in no place to argue. Unless you want to visit Marcus’ table,” he said, as though it were an accusation. His eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you do not understand the extent of what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Another seductive whisper prodded at my mind: Come back inside.

Was that the same voice I’d heard earlier? It was more demanding now.

“You need to come with me,” Charles said. “Now.”

If I had to choose between an unknown voice and the man standing before me, my choice was clear.

The air reeked of pine and rotted wood. I squinted into the forest’s darkness. A spider web created a lacy barrier between two claw-marked trees, remnants of an afternoon shower beading along the silk strands and glittering in the moonlight. A glowing fog shifted over the forest floor.

Charles grasped my hand and plowed forward. My arm stretched until my feet finally got the message to move, and I stumbled after. In a miserable attempt to keep my balance, I reached with my free hand for every tree I passed. Tree bark chafed my fingers, but the cold and confusion numbed the pain.

“Move,” he said over his shoulder.

I pointed to the strappy black heels. “You try walking in these. And for what? I don’t even know why I’m following you!”

My cell phone chimed in my purse. A new text message from Ivory.

Meet you two soon. Go to the Shell station.

One of my heels sunk into mud, and thanks to the firm grip Charles kept on my hand and the way he continued onward without consideration, I nearly fell over while trying to pull free.

“Where’s your car?” I asked.

“Not in the parking lot.”

Boy, that was helpful. “I asked where it is, not where it isn’t.”

He huffed sharply. “I don’t park in the lot. Sometimes they block people in. Now would you please—”

“Block people in? Why the hell would they do that? Is Ivory going to get stuck?”

He stopped, and I bumped into him. “They’ll be searching for you, not her. She’ll be fine.” He rubbed his forehead. “Can we hold off on the questions? We need to find the main road.”

“Don’t have to be so snappy,” I said. If anyone had the right to be annoyed, it was me. His words sunk in. “Wait. They’re searching for me?”

He kicked some forest underbrush out of our path. “Don’t play stupid. I don’t even know why I’m helping you.”

“Don’t get shitty with me. You’re the one who asked me to dance and then shoved me out the club two minutes later.”

He growled under his breath. “Walk faster and keep quiet.”

Maybe I should’ve gone back. I didn’t need help from some nut-job who thought he was doing me a favor. “Why are we going through the woods?”

He lowered his voice. “Listen.”

Branches cracked somewhere behind us. Adrenaline flushed the alcohol from my system. I felt as though a veil had been lifted from my eyes and cotton extracted from my ears.

My breathing quickened, and Charles jolted forward. “Run.”

His urgency propelled me, but I couldn’t keep his pace. I wasn’t even sure why we were running, though I feared stopping to find out. One of my heels snapped, and a few steps later, the strap on the other heel popped.

As I continued forward, my shoes tumbled off, and the ground scraped the soles of my feet. Small pebbles and dried pine needles entrenched inside the small wounds, and pain shot up my legs. Branches whipped against my shoulders and stomach. I inhaled one sharp breath of icy air after another, my chest aching with cold.

The path abruptly ended. A tangle of brush and entwined trees blocked our way.

“I thought you came in this way?”

“Thought this path would be faster,” he replied between efforts to rip the branches away.

I pulled him from the natural barrier. “Follow me.”

“We can’t run toward them, Sophia.”

“We can’t wait for them to corner us, either.” Whoever they were.

I gave him a final, measured look, then turned and ran. Hair clung to my face and neck. My legs burned nearly as much as my lungs.

Another trail, paved with mud and dead leaves, veered off our current path, and we followed the curve into a more densely wooded area. Footsteps thudded behind us, louder with each step.

At first, my heart pounded more from fear than exertion, but soon my whole body ached. Fear could propel me no further.

I leaned forward with hands on knees, sucking in huge gulps of air.  “Have . . . to . . . stop.”

My heart was nearly bursting in my chest. Moonlight pierced through the forest canopy, revealing gashes and lacerations staunched with mud. My stomach lurched, and I blocked my mouth with the back of my wrist.

“Please, Sophia, we must continue.”

“I can’t.”

Charles bounced on his toes, looking in every direction. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

I took a couple steps toward where he had retreated into darkness. “Hey!” I hissed. “Where are you going?”

The noise of pursuit ripped through the forest. Trees blocked my vision.  I leaned back against a tree until the bark dug into my flesh. I pressed my lips together so no sound would escape.

Why had I followed him? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

A twig snapped somewhere behind me. Footsteps shuffled closer. Maybe my pursuer couldn’t see me. I held my breath, fighting to stay silent, but I trembled, and my dress rustled against the tree.

“You’re far too pretty to hide.” My pursuer had a deep, masculine voice. A familiar voice.

Shit.

A short ways forward, trees parted to another path. I ran for it and squeezed through. The hem of my dress caught on something. I was stuck.

My pursuer stood on the other side of the natural barrier, his eyes aglow and his gaze fixed on me. Over a foot taller than me and three times my size in muscle mass, there was no way for him to squeeze through.

He pulled on one of the trees, and it uprooted slightly. What the—who the hell was strong enough for that?

One look at his face gave me my answer.

Cody.

As I yanked my dress, he reached through and grabbed at the black silk hem.

“There you are,” he said.

I shook my head, trying to free my dress from his firm grasp as he pulled me closer. My feet shuffled in an effort not to get too close, but another hard tug from him made me tumble forward. My forearms shot out to protect myself from being pulled back through space between the trees.

When he reached through with his other hand, I saw my chance to reach down and give my dress another hard yank. The fabric ripped, leaving behind the swatch he firmly clutched in his hand.

I backed away and turned to run. A protruding root tripped me. I crashed into another tree but remained upright. My feet throbbed with each step, stinging as more rocks and debris shredded my skin.

Cody stepped out from behind a tree in the path ahead. I screamed, stopping so fast that I nearly fell forward.

He took a few calculated steps, but I didn’t let his slow advance stop me from scanning for a way out. A guttural vibration rumbled in his chest as he stalked ever closer. I couldn’t make out his features beyond his shadowy eyes and twisted smile.

I stumbled back, and my arm scraped against a tree as I sunk to the ground. Blood trickled between my knuckles.

He flashed his teeth. His eyes were completely black, and two of his top teeth extended with a sharp snap. He ran his tongue across one of them, and I nearly choked as I gasped.

Frantic, I tried to see the ground through the fog, but it was useless. My hands fumbled until I grabbed a heavy branch. He lunged. I jumped to my feet and swung. He stopped the blow mid-swing and caught my wrist with his other hand. My wrist crushed in his grasp, and I cried out sharply as the bone cracked. Shattered. Shards stabbed like needles beneath my flesh, the pain darkening my vision.

He released me, and I collapsed. I couldn’t hold back the scream or the flood of tears. I shook violently and vomited. Wiped my mouth with the back of my uninjured wrist. My throat burned. Bitter, acidic fluid coated my tongue and teeth.

“Don’t do this.” The words choked out. “I won’t say anything . . . just let me go.”

An unnatural smile curled the corners of his mouth. He hovered over my crumpled form. “Doubt it, Blondie.”

A shuddering pain worked into my lungs. Then, suddenly, the man’s already pale flesh became translucent, all remnants of color draining from his face. A large bird—an eagle?—swooped down, and my attacker jumped back.

I hobbled to my feet and stared as the bird’s beak tore into his face. Something thudded at my feet. A burning scent stung my nostrils, and I nearly vomited again.

Without waiting to find out what was going on, I ran a straight line in no particular direction. The forest had to break eventually. I stumbled twice. On the second fall, I avoided landing on my wrist, but my head smacked into a rock. As I struggled with one arm to get up again, I fought off another wave of nausea. The forest was spinning. Which way had I been running?

I staggered forward. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t stop shaking and crying. Couldn’t breathe.

Light swept between the trees.

Headlights.

I bolted. Footsteps pounded behind me again. So close to where the forest walls broke. I pushed myself harder, but someone grabbed me tight around my arms and stomach. The excruciating pain in my wrist intensified, and I thrashed to break free.

“Shhh. You are safe.” The soft voice was masculine and deep.

An unexpected sense of security swept over me. My desire to escape drifted, replaced by a warming tingle in my mind and a soothing voice like a whisper: Relax.

I couldn’t escape the odd sense of peace that seemed to press into my skin and seep into my mind from the outside. Peace that was not my own.

The man lifted me. “Please do not draw any further attention.”

My breathing slowed. Sleepiness overpowered my senses. I blinked, fighting the drowse, taking in the man whose arms I lay limply across. Smooth, dark skin and kind, dark eyes.

Another figure walked up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder, face still shrouded by the shadows.

My eyelids drooped. Closed. My mind screamed, but my voice failed. The world tilted as the man laid me down, the persistent rumble of an engine beneath me. I struggled for wakefulness, but soon failed.

{six}

SOMETHING WET on my scalp. A droplet trickling into my ear.

I struggled with the weight of my eyelids. Through the fog, a figure with shoulder-length black hair dipped a rag in a nearby dish of water, then dabbed it near my temple. I blinked until my vision cleared.

“Ivory?” I rasped.

“Yeah, sweetie, it’s me.”

Across the room, an old dresser with shallow incising and grooved panels held a television airing an episode of some crime-investigation saga. As I eased my head to one side, pain pulsed through my body. Black lace curtains framed a bay window beside a red-oak bookshelf, full of familiar books. The Scarlet Letter, Don Quixote, and Oedipus the King.

Ivory’s bedroom? I didn’t remember falling asleep here.

I didn’t remember falling asleep at all.

Outside the window, the dark, cloudless sky and the breeze in the trees made the night air appear thin and cold, but the air in the room was almost too hot.

From the corner of my vision, I saw someone standing in the middle of the road, but when I looked over, they were gone.

Great. I’m hallucinating.

The door creaked open. Charles stepped in, his stone-washed, button-up jeans hugging his thighs and his black short-sleeve shirt tight against his chest. My gaze trailed up, taking in the soft glow of his bronzed skin and the way his toasted-almond hair fell in perfectly careless tousles to obstruct his enchanting teal eyes.

But as his gaze met mine, the events of the previous night rushed back—the attack, my pain. All his fault. Thankfully the pain wasn’t as bad as I would’ve expected for a broken wrist and a crack to the head.

Before I could speak, a man with dark skin and neatly-formed dreadlocks followed him into the room, dressed in black dress pants and a deep red shirt with a plum sheen. His hands clasped tightly in front of him and his suit jacket lay neatly folded over one arm.

He’d saved me.

The unfamiliar man clenched his jaw, hanging back by the door, balling his right hand into a fist and relaxing it over and again. Maybe he was angry with Charles. I wouldn’t blame him.

Pain pulled into my lungs as I breathed. “What happened?”

Ivory helped me sip a glass of water. “You’ve been in and out for a few hours. I hope you aren’t too groggy from the pain killers.”

“I’m sure that hit to my head didn’t help.”

Ivory gave me a worried smile.

I tried to sit up, but pain shot through my arm. I crumpled back to the bed and raised my wrist. It was swollen to twice the normal size and twisted at an odd angle.

I should’ve freaked out, but I’d never been one to panic when I should. Yes, a stubbed toe was like world war three for me, and maybe I was a little scared of the dark, but put me in the center of tragedy and I could be eerily calm.

Or maybe some part of my brain just shuts down when things are too much for me to handle.

“Charles left me,” I whispered.

Ivory nodded. “He went for help.”

A cold sensation pushed on my mind, followed by another warm tingle, and my thoughts returned to the same unnatural stillness I’d felt in the car and at Club Flesh. Something was happening with my curse. Some kind of shift. Whatever it was, I was certain last night was to blame.

“What’s going on? I should be in the hospital.”

Ivory edged away. “I’ll have the men leave,” she said gently. She grabbed Charles’ arm and pulled him toward the door. “You’re freaking her out.”

“She doesn’t seem freaked out to me,” Charles said coolly.

Ivory flicked her gaze toward the ceiling. “Well, I know her, and she’s freaked out, okay? Just take a hike. I told you I’d take care of this.”

“A few minutes is all I ask.” He lowered his voice. “Adrian’s the best person to help.”

Without waiting for Ivory’s response, Charles squeezed around the bed and settled into the window seat beside me. “I have some questions for you. Are you well enough to speak?”

I scowled. “What do you think?” I turned toward Ivory, interrupting her and the other man’s whispered conversation. “What about you, Ivory? Obviously you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Some guy tried to kill me.”

She walked over and slid onto the edge of the bed. “You had an unfortunate night.”

Charles scoffed. “Unfortunate? You shouldn’t have brought her there.”

“Oh, like you weren’t having the time of your life with her.”

“Only because I was trying to figure out who she was working for.”

Who I was working for?

“Shut it, Charles,” Ivory snapped.

I held back a growl. “Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?”

Ivory and Charles exchanged a glance, then they both looked at me expectantly.

“What?” Did they think I was going to tell them what happened?

Charles tilted his head back and covered his face with his hands. “You sound genuinely unaware of what you’ve gotten yourself into, and I have given you the benefit of the doubt. But you must have been up to something if you garnered Marcus’ interest.”

“Are you freaking kidding?” I looked to Ivory, but her crystal-blue eyes just stared back without expression.

“Were you following me?” Charles asked.

Ivory lifted her hand. “I told him you weren’t.”

Charles glared at her before returning his attention to me. “Answer the question.”

“I thought you were following me, remember?”

His chest puffed out, and he scowled. “Why would someone be following you? Is there something you’re not telling us?”

“Why don’t you tell me why someone would be following you.”

“When we were dancing, you had guilt written all over your face.”

I’d felt guilty all right, but not because I was following him. “I wouldn’t have even been there if Ivory hadn’t invited me. I don’t see why I’m defending myself to you. You’re the one who left me stranded in the woods.”

“How do you know Marcus?” Charles pressed. “Did he hire you? I can’t help you if you aren’t completely honest with me.”

“Why are you interrogating me? I’m the one who was attacked!”

“Nothing,” he said, which wasn’t at all a response to my question. He shook his head, the scowl slowly slipping from his features. “She’s telling the truth,” he said to Ivory. “She doesn’t know anything.”

“I told you,” Ivory said.

“Can someone tell me?” I asked.

Ivory frowned. “It’s just . . . things like that don’t usually happen there.”

“Well, I fucking hope not.”

I could’ve strangled her. How could she be so cavalier? My world was crashing down, and I was stuck here in this stupid bed, no one giving me a direct answer, while some man I didn’t know stood to the side of the room, watching the whole thing as though he was about to self-combust.

I slanted my gaze back toward Ivory. “How do you know Charles?”

“We met at the club a while back,” Ivory said. “It’s always been safe for humans.”

“Safe for humans? As opposed to . . . ?”

Charles stood. “Take her to the hospital and keep an eye on her.”

“No,” Ivory said, giving him a hard stare. “You don’t get to make a bigger mess of things and then walk out as if nothing happened.”

“Not my problem.”

“I’ll make it your problem.”

Charles glowered, but her words stopped him in his tracks. “Did you not say you were taking care of this? If you care about your friend, you’ll leave it alone. It’s bad enough she got Marcus’ attention. Did you know she was . . . ?”

Ivory shook her head. “How could I?”

Just before a scream of irritation nearly burst out of me, the man in the corner interrupted our conversation.

“Tell her,” he said, his voice calm, even.

Charles and Ivory turned to him, their expressions blank.

“Tell her,” he repeated. “If they know of her, it’s better she knows of them.”

Charles reseated himself by the window, but Ivory paced away. She approached the other man, who leaned against a wall by her dresser. When she reached his side, she put a hand on his shoulder and gave me a pleading look. “Sometimes people are not what they seem.”

“Go on . . . ,” I said. I tried to shift my weight on the bed, but the pain in my wrist shuddered through me. I rested back, closing my eyes. “Whatever it is, please, just tell me already.”

“Club Flesh is a supernatural establishment.”

Okay. Maybe I would’ve preferred being eased into things after all. At least my ‘too-shocking-to-induce-panic’ gene was kicking in.

“So why did you take me?” I asked.

“It’s always been welcoming to humans.”

“And of course I’m the exception.”

“I didn’t know, Sophia,” Ivory said. “You never told me.”

“Never told you what?”

She chewed on her bottom lip. “Some humans can see differences like yours. For example, Charles can see you for what you are, while the rest of us are limited to what is immediately visible. Such as the Cruor.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

The man by the door pushed away from the wall and approached. When he reached my side, he tossed his crisp dreadlocks over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry our introduction couldn’t occur under better circumstances.” His voice was deep—formal in tone. He did not offer his hand in introduction. His body seemed tenser now than it had from across the room.  “I am Adrian.”

“You’re Adrian?”

“Yes,” he said, “and I am one of which she speaks.”

“What does that mean?”

“Please understand,” he said smoothly. “We are not all bad. The actions of the Cruor who attacked you do not speak well of our kind.”

“Wait—what?”

Adrian paced over to the dresser to switch the television off. As he fumbled with a small radio, tuning to a classical music station, a gold ring on his right hand glinted in the lamplight. There was a large scripted ‘A’ at the ring’s face.

Adrian frowned. “You are familiar with the Cruor, yes?”

“The what?”

“Earth elementals, as they were originally known.”

I turned to Ivory. “You believe this?”

She swallowed and gave a slight nod.

I shook my head. “Quit playing.”

“I sense you are not a believer,” Adrian said.

“A believer in ‘elementals’? Seriously?”

“No one believed in the cobra until someone was bitten.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Marcus works for the Maltorim, our elemental council. No doubt he was here on council duty. They’re always on the lookout for the dual-breeds as well as anyone who might be of value, and Marcus is one of their leading men. He is one of the oldest Cruor—an earthborn.”

“Earthborn?” Who were they trying to protect with these lies? Maybe Adrian wouldn’t be the best person to borrow books from—not if this was the kind of nonsense he was pushing.

“Earthborns were the first chosen as Earth elementals. A darkness had overtaken the human race, and without positive energy for the Universe to feed on, it was beginning to die. At the time, people were being buried alive, mistaken for dead, and the Universe saw this as an opportunity.”

“People being buried alive? Happened a lot in the thirteenth century, right?”

“And the centuries before.” Adrian’s nostrils flared. “The Universe resurrected those who didn’t survive the live burials. They were chosen to protect humans at night. Guardians, or, if you will, Earth elementals. With their ability to sense the pull of the moon, they knew to rise when it loomed high and to flee from dawn.”

“So you’re a vampire? That’s what you’re getting at? And the guy who attacked me . . . he’s a vampire, too?” Something was up. Yeah, the guy last night had fangs, but anyone could purchase a pair online.

“The Cruor are the reality from which legends of vampires arose.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“You may believe that if you wish,” Adrian said, “but I assure you the Cruor are real, and this is as true as I am standing before you.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but Adrian’s sharp gaze trampled the idea. What was I supposed to say to that? I couldn’t argue with his presence. If he wanted to be a ‘vampire’ or ‘Cruor’ or whatever, who was I to argue?

“These guardians cherished immortality with greed, concerned only to prolong their own semblance of life. They lusted for the blood of their prey, for to drink the blood of another is to steal the life source and maintain immortality.”

I recoiled deeper into the bed but refused to give in to the panic rising in my chest. “You’re trying to tell me some kind of monster was trying to eat me?”

“You make our kind sound so . . . carnal.”

“Aren’t you?”

He pushed his lip out in an expression more indicative of a shrug. “I will admit it is not easy. Right now, my natural instinct would be to pierce the main artery in your neck and feed. I’m not going to do that, however, because I am civil and have already eaten today. Not a human, mind you, but it did take off the edge.”

These people were more whacked out than Mrs. Franklin’s cult. “If that eagle hadn’t come along, then what? Cody was going to turn me into a fruit bat?”

“Those bitten are reborn as Cruor. Newborns. The change was intended to purify evil in the humans, to help those humans harness their desires to kill. They were supposed to join their makers to comb the earth and hunt other impure humans.”

“Wouldn’t your Universe-people just kill the bad humans?”

“The Universe can only create. It cannot destroy.”

“What does that have to do with me? You make it sound as though the Cruor are here to protect. Are you trying to say he mistook me for a criminal?”

“No.” Adrian returned his gaze to mine. “You don’t seem to understand. The Cruor were not supposed to turn on the pure. There must have been some error in their creation . . . some lingering darkness. The result was elementals who cared about only one thing—eternal life. This means stealing lifeblood from others, whether they bind themselves to their prey’s soul or kill them.”

“So the Universe—which is, for all intents and purposes, like GOD—screwed up the humans, then made some elementals and screwed them up, too?”

“Perhaps,” Adrian said. “No one can say for sure where the original darkness came from, but, since then, laws have been set. The Cruor are no longer permitted to attack a human unless the human becomes a threat. Such as those who learn of our true nature.”

“You said Club Flesh has always been safe for humans.”

“It’s a great place to make . . . connections. Exchanges, if you will.”

“I don’t even want to know,” I said, trying not to think about what Ivory or Charles could possibly get out of that place, or what they were doing to get it.

Ivory must have read the disgust on my face. “Money,” she said. “In exchange for blood, information, services . . . .”

“And you?” I asked, imploring her with my gaze.

“Accounting.”

“Accounting for elementals?” I shook my head. “Accounting? Really?”

Adrian nodded, touching his hand to his cheek. “Our world is not so different than your own, yes?” he asked. “Things do not always work as intended. Some may simply claim a human is a threat, even if they are not. Most, however, would prefer not to draw the Maltorim’s attention to their actions. They’d rather find another way to get what they want from humans. Marcus, being one of few remaining earthborns, is strong and set in his ways. He’d surely be excused, as he’s a member of the Maltorim himself, but he’s not known to act on his desires without prompt.”

At least we were getting somewhere. Cody attacked me for a reason. “So what was the prompt?”

“You have something. Or rather, you’re missing something.”

“Like what?”

Adrian shrugged. “You tell us.”

“If you don’t know what it is, how do you know I don’t have it?”

“Some people can tell. Charles being one of them.”

“Oh, yeah?” I didn’t try to hide my disbelief.

“Anyone can have a supernatural gift. Immortal, Mortal . . . it matters not,” he said. “While Charles may not be able to see why you drew Marcus’ attention, he can see how you did.”

“How is that, then?”

“Your aura.”

Charles could read auras? If that were true, he would’ve known I wasn’t guilty of following him. That’s what auras were for, right? Reading emotions, intentions, that sort of thing. Surely I didn’t glow some vicious shade of evil. That’d be reserved for someone like Marcus or Cody.

“What about my aura?” I asked finally.

Adrian smiled. “You don’t have one.”

{seven}

IF THIS AURA THING were true, perhaps that was how Charles earned his pay with the club. Did Ivory issue him a check for his services, or were such payments made in cash?

I still wasn’t sure I was buying it. Why did they expect me to know I didn’t have one? “Are you telling me nothing bad would have happened if I had an aura?”

“Mock the situation all you like,” Adrian said, “but I am trying to help you. Would you prefer I leave?”

I couldn’t bring myself to tell him to stay, but I didn’t tell him to leave, either. “In theory, then, is it bad I don’t have an aura?”

Adrian’s jaw tensed. “This is not a theory, Miss Sophia. And no, it’s not bad to be without one. It’s merely rare and not well understood, which would be reason enough for Marcus to seek you out.”

“Then why didn’t any other Cruor approach me?”

“Because Cruor can’t see auras. One of his party, however, might have been able to. It is likely you were pointed out for that reason.”

“Charles was also able.”

Charles cleared his throat. “If you’re implying—”

“I’m not implying anything.”

“Some people think it’s not possible to read them,” Charles said.

I tilted my head toward Ivory, suddenly hating her stupid room and her stupid bed that my injuries left me prisoner to. The whole idea of Cruor was bizarre, but Ivory wasn’t one to play pranks.

“The aura-thing would explain why they would come after me,” I said, turning to Charles, “but it doesn’t explain why you thought someone was following you. Or why you thought that person was me.”

“First you’re talking to someone from Marcus’ table, then you’re staring at me. What would you have thought?”

“So you decided to save me from the people you thought I was helping follow you?”

“I thought you might be playing stupid,” he went on, “but once I noticed how he was looking at you, I realized you were in trouble.”

“Let me express my eternal gratitude that you found it in your heart to save the enemy. Or, rather, abandon her in the woods with her attacker. That was so helpful.”

“Just because you make lasting judgments doesn’t mean we all do. I gave you the benefit of the doubt as no one deserves to fall victim to the ways of the Maltorim.”

“How very noble of you,” I said. Sarcasm was my way of masking the gratitude beneath the surface that threatened to deflate my pride.

Charles cocked an eyebrow. “Anything else you’d like to complain about, princess?”

I huffed, turning to Ivory. “What about you?” I asked. “You knew the dangers, and you took me to Club Flesh anyway.”

“She shouldn’t have,” Charles said from beside me. As if he should talk. He hung around those monsters, too.

“Thanks for that, Charles,” Ivory said, “but we’ve been going how long without incident? It should’ve been safe for Sophia. How was I supposed to know Marcus was visiting? Or that she didn’t have an aura? Maybe if you’d told me—”

“Maybe if I could reach you, I would have said something,” Charles replied through his teeth. “Instead, you don’t come around for months, and when you do, she’s with you.”

Say it like I’m a disease, why don’t you.

I was shaking from anger. Anger at myself for my attraction to Charles and anger at Ivory for being so reckless.

Shit. If I was getting mad, that meant I believed them.

Ivory sat in the upholstered chair beside the bed. “You must know I wouldn’t have taken you if I’d known this would happen?”

She rubbed the sides of her pants in a repetitive, inexact pattern, her eyes trembling with regret. She hesitated as she curled a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Adrian needs to get going soon,” she said, “but before he does, he will help with your wounds.”

“Is he a doctor?”

“This is going to sound worse than it is.” She grimaced. When I said nothing, her words rushed out in one breath. “You need to drink his blood. It will—”

“What? Why would I do that?” I shook my head, which only made me wince in pain. “You’re all insane. This whole situation is insane.”

“Cruor blood accelerates healing.”

“You’re seriously going along with this shit? What the hell, Ivory?”

Charles put a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll have to trust us.”

A familiar calm pushed into my mind. Pain swayed my thoughts, but I grasped to my last shreds of logic. Drink someone’s blood? It didn’t sound sanitary or sane.

“Besides,” Ivory said, “you can’t go home in your condition. What if someone stops by?”

I sat up as much as my body allowed. “So, I guess this won’t turn me into one of these Cruor things? Most people would freak out about that, too, just so you know.”

“Adrian won’t bite you. He’s very controlled.”

While Ivory might be willing to trust him with her life, I didn’t exactly share her sentiments. I barely knew him. But even though I wished to fight the offer, something stronger and unnatural urged me to accept. Emotions out of my control smothered my desires, and before I could stop them, the traitorous words tumbled from my lips.

“Just tell me what to do so we can get this over with.” Part of me fought against what I was saying, but I was on autopilot, a dial turned to someone else’s settings.

“Relax.” Adrian crossed the room, and Ivory stood to allow him her spot next to the bed. He pulled back his cascade of neatly woven dreadlocks, revealing striking eyes so dark they were almost black.

His fangs extended, and he lifted his wrist to his mouth. Visions from the night before flashed through my thoughts. I took a deep, shuddering breath as Adrian’s teeth crunched into his flesh. Blood seeped out, and, as his wrist inched closer, I turned away.

He cradled my head with his other hand. “Try thinking of something else.”

My stomach churned—I can’t be doing this—but the cooling sensation in my mind strengthened. I wanted to fight the warmth that followed, but my body melted into a calm, as if I was being carried along by a slow-moving river. The panic fled, but my thoughts remained. Don’t do this. I opened my mouth to protest.

Adrian thrust his wrist against my mouth. “Drink.”

Cold, thick fluid gushed into my mouth. I pushed feebly on his arm, trying not to swallow, but I had to choke down some of the blood in order to breathe. The whispers and hissing in my mind faded, as though suffocating in a glass coffin, until finally they vanished. Until I only felt them, like a pulse, present but silent.

A small surge of strength awakened in me, and with it came the desire to drink. Adrian’s blood was sweeter than I expected—like blackberries, but also like dirt—and the pain dispersed enough for me to take hold of his arm.

“Easy, girl,” Adrian said, but the sensation urged me to continue. “Enough!”

Charles jumped to his feet. He leaned toward Adrian, as though ready to pounce. “Adrian!”

Adrian jerked his wrist from my mouth. The puncture wounds on his wrist closed in mere seconds. I blinked, the simple action like the snap of a camera aperture.

This can’t be happening.

“Sorry.” My voice floated on the air with a strange, smooth lilt.

“No apologies necessary.” Adrian’s tone softened. He backed up to the other side of the room. “It hurts giving blood to a human.”

Human. My thoughts rattled around the word. How could there be anything else?

The blood left a salty, metallic coating on my tongue, and my stomach bubbled. “I can’t believe—”

“You are in no place to avoid this reality,” Adrian said.

Ivory dropped her gaze.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Adrian had to . . . use his influence. You wouldn’t have cooperated otherwise.”

“His influence?”

“Influence is what nearly got you killed in the first place.” Adrian interlocked his fingers and stretched his arms up. Each knuckle cracked and every joint popped, the volume of the movement strangely loud and distinct in my ears. “Marcus had you before you even left the club. How you resisted is a mystery in itself. You are lucky whomever he sent after you wasn’t stronger. It is a testament to your own strength that you fought as much as you did.”

The aching in my wrist ebbed, and I crossed my arms with a surprising ease. “You’re suggesting mind control?”

“The Cruor—especially those who’ve transcended many centuries—can push into the human mind and control emotions or plant thoughts. They can also track humans, either by scent or by sensing their location through a sensitivity to heat that acts as thermo-receptor.”

“Thermo-receptor?”

“A thermo-receptor is—”

“I know what it is. It just sounds like a load of crap. If they are stronger than humans, and apparently see heat waves through trees”—I flicked my gaze upward—“why would they need influence?”

“If the victim is awake when captured, the influence will keep them in a state of calm, controlled by the Cruor until the bite releases its venom and mutates the human’s blood. It can also be used to lure their prey. Without influence, the process is exceedingly more difficult, as some humans are not as easy to track. Same can be said of animals.”

I sat upright and explored my wrist from every angle. Bruising remained, but nothing more. I looked at Adrian, a glimmer of trust rushing through my veins. Fear and disgust, however, would not be so easily kept at bay.

“This is all pretty fucked up. Killing other people to live?” The words were leaving my mouth, and the questions were being answered, but none of it felt real. Could I deny what I’d seen with my own eyes?

“You confuse opinion with truth. Many of us control our impulse for blood. We are more in danger from your kind than you are from ours. What do you think humans would do if they knew of elementals?”

“Apparently bring their friends to your underground clubs.” I shot Ivory a glance, but immediately regretted doing so when I saw the pure remorse weighing on her features.

“I understand you are afraid,” Adrian said, “but we must ensure no one else learns of your exposure to the Cruor. Your life would be in danger.”

I flexed my wrist. The pain was all but gone, along with the swelling. Everything came into sharp focus. “I thought you said there was no real danger in knowing?”

“It is true the more recent laws protect your kind from ours,” Adrian said, “but the laws commanding they not kill humans are meant to protect them, no one else. Anyone who learns their secret may be turned or killed. Especially if they are of interest or threat.”

“What’s the point? Even if they said something, no one would believe them.”

“Under no circumstance are you to say anything. It’s bad enough you’ve drawn attention to yourself—you wouldn’t want anything to happen to your friends or family.” Adrian’s hand cupped the doorknob, gripping it so tightly his fingernails somehow dug into the tarnished metal. “As for a ‘point’? There is none. It is only an excuse.”

I turned to Ivory. “How is my life in danger, but not yours? You’ve known longer than I have.”

“Marcus has shown an interest in you.”

“Maybe I can borrow your aura,” I mumbled. “I don’t understand, Ivory. Why would you hang around people who can control your mind or kill you on impulse?”

“Please,” Ivory said, her voice pleading. “You cannot judge an entire race of elementals on a few bad of their kind. These are the people who have been there for me since . . . since . . . ”

Tears welled in her eyes, and I swallowed. Her lover had been murdered. That was why she’d moved to Colorado. Now she was flirting with danger, unless, like she said, not all Cruor were bad. Adrian had saved me and healed my wounds. Even if he still looked like he wanted to eat me, he was clearly nothing like Marcus and Marcus’ companions.

Of all people, I should’ve known not to get all judgmental, but life had a funny way of showing me what a hypocrite I was on a regular basis.

Either way, I didn’t need acceptance so badly as to befriend the Cruor. Not that they came across very friendly to begin with.

Adrian released a heavy sigh. “Marcus has strong ties with the Maltorim. It’s best if none of you return to Club Flesh.”

Don’t need to tell me twice.

Ivory nodded. “You can’t repeat any of this to anyone—not even Lauren.”

The whole, ‘with great knowledge comes great responsibility’ crap. Except the last thing I wanted was more responsibility.

Charles pressed his hands onto his knees and stood. “Adrian and I ought to get going.”

“Not so fast,” I said, and not entirely because I wanted to stare at his gorgeous face a little longer. “I have a lot of questions to ask you.”

“I would rather you didn’t,” Charles replied.

I raised my eyebrows. “You don’t think I deserve at least that much?”

Without a word of response, he bowed to kiss my hand, his lips smooth and warm against my skin. The mauve of his lips, hinting at tones of cognac, only made his eyes seem all the more deep teal. I couldn’t break my gaze from his face. Those lips were perfect—full, soft . . . kissable. But sexy lips wouldn’t excuse him from leaving me to be attacked. He could have taken me with him when he went for help.

Now here he was, moving about so calmly, so confidently, as though he’d done nothing wrong. That alone rendered my attraction to him irrelevant.

Ivory glared in his direction, and he gave a small dip of his head. “Goodbye for now, Sophia.”

“Bye,” I whispered, too stunned by the severity of his gaze to press him any further. I turned to Adrian. “Thanks for . . . well, thank you.”

Adrian saluted us. “Take care, Miss Sophia. Miss Ivory.”

As Charles passed Ivory on the way out the door, he grabbed her arm. “She deserves to know.”

Ivory pulled free and narrowed her eyes. “I’ll tell her everything,” she said. “Anything to keep her safe.”

{eight}

MORNING ARRIVED within an hour of the men’s departure. The sun glinted through the bedroom window, magnifying heat on my face. I rolled away.

“You look much better,” Ivory said from the bedside. “Would anything else help?”

I circled my wrist before pushing myself to my feet. “A shower?” And about a hundred more questions answered.

Did my aura—or lack thereof—have something to do with my curse? Or was I just a vessel for all things horrid and unexplainable?

“Follow me.” Ivory led me down the hall, the carpet in her old home worn but comforting. “I dropped by your house while you slept and picked up a few things. Hope you don’t mind.”

“That’s why I gave you the spare key.”

Actually, when I’d given her the key, it wasn’t so she could pick up clothes for me if I lost my purse while being attacked by vampire-like creatures in the woods behind a supernatural club.

Ivory retrieved two towels from the hall closet. “These are wicked soft.”

The towels blurred somewhere beyond the sudden vision clouding my gaze. A dead bear. Then . . . darkness. Fur pressed to my nose, my forehead. Well, not mine, but whoever owned the vision.

The vision tilted back, panning across the carcass to the top of someone’s head of dark hair and their hunched shoulders, their face buried against the blood-matted fur. Blood smeared over dark-skinned hands, and a familiar ring with a large scripted ‘A’ I’d seen only hours before hugged a finger on one hand.

Adrian.

The images faded, and Ivory’s towels filled my sight. Egyptian cotton, cinnamon red, according to the tag. I would have called the color rust. I opened my mouth to say something about the vision, but since I didn’t know whether it might be related to my curse, it was probably best to keep quiet.

Ivory opened the bathroom door. “It’s not much,” she said, flipping on the bathroom light. “Shampoo, conditioner, soap—all that stuff is in a shower caddy. Holler if you need anything.”

She shut the door, and I jumped at the volume of the click. I set the towels on top of the bag of clothing she’d left on the toilet seat lid. A pale yellow decorative towel hung over a bar on the wall, lace trim fluttering around the hem, and the flames of lit candles on the vanity flickered in the vanilla-scented draft.

The bathroom light created a sudden pulsing pain in the front of my head. Once in the shower, hot water pelted against my skin, and the body wash surrounded me with the scent of wisteria petals, fresh melon, and cherry blossoms, layered over base notes of coconut and vanilla.

My senses were in overdrive, and the silence in my mind felt unnatural, almost uncomfortable. A pulsing but painless throb. It wasn’t truly peace. The noise had merely been locked away in a soundproof room where it pounded its fists on the walls, trying to burst out again.

Had Adrian’s blood silenced the noise? Could his blood also cause me to see flashes of his memories?

How was I supposed to make sense of the last twenty-four hours? That Ivory had kept this from me for so long created a distance between us, yet knowing the same secret also brought us closer together. Who was I to judge? I had secrets, too.

After I rinsed the shampoo from my hair, I stepped out, wrapped myself in a towel, and turned the faucet off. Just then, another image flashed into my mind. This one was faster. A mausoleum in a cemetery. Adrian’s hand lifting to wipe a tear, his gold ring swiping against his eyelashes. The images vanished.

Shaking, I huffed and fumbled for my clothes. My hips ached as I pulled on my khaki skirt, and I looked down to examine the cause. Four tiny bruises stacked above each hip.

Oh.

A soft gasp escaped my lips as realization set in: the tiny, barely-there bruises must have been from the dig of Charles’ fingers as we danced. Had his grip been that strong? How hadn’t I noticed?

Thinking of his hands there again sent a shiver blazing down my spine, and I had to force myself to push away the betraying sensation.

I pulled on the sky-blue cashmere sweater Lauren had given me last Christmas and tugged on my chocolate Eskimo boots. Maybe I could get some answers from Ivory without being too direct.

Back in her room, Ivory was folding down the top of her comforter, which looked like burnt wood against her bone-white sheets. The room smelled of clean linen and the soap I’d used, but strangely, the room carried another scent. One I recognized to be Ivory, though I’d never noticed the scent before. Kind of like watermelon candy and something heavier. Loneliness? Could a person smell lonely?

My head was probably playing tricks on me due to knowledge of her past. She’d never told me the details, but one night in my college dorm room, she shared with me that her lover had been murdered. I saw her in a new light after that. A light I couldn’t share with Lauren, even though it might help her understand why Ivory was a little rough around the edges.

I flopped onto Ivory’s bed and stared at the henna design on the ceiling. “Where’d you find that body wash?”

She leaned against the bed. “The dollar store.” She laughed. “It’s nothing special. The Cruor blood is assaulting your senses. Usually that side-effect fades within a few hours.”

“You’ve drank it before?”

“Once or twice.” She patted the comforter. “Come sit. I’ll brush your hair.”

I sat up and hugged one of her throw pillows to my stomach, and she sat close behind with her legs tucked under her.

I clicked my tongue, quickly replaying Charles’ parting exchange with her. “What were you going to tell me . . . you know, when you told Charles you’d tell me everything?”

She grabbed a hairbrush from the side table drawer. “You’ll need to know a few things,” she said. “About fighting the Cruor.”

“I don’t plan on running into them again.”

“Did you plan on running into them the first time?” She pulled the brush’s soft bristles through my hair and then leaned over one of my shoulders. “Staking, decapitation, and burning. That should cover it. Pretty self-explanatory.”

“Forgive me if I don’t share your enthusiasm. I’m still trying to come to terms with how this is real, yet people don’t know.”

Ivory parted my hair with her fingernail and brushed the ends on one side, flattening my curls. “You remember Mr. Petrenko?”

My heart stuttered at hearing his name spoken aloud. Spoken outside my own thoughts. “Mr.—Mr. Petrenko?”

“Yeah. Read about him in the news when I was in high school. I think the whole country heard. Surely you know all about it. You lived here when it happened. It was the media-mystery of the century! Who’s dead body is found surrounded by so much of their own blood, without a single wound on their body? People still talk about his murder.”

Some people still thought about it, too. Thought about how he’d been standing outside with a cigarette burning down between his fingers, smoke billowing from his mouth as though he were breathing into the cold, while they snuck into his store to fill a large paper bag with food.

I’d known stealing was illegal. I wanted to feed the runaway girl I’d met down by the tracks. Get her help. I couldn’t have stolen from Mother’s cupboard or asked even asked her for the money. I feared Mother might try to ‘help’ that girl in all the wrong ways. Mother might not consider the girl’s situation. The abuse. The girl’s stepfather, and the things he’d done. But none of those things excused my actions.

As I’d been sneaking out the back near the dumpsters, Mr. Petrenko saw me. He hollered and started after me, but then he was bleeding, and thoughts were tumbling in my mind—You have to die, you have to die, you have to die—and I told myself those couldn’t be my thoughts, but then he was dead on the ground and it was only me in that parking lot.

I don’t know what happened. I just know I didn’t kill him.

I couldn’t have.

I swallowed and forced myself to speak. “Murdered in front of his own store. I doubt anyone will forget.”

“People don’t notice the Cruor because they don’t believe in them. They’ve never seen them, or, if they have, they know to keep their mouths shut.” She started to brush the other side of my hair. “You’d be wise to do the same.”

“Are you saying a Cruor killed Mr. Petrenko?”

“As good a guess as any.”

“Why didn’t he have any wounds?” I asked, though I knew that wasn’t true. He’d had them, at least when I’d seen him die. They were just gone by the time the cops arrived.

“Alls I know is, Adrian’s blood healed you. His own wrist healed in mere moments. You saw, right? Well, they can also seal smaller wounds with their saliva. Small wounds . . . like punctures to the main artery in the neck.”

“How can you be sure? It could have been—” Been what? A human? Me? I’d been there, and I hadn’t seen him killed by any Cruor. I hadn’t seen what killed him, or who. I’d just seen him alive one second and dead the next.

“Can’t say for sure.” She smoothed long strands of hair away from my face. The brush scraped through my shirt and snagged on my bra strap. I winced, and Ivory eased up. “But isn’t it strange?”

I guess she hadn’t heard I’d been there when it happened. I’d never talked to her about it. Heck, she didn’t even know about how my mom died. Ivory was a private person, and maybe that was why she never asked many questions.

Across the room, a beaded lamp with fringe the color of paprika dimmed. One of the tassels swayed, as though a breeze had passed through. Pinpricks of cold spotted up my arm and neck, but when I blinked again, the tassel had stilled. I forced myself back to conversation, making an effort to keep my tone light.

I couldn’t talk about Mr. Petrenko anymore, but silence would make my discomfort too obvious. Thankfully I wasn’t lacking in the things-to-say department.

“Does Charles always stalk people?” I asked.

“Charles? Stalk people?” Ivory let out a bark of laughter. She combed her fingers through my hair a few times, springing my curls back to life. “Why would you even ask?”

“I saw him outside my window one night. Then again at the woods.”

“I found you by the woods, too. Do you think I’m stalking you?”

Okay, so I was a paranoid, self-absorbed idiot. But I was also cautious.

“Ivory, do you believe one person’s life can be closely tied to another’s?”

“I do.” She stopped brushing, and I turned to face her. She was frowning. “This about Charles?”

“I’m not sure. But for a stranger, he’s been popping up in my life a lot. And at the strangest times.”

“You like him?”

“After last night . . . ” I shrugged, trying to hide the hurt that confusion and uncertainty were pressing into my chest. “I still don’t know why he left me. I could have gone with him to get help.”

Ivory sighed, shifting her gaze out the window. “You’ll have to ask him, then.”

I turned around, and Ivory resumed brushing in silence. We shared a secret now. If the Cruor trusted her with their secrets, then I could trust her with mine. I could tell her about the voices.

“About the whole Cruor-thing.” My hands were shaking, but I held them tight in my lap, doing little more than causing my shoulders to tremble instead.

“I said I’m sorry. You need to understand why I didn’t tell you. And don’t just say you do, because you need to keep it a secret for the same reasons.”

“I do understand. There’s something I’ve been keeping from you, too.”

“There . . . is?” She nearly stumbled over the two words, her voice smaller than usual.

The Cruor’s existence defied explanation, just like my curse. Ivory might be the only one who would understand. The only one who might accept me even knowing about the voices. “Remember the positive energy ritual I told you about? A few weeks back?”

She nodded.

“Well, ever since, I’ve been hearing these voices—”

The hairbrush paused. Ivory’s voice came out clipped and quiet. “What kind of voices?”

I shouldn’t have said anything. Obviously feeding on blood was fine. Seeing auras was acceptable. But no matter what ‘world’ you lived in, hearing voices meant you were crazy.

“Nothing,” I said, closing my eyes against the hurt. “Anyway, they’re gone now. Probably just stress or something.”

“Maybe.” She dropped the brush on the bed. “We should get you home.”



ON THE RIDE HOME, we passed yards of grass covered in frost. A finger unable to move less than three hours ago flicked the car lock back and forth with ease. How powerful was Cruor blood? Could it cure cancer?

“Will you be there for Samhain?” I asked, blurting the first thing that came to mind. Blurting anything, really, that might break the silence between us. Though the Sabbat was still nearly two months away, it was present in my mind as the best chance to speak directly with my ancestor’s spirit. I hadn’t given up on that, even if the voices were on vacation.

“Sure.” Ivory’s eyes didn’t break from the road.

“Ivory—”

“I said I will. Okay?” She pulled in front of my house. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, eyes straight ahead.

With Ivory not bothering to look at me, I felt as though she’d already driven away. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“What’s the point?”

“Ivory, it’s not like you weren’t keeping something from me, too.”

Her eyes watered, and her jaw tensed. “I knew someone who heard voices.” Her face swung toward me, her expression full of a hate and anger I couldn’t place and couldn’t bring myself to ask her about. The raw emotion made me flinch.

“I—I’m sorry.” I swallowed, but my mouth and throat only became drier. “Are they okay now?”

“They’re dead. So what do you think?”

I didn’t know what else to say. “I guess I’d . . . better get going. See you soon?”

“Yeah, see you.”

As soon as I stepped out of her car, she tore off down the road. I was an idiot. No matter how close I was to anyone, no matter what secrets they shared with me, I’d be foolish to think they’d accept my problems.

My breath formed clouds in the air. It’d gotten cold so fast. Too cold for mid-September. This would be one of Colorado’s early winters. And, with the way things were going, one of the loneliest.

Pushing my emotions away, I faced my house. Another flash of Adrian’s life played before my eyes: a dual grave arrangement. The image cut off before revealing the names on the headstones. Something in my head popped, and a pressure on my mind released.

Please let that be the end of that.

As I opened the front door and hung my coat in the closet, Red chirped, bringing a smile to my face but somehow making me sadder at the same time. I headed to the kitchen, where my yellow, pink, and purple lupines wilted in their vase on the windowsill from too much sun and not enough water.  It felt like weeks had passed since I’d been home, but it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours.

“I haven’t forgotten you,” I said to my little cardinal. “You need fresh water.”

After refilling Red’s tray, I headed to my bedroom. All the thoughts and feelings I’d been avoiding charged at me. How many people knew about the Cruor? How many people had died at their hands?

I plopped down on my bed and stared at the ceiling. Dust piled like dark clouds on the blades of the motionless fan above, but instead of grabbing some cleaner and a rag, I just stared, wondering at the intensity of the stale odor the dust created in my room.

Being Wiccan, I believed in the energy of the earth, of the gods and goddesses . . . but vampire-like creatures? It wasn’t as though being Wiccan was synonymous with believing in things such as UFOs or thinking Elvis was still alive. Having faith in one thing didn’t mean I had to have faith in everything.

Yet, what choice did I have? Today I’d learned vampires were real. There was no erasing that—no ignoring what Adrian had proven to me only hours earlier.

With a sudden burst of energy, I darted across my room to grab my Book of Shadows. I gripped it tightly, staring at the brown leather and the black, scripted letters and the pentacle’s imprint on the front cover. I flipped through to a blank page, took my black ink pen, and, trying to stop my hands from shaking, transcribed all I’d learned onto the parchment.

Cruor: Also known as ‘Earth elementals’. Vampire-like creatures sent by the ‘Universe’ to protect humans. Something went wrong. They live by feeding on human blood and have mind-control powers. Their blood heals injury and disease. Can be killed by staking, decapitation, or exposure to sunlight.

Influence: What Cruor call their mind-control powers.

The Maltorim: The elemental council.

I shut my book, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. Great. I knew more about their world than most people, but still had no answers about my ancestor.

Though the noise was gone from my mind, the empty space where it’d once been thrummed against my skull. I couldn’t give up on my ancestor. I would have to look into the book’s previous owners of the book Paloma gifted me. I’d run a search on the address after sleeping away the sickness roiling in my stomach over everything I’d learned.

When I finally drifted to sleep, the nightmares returned: Elizabeth’s court document tumbling in a cold breeze through the dirt roads of a Puritan settlement. A noose cutting into her neck. My ancestor kicking her legs and digging her nails against the rope, looking around for someone—anyone—but the town was quiet. Then people started gathering, shuffling with empty eyes and sluggish steps.

They’d come to watch her die.

They smiled, and moonlight glinted off their fangs.

Elizabeth’s thoughts whispered on the breeze: Don’t tell a soul, Sophia. Don’t tell anyone of our curse.

But the warning had come too late.

{nine}

I AWOKE to dawn’s russet sky—a shepherd’s warning, some said.

I shook away the eerie fog of sleep by refreshing myself with a dose of reality: people’s hands were bound during hanging. My nightmare wasn’t real, or even reasonable for that matter.

Yesterday, though, was not just a bad dream.

Green electric numbers glared at me from the alarm clock on my dresser: 6:17 am. I glared back. I’d slept straight through the day and night.

Once out of bed, I stared into my open closet. Dress pants or jeans? Jack wouldn’t care if I wore jeans to work. Some of the girls never wore uniform pants.

Since when did I care?

I settled for a boho casual look: an earthy brown, cream, and green-toned mandala print top with small touches of peacock-blue and a gathered keyhole neckline. I’d never worn it before. Not wanting to hunt down the scissors, I took the tags off with my teeth. I paired the shirt with medium-wash blue jeans tucked into my Eskimo boots.

The full-length mirror mounted to the back of my bedroom door revealed no visible traces of the attack. I grabbed a hair tie off the doorknob. With the elastic in my mouth and my hands pulling my hair back, I changed my mind. Maybe I should leave my hair down. For me. Not at all because I was hoping to run into anyone. Especially not Charles.

I bustled into the kitchen and made myself a quick breakfast of toast and orange marmalade with a glass of milk.

Red chirped from the corner of the kitchen. After I changed his food and water, I slung my workbag over my shoulder and started out the door for Jack’s, but when I spotted the note taped to the inside of my front door, I froze, hand hesitating on the doorknob.

My gaze dropped to the signature first. The note was signed, Yours Truly, Marcus.

Heart slamming against my chest, my eyes shot up to the words above.

So lovely to meet you, Sophia. Such a shame about your parents, your father especially. Do not let curiosity blind you as it did him. I do hope our paths cross again one day soon.

I yanked the note from the door, shredded it with my hands, and threw it in the trash. My heart pounded in my ears as I ran, shaking, to my Jeep. What the hell was that creep doing in my house? How did he know where I lived? How did he know about my dad, or perhaps more importantly what did he know about him?

What if he’d done something to me while I’d been sleeping? I swallowed, then pressed my hands against my neck and slid them over my arms. I’d feel different. I’d know, somehow. I would have to know.

I needed a way to protect myself. Ivory’s suggestions were useless if the Cruor could break into my home without my knowing. I sped to the diner, flipping open my cell as I drove.

Come on, Ivory . . . pick up. Come on, come on.

After two rings, the call shot over to voice mail. Great. She wasn’t taking my calls. I hung up, my hands still shaking. I considered calling out of work, but I had nowhere else to go—not with these problems, not if Ivory was avoiding me. At the very least, I would surround myself with people until I could get in touch with someone who might help.



MAIN STREET was one of the few streets in my town with parking slots in front of the shops. I usually sat in my Jeep for a few minutes before going into work, staring at the bold lettering of Jack’s light-up sign. At night, the sign read, ‘Jak’s Dine’, thanks to the dead bulbs Jack never replaced. Today I would tell Jack I couldn’t work night shift for a while. He wouldn’t mind. He almost never put me on the night shift anyway.

When I arrived, Charles was parked nearby, leaning against a blue Toyota Prius. Earth-friendly, at least. I’d give him that. His eyes seemed more alert today, his dark tousled hair slightly less erratic. The sun and shadows on his face sharpened the lines of his jaw and nose, and his heather-grey, short-sleeve shirt revealed the contours of the muscles in his arms.

Flutters started in my stomach, and a strange sensation rushed into my lungs. I shouldn’t be happy to see him. I certainly wasn’t surprised. Just nervous, in that breathless, pulse-drumming kind of way. The kind of way that probably indicated something other than a dash of hope he might help me deal with Marcus.

I raised my chin and straightened my shoulders, as if that alone would make me seem confident. I needed to push this attraction away. Far, far away. The last thing I needed was another person to hide my secrets from, especially someone who had abandoned me when I was in danger. I needed to focus solely on getting some helpful information.

I hopped out of my Jeep and locked the doors. Turning toward the restaurant, I found Charles standing only a breath away, his scent of vanilla, musk, and sandalwood immediately hitting me at my core. My heart thrummed. I stepped back, hoping to put more distance between us, but my back was met swiftly with my car door. He exhaled, warm air caressing my cheek and sending shivers over my body.

“Could you . . . give me a minute?” Or at least some space. I stepped around him before turning back to face him again—this time with my back to the diner, so I couldn’t get trapped. “Aren’t you cold?”

“No.”

Huh. “So . . . you came to my work . . . .”

“You said I’d find you here, remember?”

“Yep. I’m here. This is where I work, so I come here sometimes. For work.” Shut up, Sophia.

He tossed a half-sneer toward my Jeep. “That thing yours?”

“Is that a problem?”

“I’m sure the ozone is none-too-thrilled.” He scrutinized me, and his lips softened into a secretive smile. “You’re all dressed up. Special occasion?”

“None that I know of.” I would never achieve a normal heart rate in his company. Surely he wasn’t implying I’d gotten dressed up for his benefit, even if it were true.

He lifted his finger to my lips, and heat rushed to my cheeks.

What the hell was he doing?

His eyes searched mine, his gaze so unrelenting I had to remind myself to breathe. The heat spread to my ears, my insides trembled, and the fresh pull of oxygen did nothing to cure the lightheaded feeling. I hoped none of this was visible, as I could think of only one thing worse than being attracted to Charles, and that was him knowing it.

As he grazed my lip with his finger, a minty scent filled the air between us, and his thoughtful expression turned into a chuckle.

“Toothpaste,” he said.

Mortifying.

At least now I wouldn’t walk around all day with toothpaste crusted to my face. Though that might have been better than him mentioning it. Not that I cared what he thought, because I was definitely telling myself I didn’t.

I started to walk away, but his voice stopped me.

“I didn’t wish to come here.”

I spun toward him, hands clenched. “Of course not.”

“I mean no offense,” he said, in the same way everyone did before saying something offensive. “I’m certain you’re a very nice girl, but I’ve come only to give the explanation I promised. I am a man of my word.”

A very nice girl. “What makes you think—”

“Don’t bother,” he said, giving me a cutting look. “I can offer you nothing more than this. If you’re not interested, that is fine. Perhaps even better for us both.”

“I’m interested,” I said. “But now’s not a good time.”

He looked to the sky and squinted, the sun highlighting his bright eyes and dark lashes, then his gaze dropped to mine. “You’ve experienced something most people never will.”

“Lucky me.”

He grinned. “Did you just roll your eyes?”

“Did I?” Heat gathered in my cheeks.

A light breeze lifted the gentle curls that nearly tumbled into his eyes. Damn him for looking good.

“You appear to have recovered well from last night’s events,” he said.

As if I needed the reminder. “Look, I have a lot on my mind. Marcus was in my house last night and—”

Charles stepped forward suddenly, and I leaned away from his advance.

“Marcus was in your house?” he asked. All his carelessness fell away in that moment, and, in its place, I simply saw a man. A very concerned man. “Did he—did anything happen?”

“He left a note. Said he hopes we meet again, or something.”

Charles’ shoulders visibly relaxed. “He wants you on your terms. Perhaps he had nothing to do with Cody coming after you. Do you have to work today?”

“Yes.” I didn’t really, but I desperately needed to be busy. Needed something to ground me in my own world, however crappy my world might have been. Plus there was that whole bill collectors wanting to get paid thing.

“Well, he won’t come here. We’ll figure something out before nightfall.”

“So now you want to help me? I thought you just wanted to give me some answers and be done with me.”

Charles’ jaw tensed. “Is that what you’d prefer?”

“No, but—”

“I don’t wish to be ‘done with you’.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Back to Marcus,” I said, my words jolting the tender look from his eyes. “Would he send someone else? Since apparently humans like to help these people out?”

“If he’d wanted, he would have taken you last night.”

“Comforting.”

Charles scowled. “Regardless, most humans don’t help in that way,” he said, slipping back into his know-it-all tone. “He wouldn’t hire a human to do something he could take care of himself.”

“I’m not something to be ‘taken care of’,” I said sharply.

With a low chuckle, he stepped closer. “That’s debatable,” he said. “Try to stay in one piece until I return. I’ll meet you for coffee after your shift.”

Attempting not to sound enthused, I offered a non-committal, “Okay.”

“What time?” he asked.

“Shift’s over at four.”

“Perfect.” He smiled. “It’s a date.”

“It’s not a date,” I said. “It’s coffee.”

I turned and headed into the diner. Coffee. And, more importantly, answers.

Not a date.



THE BREAKFAST CROWD THINNED. This would be the only lull in my day—my one chance to catch a breather and spend some time by myself. My eleven AM ‘lunch’ break.

As I started for the backroom computer to see if anything came up on the Internet for that Basker Street address, a voice called across the diner.

“Hey! Sophia!” I’d recognize that voice anywhere. Lauren. Exactly what I needed right now: a human exclamation point.

I turned around. She was sitting at table six, one of her Japanese street wear magazines open in front of her. She’d started reading those when she began studying Japanese, hoping one day she would know enough to fly across the Pacific and confront the relatives that had shunned her as a child.

I hadn’t seen her in forever. So long, in fact, that her black hair had grown from a short pixie cut to fall in layers of satin around her shoulders. Hot pink headphones draped over her neck, flattening her silky strands. California hadn’t changed her olive complexion, and she apparently still had an affinity for mascara and lip-gloss.

At any other time, seeing her would have lightened my mood, but right now, her timing sucked. Just last night, I’d officially been shoved from one world into the next. A world she was not a part of.

I headed over to the booth, and she wrapped me in a tight hug, holding a Styrofoam cup behind my back. She pushed back to hold me at arm’s length. “I cannot believe you didn’t call me when I got to town!”

“Are you kidding? I’ve called four times and left a message last week.” I sat, and Lauren reseated herself across from me.

“You could’ve stopped by,” she said. “You made time for Ivory, which I expect you to tell me all about.” Her bottom lip, full and creased down the middle, stuck out in a fake pout. “Who was that cute guy you were talking to this morning?”

Inwardly, I groaned, but for Lauren’s sake, I let out some uneasy laughter. “You saw him?”

“On my way to pay the water bill.” She sipped her soda directly from the cup, the tip of the straw already chewed shut. “So, is he as gorgeous up close as he is from across the street?”

“I didn’t see him from across the street, so it’s impossible to compare.”

“You know, it wouldn’t be the end of the world to say you saw a cute guy.”

I tried to look super busy with the napkin holder. “I sort of know him.”

“What? How?” She set down her drink and gave me her best ‘serious’ look. “What kind of sort of knowing are we talking about here?”

“Not that kind.” I might have rolled my eyes, since I apparently did that sometimes. “We met at the club, through Ivory.”

“I knew I should have tagged along! Ivory said you were going, but I don’t like to stick my chin where it isn’t welcome.”

I managed a smile. “Stick your nose.”

“That’s what they say. So, is that what this is all about?” she asked, reaching out and touching my curls. “I almost didn’t recognize you with your hair down.” Her chocolate brown eyes shifted from one side of my face to the other, and she held up her hand before I could reply. “It is, isn’t it? It’s this mystery guy you’re dying to tell me about. Oh my God! That’s why you’ve been MIA!”

“Charles is not why I’ve been ‘MIA’.”

“Charles?” Lauren asked. “Now there’s a sexy name! Well, out with it. You have to give me the spoon!”

The scoop. I slipped around to the other side of the booth. “Let me get my lunch first.”

I hated keeping secrets from Lauren, but I didn’t have much choice.

Jack swooped by the table with Lauren’s previously-ordered salad. He stood at the end of the table, pencil tucked behind one ear. I never understood why he carried a pencil around, since he never wrote down anyone’s orders. “You ordering, Sophia?”

“I’ll get it,” I said. The diner was short-staffed enough, with Jack having to tend the tables while I took my lunch.

“Do I need to redefine ‘break’ for you?” Jack winked.

Not being hungry, I opted for a strawberry milkshake and thanked him before he hurried back to the kitchen.

Lauren leaned closer. “Sooo? Are you going to spill the rice about your big, mysterious night out?”

“I hate to disappoint you, but there isn’t much to tell.” Other than that whole ‘almost killed by a Cruor’ thing.

“Well, which club did you go to?” Lauren kept her eyes on me as Jack breezed by the table, dropping off my milkshake.

I smiled my thanks to him and returned my attention to Lauren. “Which club?” I repeated. I cleared my throat. “Oh, some club in Denver. Hush, or something.”

“Hush?” she asked, shaking pepper onto her salad. “I can’t believe you went to Hush.”

“Well, believe it, because I did.”

Actually, I’d never been to Hush. I felt terrible about all this lying I’d been doing lately. I couldn’t even blame my parents, because Mother had never lied on purpose.

Delusions don’t count.

Growing up, Mother always encouraged me to tell the truth. The truth will set you free, she said, and she’d reinforced the idea by letting me off the hook for anything I did wrong, so long as I was honest about it.

But I still grew up to be a liar, even if I hated doing it. Whenever possible, I opted for evasion instead.

“You okay?” Lauren asked, concern-lines creasing her brow. “You look a little green.”

I was starting to feel a little green. “I’m fine.”

“So, this guy—er, Charles? You met him there?” As she spoke, she waved her fork around dangerously. “He doesn’t look like the type that frequents Hush.”

“Yep, he was there, I was there . . . we were both there.”

“And?” Lauren crunched on a piece of iceberg lettuce and smiled. “Give me the details.”

“We chatted for a bit, then I went back to Ivory’s house.”

“That’s no fun.” She impaled a cherry tomato. The salad was under attack. Or maybe I felt under attack from Lauren’s barrage of questions. “When are you going to see him again?”

“Honestly, Lauren—it’s nothing. We’re just meeting for coffee. We aren’t even friends.”

“Then why are you two meeting for coffee?” she teased. “I should go with you. Make sure things don’t get too serious.”

Pins and needles tingled my fingers. I’d been gripping my milkshake the entire time without realizing, numbing my hand with pressure and cold. I sipped my drink and pushed the glass away—far away, to the land of ketchup and mustard bottles.

“I’ll manage. Jack will still be around. I’ll call you afterward.”

Lauren must have sensed my discomfort, because she immediately dropped the subject and began talking about henna hair dye and organic nail polish.

I was glad for a friend who knew me well, but there was still something about me that neither of us knew:

I was a horrible judge of character.

{ten}

WITH SOME TIME LEFT before I planned to meet Charles, I ran a search for Basker Street on the break room computer—one of Jack’s few modern-day indulgences.

Nothing at all.

Not one street by that name anywhere in the world. Not even some place in Indonesia or France or anything. Growling, I closed my search and stuffed my red work shirt and apron into my workbag, showing off the mandala print top I wore underneath.

When I returned to the main dining area, I spotted Charles seated in booth seven. The only other customers were paying their checks at the register.

Finally. Time for answers.

Charles stood and swept his arm toward the table. “Please, sit.”

I obliged, cramming my bag and coat into the corner of the seat.

He slid back into the booth. “Ivory said she told you everything.”

Good—right to the point. “She didn’t say why you left me, but she told me more than enough.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“I’m trying not to think about it,” I said. “Why didn’t you say you knew her?”

“I wasn’t concerned with her while dancing with you.” His gaze lifted, grazing over my body to settle on my face, and my stomach fluttered in response. He grinned. “You’re blushing.”

Thanks for pointing that out.

I picked a menu from behind the napkin holder and pretended to read, trying to ignore the increased warmth in my cheeks. “Hungry?”

“Sorry,” he said, looking down to his own menu. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you. I thought if you were aware, you could stop.”

“Stop blushing?”

“Stop thinking about me that way.”

That was a bit straightforward. It wasn’t like I wanted to be attracted to him. “Did you already order?”

“I was waiting for you.” He turned to the hot beverages and side dish selections. “If I’m wrong, please, tell me otherwise.”

So much for changing the subject. “I recall the attraction was mutual,” I said with all the confidence I could muster. Which wasn’t much.

He smirked, lifting his eyes to mine, and a shiver trembled down my spine, straight through to my toes. “That is not why I’m here,” he said. “I’m here to ensure you receive whatever answers you need to get on with your life.”

One of the new waitresses, Tina, walked up. She was dark-haired and all hips with a flat tummy. Everyone at the diner—customers and employees alike—loved her. She served two tall glasses of iced water with two straws. “Know what you want?”

She wasn’t really asking us. Just him. Charles nodded toward me. “Ladies, first.”

Tina’s shoulders sagged as she turned to face me. “Well?”

Unable to think, I ordered coffee, then I started folding the straw for my water into a tiny plastic accordion—anything to get her questioning gaze off me. I know! I don’t drink coffee! Everyone who worked at the diner for more than five minutes knew that. I was starting to think Jack had made it part of the training. Over here, you’ll find the silverware. And, if you look to the left, you’ll see Sophia. She doesn’t drink coffee.

“I thought you don’t—” she began.

“Coffee,” I said firmly, glaring at her. No wonder people in town thought I was crazy.

With a shake of her head, she turned to Charles, who ordered his coffee in a tone of voice much lighter than the one he used with me.

When Tina was out of earshot, I lifted my gaze to Charles.

“About the other night . . . ”

Charles plunked his straw into his water. “The less I tell you, the better.”

Better for who? “You left me.”

He placed one of his hands over both of mine. I’m sure he meant it to be calming, like trying to relax a child on the verge of a tantrum, but instead his touch sent tingles up my arms.

“I didn’t leave,” he said.

Tina returned, and Charles released my hands. She poured two fresh cups of coffee and set a dish of creamers between us. I tapped my foot under the table. Hurry up!

“Let me know if you need anything else.” She waited expectantly, staring at Charles, who busied himself stirring his coffee.

“That’s all,” I said. “Thanks.”

She continued staring at Charles, smiling. “Are you sure?”

He looked up. “We’re fine, thank you.”

She frowned and headed back to the kitchen.

At least I wasn’t the only one hopelessly attracted to him.

Charles cleared his throat. “Sophia,” he whispered. “Stop staring at that poor girl.”

“Tina?” How was she a ‘poor girl’?

“Why are you staring at her?”

“I wasn’t. She was staring at you.” I immediately regretted my catty remark.

Teal eyes, dark beneath the shadow of his tangled eyelashes, centered on me. A smile crept onto his face. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m not. I just . . . noticed.”

“She doesn’t hold a candle to you, if that makes you feel better.”

I was so not talking to him about this. “This isn’t why we’re here.”

“Of course it isn’t.” Something in his tone suggested he was mocking me.

He wrapped his hands around the ceramic mug and rubbed his thumb across its smooth surface. My gaze drifted to his forearm, to the way his muscles flexed each time he moved, but I forced my attention back to his face.

I needed to stay focused. “You were going to tell me about why you abandoned me in the woods.”

“I didn’t,” he said. “I changed.”

“You changed?” I lowered my voice to a harsh whisper. “What? Your clothes? That’s your excuse? You better be joking.”

“I’m an elemental.” He spoke quietly enough. Even if anyone else had been in the diner, they wouldn’t have heard.

Or had a clue what he was talking about.

I blinked and pulled back. “You’re one of the Cruor?”

“I didn’t say that,” he snapped, but then his expression softened. “I’m a water elemental. Some refer to us as the Strigoi.”

Earth elementals, water elementals . . . there had to be others, but the more I learned, the more I thought I’d be better off not knowing. I recalled the mythology books I’d read in high school, but I didn’t remember them referring to the Strigoi as elementals.

“You turn into an owl and prey on infants?” I asked. “Their internal organs or whatever?”

Same thing, right?

“Sometimes we turn into owls, though it’s the Stryx who transform into owls exclusively,” he said. “Unfortunately, the Strigoi have somehow been tied in with the Stryx legends.”

“So you prey on infants or not?”

“No. Not infants.”

“Then what?”

“Animals.”

“Infant animals?”

His gaze hardened. “Is this what you want to know?”

No. I wanted to know what happened to my ancestor and how to cure the whispering curse. Instead, I’d been thrown into a world of elementals.

I added several creamers to my mug until the coffee thinned and clouded. I swirled my spoon in the mug. Click. Clank. Swirl. Click. Clank. Swirl. I’m not sitting in this booth I’ve wiped a hundred times, listening to a strange man tell me he can morph into an animal.

I found my voice. “What else?”

Charles leaned back and gave the edge of the table a tap of his fingers. “What do you mean . . . what else?”

“I mean, what else exists? Santa Claus, the Easter bunny?”

He smiled from behind his mug and took another sip. “You’re taking this better than I expected.”

“I get that a lot. My ‘time to panic’ meter has always been out of whack.” I stared into his eyes, but his gaze never wavered. “This doesn’t explain why you left.”

“I thought I could return in time, but when I got back, you were gone.” He looked out the diner window and frowned. “You’ve asked enough questions now. It’s not safe to know these things.”

“It’s not safe for me to not know, either,” I said. The last moments of the attack whisked through my mind. “The . . . eagle?”

“If I had chased him off in time, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

“But a bird?”

“In our animal form, our attacks are more potent to their kind.”

“So what took so long?” I asked.

“Shifting can take a while. Then I had to find you again.” His jaw tightened. “You didn’t stay where I left you.”

“Forgive me for wanting to stay alive.”

He nodded solemnly. “Everything happened quite quickly.”

As my trembling hand stirred my coffee, I stared at the milky swirls. “I don’t know what to say.”

My logical mind didn’t want to accept the revelation, but I would worry about making sense of everything later. Charles took the final sip of his coffee, then he reached across the table to still my hand. The clanking stopped. I lifted my gaze to meet his, and my nerves settled.

“I’m not going to say anything,” I promised. Not that anyone would believe me anyway.

“I wouldn’t have told you if I thought you would.”

“So you trust me?” I asked. “Why? I don’t trust you.” I bit my lip, immediately regretting my blurted sentiments.

His grin slipped, and he shook his head. “You’re a good person. You deserved to know.”

“You don’t know what kind of person I am.” Why was I arguing? It’s not like I wanted to convince him I was horrible.

“Sophia,” he said, leveling his gaze at me. “This is part of who I am. As a Strigoi, I can read auras. You will not leave me quickly fooled.”

“I don’t have an aura, re-mem-ber?”

Charles raised his eyebrows at my immature over-enunciation. “All elementals have their gifts,” he said. “The Strigoi’s ability to read auras was intended to detect and hunt the corrupt Cruor. It’s said those who don’t have an aura come from a pure soul.”

Seriously? I was a liar and a thief. How was that ‘pure’? “If that’s the case, then why did you think I was following you?”

“You could have been under Marcus’ influence. Or starting down a bad path. I gave you the benefit of the doubt.”

“So your kind hunts the corrupt Cruor. Does this mean you can get rid of Marcus?”

“We’re intended to hunt them. We’re not mindless robots. We haven’t all become hunters.”

“Can you get rid of him or not?”

“I understand your concerns, but no, I cannot ‘get rid of him’. While it was inexcusable for him to break into your house, I have no authority to intervene. As it stands, the Cruor can’t afford to draw any attention to themselves with menial tampering in humans’ lives, and if I went after him, it would only make things worse for us both.”

“I can’t risk it,” I said. “I need to do something. What can I do?”

“I suppose you will stay with me.” He sighed wearily.

Gee, don’t sound too enthused.

“I have a spare room,” he continued, “and my location is safe. I would be right down the hall if you needed me.”

“I can’t,” I said, partly because I barely knew him and partly because he obviously didn’t want me to stay with him. “Are there any other options?”

His sharp gaze cut through me. “It wasn’t a suggestion, Sophia. Unless you wish to further expose yourself to the unsavory of my kind, you will stay with me.”

The idea crashed into me. My come-what-may attitude was being tested, but I refused to let Charles witness any weakness in me. “I can take care of myself.”

“I will escort you to my home and gather your things,” he said. “Now, why don’t we get out of here? You’ve been here all day.”

Just like that? He wanted to move on with the afternoon, as though he hadn’t just tried to make my decisions for me? As though my whole world hadn’t changed over the course of our conversation?

Things had changed. Like a flash flood in the canyons. It started as a thunderstorm, but the water rushed down from the high plains, quickly turning a three-foot creek into rampaging water. That was where I stood now. Right in the path of the oncoming torrent.

“By all means, don’t make haste for my benefit,” he said.

Fresh air would be better than dwelling on supernatural creatures. “Sure. Let’s go.”

While I slipped into my coat, Charles paid our bill. I left a couple dollars under my mug before meeting him over by the door. He placed his hand at the small of my back as he held the door open and ushered me outside, and my whole body warmed at his touch. The mixed signals—his as well as my own—were driving me crazy.

As soon as we were outside, his hand dropped away, and he rubbed his hands together against the cold afternoon air. Cars whooshed past, and, in an alley across the street, a garbage truck hoisted a dumpster.

We walked down a side street. Wind slapped my cheeks with scents of rusted metal and Cantonese takeout. Snow crunched beneath our feet, and the late September sunlight reflected so bright off the white sheet it made the day appear warmer than it was.

I glanced down the road, to the forest obstructing the mountains on the horizon.

“What were you doing in the Belle Meadow woods that night?” I asked.

“A couple of weeks ago?”

“Was there some other night?”

He focused on the middle distance as we walked. “I’m there a lot of nights. Hunting.”

I dug my hands into my coat pockets. “Hunting?”

“You saw when you were leaving.”

I shuddered, thinking of the lifeless animals strewn across the forest path. I slowed my steps. “You need blood? Like the Cruor?”

“Cruor can never eat human food. While the Strigoi can, we still need blood to survive.”

My hands, hidden inside my coat pockets, trembled. Outwardly, I maintained my calm. “Gross.”

“Without blood, we can’t read auras to tell good from evil.” He reached over and grazed the scar I’d gotten the night I found the animals in the woods.

“It’s a necessity,” he said, dropping his hand away again.

Something about the way his fingertips grazed my wrist sent a pulsing heat through my body, and before I realized what I’d done, I’d slipped my hand from my pocket. Part of me feared getting involved with him on any level, but another part of me craved the connection.

The back of my wrist brushed his, and he gently grasped my hand. We walked in silence for a moment, his hand loosely wrapped around mine. I could feel my hand slowly slipping away, and, when it did, he made no effort to take it again.

Tentatively, I grazed his knuckle with my pinky, and he smirked as he slipped his hand around mine once more.

“Don’t get attached.” He whispered the words so quietly, I didn’t know if the words were meant for me or for himself.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, his voice more rigid than usual. “I just don’t want you to expect anything from me.”

Wow. Talk about blunt. I took my hand back. More than anything, I wanted to disappear. I told myself his words had only hurt my pride, but it was more than that.

“I don’t expect anything from you,” I said defensively.

“Good.”

I wasn’t sure why I cared, but I did. Why did he keep leading me on if he didn’t want anything to do with me? “I better get going.”

“We can go to my place now if you like. Perhaps you need some rest.”

I glowered at him. “I don’t need any rest, and I don’t need your help.”

Observing me like one might observe the clouds to determine if it might rain, he let out a sigh. “I hurt your feelings.”

“No,” I lied.

He frowned. “Hurting your feelings is exactly what I’m trying not to do.”

Sure had me fooled. I shrugged one shoulder.

His eyes searched mine. “You can’t trust your feelings right now. There’s still a lot you don’t know, about me or my world.”

“So tell me.”

“Look,” he said gently, “I will make sure you’re safe, but I can offer no more. I can’t risk telling you everything.”

“Forget it,” I said, starting to walk away. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

He stepped behind me and closed his hands firmly over my hips. I froze, and his voice deepened to a low vibration in my ear. “Stop being childish, Sophia. There is no room for that in your life any longer.”

My breath caught in my chest.

“Do not ask me any more questions about my world. I am not your enemy. We will leave for my home now.”

“I don’t need your help,” I said again, fiercely angry now.

Who was he to tell me what to do, let alone demand I obey his every word? I threw his hands from my hips and stormed off, too infuriated to accept whatever protection he might be able to offer.



IVORY HAD ALREADY TOLD ME what I needed to do if I encountered a Cruor. Staking, decapitation, and burning. I picked up everything I could need at the local hardware store and hurried home before darkness settled over Belle Meadow.

But once night fell, I sat up in bed with my knees tucked to my chest, too on edge to fall asleep. With all my worries tumbling through my mind, sleep didn’t come until long after the moon stitched itself into the sky.

{eleven}

A SOFT TAPPING jarred me awake. I held my breath. Silence. I rolled over, and the noise sounded again—louder this time. My window? I rubbed my eyes and checked the clock on my dresser.

2:17 am.

As I stretched across my bed to pull the curtain aside, the glass pane rattled from the force of another knock. I flinched, and the edge of the drapes slipped from my grasp. Probably a branch from the overgrown bushes out front. Shaking my head, I peeked again.

A shadow filled the window frame. I opened my mouth to scream, but clamped it shut when I recognized Charles. I shot out of bed and opened the casement windows.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you, too.”

“Might have been if I wasn’t sleeping.”

His gaze touched over my body then back up to my face, and my heart thundered in my chest at the idea he was seeing me this way, dressed in nothing but a white tank top and sleep shorts. My face was surely all puffy, and my long blonde curls probably resembled something of Medusa’s offspring.

I crossed my arms. “Are you spying on me?”

“You’re not so interesting that I came to watch you sleep, darlin’,” he said, leaning his hands on the windowsill. He dipped his face to meet my gaze. “I only came to check on you. Now admit it—you’re glad I’m here.”

I wasn’t about to admit anything.

“It’s two in the morning,” I said, hoping to illuminate the oddity of him standing outside my room in the pitch black of night.

Charles arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“No.”

I turned to find something to slip over my tank top, thinking I would meet him outside, but immediately spun back around. The last thing my already tattered reputation needed was my neighbors spotting a man outside my window at this hour.

“Just hurry and climb in before anyone sees you.”

He obliged, closing the windows behind him, while I grabbed my organic terrycloth robe from the hook behind my door and slipped it on.

“Most people knock on doors,” I said, turning around as I tied the belt of my robe tight around my waist.

“I tried. No one answered.”

“Because I was sleeping. You know, that thing most people do at two in the morning?”

He didn’t seem amused. He was too busy standing around with the poise of a male model, dressed in a tidy black shirt and fitted jeans that suggested no one had woken him unexpectedly.

In the dark, his strong jaw, deeply-colored teal eyes, and wide shoulders carried the same seductive heaviness as the night we’d danced at the club, and, in that moment, I craved him from my very core. Craved his hands on my hips, his body pressed to mine . . . I pushed the attraction away.

He reached up with one hand and touched my hair.

“I like it better down,” he murmured, his hand lingering on my hair, grazing where my collarbone peeked out from my robe.

He brushed my cheekbone with his fingertips to move a loose tendril of hair away from my face. His touch rivaled my better judgment, and I wasn’t entirely sure who would win out in the end. The moment was too intimate.

I stepped back. “Why should I care what you like?”

“I deserve that,” he said, the expression on his face dissolving.

I nodded, though the small movement might not have been perceptible to him. “So what is so important that couldn’t wait till tomorrow?”

“Your life.”

“Pretty melodramatic, don’t you think?”

“I apologize for being so overbearing earlier. I shouldn’t have shown my concern in that way.”

Yeah, he had been pretty damn bossy, but being concerned for another person wasn’t exactly the worst trait a person could have.

I mumbled a silent, “It’s okay.”

He frowned. “Though I will not force you to do anything you do not wish to do, I can’t stand here and do nothing.”

“Sure you can. No one made you my keeper.”

After awarding me a long scowl, he took a deep breath and gentled his voice. “Sophia, will you please come stay with me so that I may ensure your safety?”

“No.”

He ticked his head back, his irritation breaking through into his expression once more. “I really don’t wish to fight with you—”

“Then don’t.”

“I only desired to offer protection. I’ll leave you alone now, since I’m clearly not welcome here.”

At the thought of him leaving, my stomach sank, and I frowned. “No . . . ,” I said. “Please stay.”

He reached out and took my hand. “I know I’ve been . . . contrary with you.”

“Hot and cold,” I said. “Mostly cold.”

“You have to understand that I go to Club Flesh to get away from the human world. I liked you from afar, liked you safe in the world that doesn’t know about my own. I never would have approached you if things hadn’t played out as they have.”

“But they did.”

“They did,” he repeated. “And now I hope it’s all right with you if I stick around, if only to look out for you until this all blows over.”

“I don’t object,” I said quietly, even though I knew I should.

“Then you will come stay with me.”

As much as my pride screamed for me to say no again, my desire to be able to sleep without fear of who might come for me in the night was stronger. I’d be better off with Charles around, staying at a place Marcus didn’t know about and hopefully couldn’t find.

“Only until a more suitable arrangement can be made,” I finally agreed.

His gaze searched mine. I wasn’t sure what he expected to find in my expression, but I was content to stand there with him, despite the rattling of my heart and the flip-flopping in my stomach.

My gaze slid down, taking him in, contemplating how he might look without a shirt on. Definitely there would be stomach muscles involved.

“You all right, Sophia?” he asked.

I shot my gaze back to his. “Of course. What were you saying?”

He leaned closer and whispered, “Nothing,” his gaze now trailing the length of my body.

Charles cleared his throat and traced his finger over the edge of my altar behind him. “You don’t look Wiccan,” he said.

I tried not to smile. Charles wasn’t the first person to say that. For some reason, people thought Wiccans had to be ‘Goth’ or ‘Emo’ or something. Like we’re bound to some law that doesn’t allow us to have pet bunnies or paint our toenails pink or smell like something other than patchouli.

Some people believed something bad must have happened to drive us away from more acceptable religions. As though any other religion can inspire a person, can be something you feel is right, except for Paganism. Paganism, they thought, only happened out of desperation or as some sort of childhood fad.

Then there was the idea that we had nothing to identify with other than being Wiccan, as if our brain was on a constant ticker all day, wicca wicca wicca. What a shocker, we actually thought about other things, too.

So, maybe Charles touched a nerve. A little.

I raised my eyebrows. “What does a Wiccan look like?”

He shrugged. “You, I guess.” He glanced around my room. “Not much of a basketball player, then?”

“Huh?” I followed his gaze. He was staring at the corner of my room, by the door. Oh no. A pair of lacy-black, boy-short underwear lay crumpled in a ball on the floor in front of the hamper.

“You missed.”

Thinking I would be breaking some kind of unspoken rule to touch my underwear with him in the room, I shoved him into the hallway and asked him if he wanted some tea. I pulled the door shut, and before he could respond, my robe caught between the doorframe and the door, and I tripped over my feet and crashed into him, knocking him back against the wall.

He laughed.

Worse: he didn’t stop laughing. He looked down at me, his arms wrapped around me from catching my fall, his shoulders shaking from laughter. My heartbeat ratcheted up at the press of his hard stomach against my breasts.

Finally, he stopped. “You’re blushing again,” he said, his voice low in my ear.

I started to pull back, but he gathered me closer, pressed his face to my hair, and breathed against my scalp. “You smell like honey and amber.”

“My shampoo?”

“No,” he said assuredly. “You’re missing the human smell entirely.”

This coming from the man who sometimes took the form of an animal?

The idea was just too much. I stepped away, the moment a reminder of why we couldn’t be together. This time, he didn’t pull me back.

“If you need blood, that means you’re immortal, right? Like the Cruor?”

His hands slid to either side of my shoulders, and he held me away from him. “I’ve been alive for over three centuries,” he said. “Does that bother you?”

“Not any more than anything else.” I considered him for a moment. He didn’t seem any older than me. “So you’re immortal?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what?”

Charles dropped his hands to his sides. “You are the nosiest woman I’ve ever encountered.”

“You didn’t answer,” I said pointedly, leading him down the hall to the living room.

“We can age if we stop shifting,” he said.

“Then why don’t you?”

“Me?” His voice faltered. “I stick around for my family.”

“Parents? Siblings?”

“Parents.”

“What about work?” I asked. “You can’t keep one employer for three hundred years.”

We stopped at the end of the hall, at the entrance to the living room, and Charles’ gaze panned the room.

“I have enough money without working.”

“I hate people who don’t have to work.” Crap. Did I have to say that out loud? “That doesn’t mean anything. I . . . well, I don’t mean you.”

Usually, I had no problem biting my tongue. With him, I apparently didn’t know when to shut up.

He leaned against the arm of the sofa, ankles crossed, not at all trying to hide his laughter.

“Glad you find me amusing.” I turned on the television and handed him the remote. “I didn’t catch if you wanted tea.”

“Because you fell,” he said, still chuckling.

“Want some tea or not?”

He nodded.

While the kettle brought water to a boil, I gripped the lip of the kitchen counter so hard the trim dug into my palms. What was I going to do with him? A man. In my house. In the middle of the night.

He’s just a man. A strange, ancient man—but still a man.

After I prepared some loose tea in an infuser of a small ceramic pot, I arranged a tray with sugar, cream, and two teacups. I brought out the tray and placed it on the coffee table before taking a seat beside him.

“Please, help yourself.”

He prepared his tea—three sugar cubes to my one, and no cream, like me. Not that I was keeping track.

“Is it okay?” I asked.

He took a sip, then set the tea aside. “I have a feeling you don’t like coffee.”

Somehow, my hyperactive nerves had overshadowed my distaste for the terrible stuff, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. “Maybe next time you’ll ask me out for tea.”

I shouldn’t entertain the thought of getting involved with him, but I couldn’t deny the increasing attraction between us, either. After tea, Charles helped me pack up my most important belongings. We would wait until morning to relocate.

We watched television for a bit, but I wasn’t taking in anything other than the glow and mumble of the screen and the warmth of Charles’ body. As the minutes passed, our bodies inched closer together. His arm rested around my shoulders, and I leaned slightly into him. He pressed his lips against my forehead, and I inhaled the clean scent of his skin and the fabric softener used to wash his shirt.

I was getting myself into trouble. Nothing could become of us—not if he lived forever. I would grow old. I wanted to. And immortality? How could life have meaning without death?

Charles caressed my arm with his thumb. “I was worried you’d be frightened of my nature.”

“The turning into an animal thing. I don’t find that scary. Weird, maybe. But not scary.” Not that part, anyway.

“Hey, watch it. We can be scary when we want.”

“You want me to be scared, or not?”

He laughed. “Not.”

“I don’t know,” I said, smiling. “Maybe I better be careful.”

He returned my smile with a grin. “One never can tell. I might be dangerous to your good sense.”

The eye contact lingered long enough for me to realize how comfortable I’d become. Too comfortable. Having him here felt natural. Like we were supposed to be together. I needed to shift gears and remind myself why that wasn’t true.

“Earlier today you were talking about ‘the Universe’. What’s that mean?”

“We don’t know who, or what, the Universe is. Our council communicates with them.”

Huh. So the Universe was a them.

“What’s it like?” I asked.

His eyebrows pulled lower over his eyes. “What’s what like?”

“Shifting.”

“It hurts,” he said emphatically. “Your bones grow or shrink or rearrange. Your skin stretches or snaps smaller. Every muscle explodes and every bone breaks and resets.”

“That’d be interesting to see.”

He chuckled. “I just told you how painful it is.”

“Right.” I pressed my foot nervously against the base of the coffee table. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He nudged me away and stood. “I’ll show you.”

“What?” I leaned forward, my muscles tense. Now that it wasn’t hypothetical, I wasn’t sure I wanted to see.

I shoved my teacup aside, spilling a warm splash of tea onto my pajama shorts in the process. My eyes never left him as I blotted my pants with a napkin. “Really, you don’t have to.”

He shrugged. “If I trust you enough to tell you what I am, what’s the problem in showing you? It’s nice to—” He cut himself short.

“Nice to what?”

“Trust someone,” he said softly.

There was a pause where neither of us spoke, then Charles cleared his throat and rubbed his hands, as though he were trying to wash himself of his confession.

A bead of sweat pearled at the nape of my hairline and trickled a slow path down my neck. “I didn’t expect you to show me now.”

“Won’t hurt less if I show you later.” He winked and backed away several paces.

“Wait!” I lifted my hands to stop him. “Just—never mind.”

“I’ll be okay,” he said. He took off his shirt. “Watch.”

I was watching all right. Or maybe staring. His body was firm, lean. Not too muscular—not in a way that implied he obsessed over going to the gym—but defined and strong. Equally as strong was the heat spreading from my stomach down to my thighs and up to my breasts. I sat back, holding my breath.

His body trembled. Pain etched into his face as his figure blurred. My heart thundered in my ears. I wanted to tell him to stop, but the words remained trapped. Wild vibrations coursed through him.

Then, I heard it.

Several loud pops sounded over a deep growl. He hunched over as his skin forced his body smaller. His spine protruded against a thin layer of flesh. At the sound of bones crushing, I dug my nails into the couch cushion.

His face deformed. Hair pierced through his flesh as his form shrunk. I almost gasped in horror, but bit it back, my teeth digging into my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. At any moment, the tea I’d drunk might surge from my stomach.

The end of the transformation came suddenly, leaving a pile of clothes on the living room floor. A bushy-tailed squirrel pounced out of the pants and scampered over.

This was the man I was planning to move in with?

Perched on his hind legs, he tilted his head and chittered. I cupped my hands together and lowered them to the floor. He padded into them, and my hands shook as I brought his face to mine.

Charles was in there, somewhere. His eyes had changed, too—no longer teal but an eerie shade of green, like the squirrel I’d seen in the woods and the eerie, smoky eyes I’d seen outside my window after the ritual.

“Your eyes,” I said, lost in a sense of wonder and dread. “You were the squirrel in the woods.”

He placed his tiny paws together and nodded. Surprisingly, having witnessed his change firsthand made me feel less freaked out. If I was scared of anything, it was for him, not of him—scared of the pain he had to endure with every shift. And if I cared about that, I had to admit I cared about him. Somehow, some way, he was working his way into my heart.

I released him and watched as he returned to his human form, the process seeming quicker in reverse. He stood naked before me. Hastily, I dropped my gaze, but the image might as well have been burned into my retinas.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him smirking as he redressed, but I didn’t dare allow my peripheral to take in anything more than the expression on his face. Even after he dressed, my heart thudded over the memory of him without clothes.

He sunk onto the couch beside me, his brow heavy above his eyes. “You sounded afraid.”

“Your eyes—” I shook my head. “I would swear I’ve seen them before, and not just in that squirrel.”

“Happens to all elementals at night.”

“My attacker didn’t have eyes like that,” I said.

“He wouldn’t if he was hungry. The eyes only glow when the elemental has lifeblood in their system.”

“Why a squirrel?”

“It’s one of the easier ones”—he swept loose hair from his eyes—“and it doesn’t rip my clothes.”

“That was—I mean—” I paused to gather my thoughts. “An owl outside the woods had the same strange eyes. You?”

“I had to follow you to make sure no one else had. I wasn’t the only one hunting those grounds.”

This man was not good for me. My life might not have been normal before he showed up, but at least it’d made sense.

I was shaking just thinking about what would have happened without him. Charles cradled me against him. He probably meant for it to be comforting—and, at first, it was. But when I peeked up at him, and our gazes locked, all I felt was lust. I saw the shift in his eyes, too. The shift from wanting to protect me to simply . . . wanting me.

He released me and cleared his throat. “This—Well, you and me . . . You know it’s not a good idea.”

“Then what is it you want?” I asked.

“You,” he said, his expression unreadable and his voice heavy and full of . . . full of what? Sadness? Regret? “To understand you. To know that you’re safe. To not have to avoid the only person I can be myself around.”

He swept the back of his finger down my cheek and nuzzled his nose against mine, eliciting from me a shaky breath. Maybe this was okay—giving into the physical—so long as I kept my heart out of things. So long as we didn’t commit to anything.

The urge to kiss him surged through me, but he pulled away. The missed opportunity left me a little sad, but I sighed quietly in relief.

Ancient man, Sophia. Remember that. How long can it last?

“And you?” he asked. “What do you want?”

“I can’t answer that,” I said.

I knew exactly what I wanted. It just wasn’t what I should.

When Charles excused himself to make a phone call, I added a few more notes to my Book of Shadows.

Strigoi: ‘Water elementals’, also known as Shape-shifters, sent by the ‘Universe’ to hunt evil Cruor. They feed on blood to see auras, which help them determine who to hunt. Not all Strigoi become hunters. Strigoi are only immortal if they keep shifting.

Charles wasn’t going to stop shifting.



WE SPENT THE REST of the night and early morning talking. Charles wanted to hear about my life, which meant telling him about all the people who had died and left me behind. He seemed concerned when I told him about my parents, but, more importantly, he didn’t look at me like I was some kind of freak.

I asked him about the side-effects of Cruor blood, and he said sometimes a bond would form and the human might be able to ‘sense’ the Cruor whose blood they had drank.

Those types of side-effects would fade within a couple of days, as they had with me. But I didn’t tell Charles I’d been able to do more than just ‘sense’ Adrian. My Grandpa Parsons had always told me to never offer up anything I didn’t have to. While others gave their sage wisdom of ‘the only stupid questions are the ones that go unasked,’ it was his advice that resonated more: ‘Only ask questions you can’t resolve yourself.’

Without more answers, I didn’t know which questions were safe to ask.

Charles told me about his life, too. About his early urges for blood and his struggle to temper his supernatural energy. He’d never dated a human before—had always been certain they would run the second they learned about his true nature.

Was I any different?

Our chemistry aside, a mortal woman couldn’t have a future with an immortal man, though my reservations were no match for my impulse to live in the moment or my need to learn more about his world. The supernatural perhaps offered the only explanation for my ancestor’s missing body and my family’s curse, but I couldn’t turn to Charles about those things. Not because he’d told me not to ask any more questions, but because I’d made that mistake when I’d confided in Ivory, and I wouldn’t make it again.

I’d have to find the answers I wanted on my own. The question was, how was I going to do that under his watchful eye? Moving in with him might bring me some protection, but I wasn’t sure how much that protection could outweigh the looming complications.

{twelve}

SIX WEEKS HAD PASSED since I’d moved in with Charles. Six tortuous weeks of struggling between my physical desire for him and my mental determination not to get involved. I admit to deriving some pleasure in that he didn’t seem to be having an easy time with it either.

His demeanor around me had relaxed a great deal, but there were still times the tension between us was so palpable I feared I would toss caution to the wind. But anytime I thought something was building between us, a week would go by before I would see him again. In that way, living with Charles was fairly similar to living alone.

I had to admit, his house—which was once Belle Meadow’s old library—had some advantages over my own. For one, when my house was ransacked two days after I moved out, Charles’ house was not. Secondly, a moat of daffodils surrounded his lot. But this wasn’t an advantage because of my love for landscaping—which didn’t exist. Charles explained that narcissus, while only mildly poisonous for humans and animals to ingest, was outright debilitating to Cruor even to the touch.

After Charles explained the purpose to me, I’d immediately jotted down what I’d learned in my Book of Shadows, cross-referencing the new knowledge under both Daffodil and Cruor.

Daffodil was discovered as a Cruor repellent incidentally, back when flowers were put on graves to cover the stench of death. When bodies in some graves began to go missing, it wasn’t long before humans noticed the dead buried beneath the daffodils always remained. At first, the humans believed the daffodils were warning off bad spirits. But once news broke forth of grave-robbers, humans began to think the effect had been only a coincidence. In reality, the daffodils had prevented the Cruor from rising. During that time, however, the Cruor discovered a way to turn humans, and the necessity of Cruor being earthborn came to an end.

Between this information and Charles’ declaration that I would be safe so long as I traveled in groups, especially at night, I realized I didn’t have many options. I couldn’t move in with Lauren; she would freak if I overpowered her home with daffodils because of her whole ‘floral scents give me a headache’ thing.

I wasn’t exactly stuck where I was with Charles, but I couldn’t think of better solution, and I wasn’t sure I still wanted to. Our location was safe. All I had to do was leave the house during daylight and return before nightfall. The daffodil did the rest.

I wish that would have been enough forever.



OCTOBER 31ST marked the beginning of the darker half of the year. Red’s bandage had come off the week before, and I thought he’d be ready to fly home. Wherever that was.

I took him from his cage and lowered him to the ground. “Here’s your chance. Get on with your little bird life. Just be sure to build yourself a nest and stay there at night.”

Red walked across the cold ground, stared out at the muted clearing, then hopped back to the perch in his cage.

I crouched to peek inside. “Don’t you want to be free?”

After several failed attempts, I let out a sigh and headed back to my Jeep with Red still in tow.

With the fading of daylight, the voices returned. Slowly at first, pulsing into my own thoughts in place of the thudding silence, but then more rapidly, rushing by with renewed intensity. Unintelligible. Tangled. I didn’t know if it’d be better to understand them, or if that would only make me feel crazier.

This year, Samhain would be especially important. On this sabbat, the spirits of ancestors visit their descendants—to help them and advise them—and I needed all the advice I could get. This would be my last hope of getting answers on my own.

My friends would be joining me in Charles’ backyard to perform our ritual. Well, my ritual, mostly. Lauren wasn’t Wiccan—she was only joining the ceremony to support me in my beliefs, just as I often celebrated Christian holidays with her. And Ivory said she didn’t want to do a ritual for her ancestors but would come along for my sake.

We met at dusk. I draped an orange cloth over a stone I’d chosen as an outdoor altar and perched pictures of Grandpa Dunne, Grandpa Parsons, and Dad, along with Elizabeth Parsons’ court document, in a semicircle around the altar’s pentagram. I never included my mom in these things. Even with her gone, I wanted to honor her distaste for my beliefs.

As I performed the rites, I kept my thoughts to myself, wanting the support of my friends but not wanting them to know what I needed support for. Start to finish, the ritual took nearly an hour and was entirely uneventful. Maybe the answers would come later. I stubbed out the mint, apple, and nutmeg incense sticks, then shared cakes and a bottle of sparkling wine with my friends.

Lauren suggested we spend the evening making grave-rubbings, and Ivory said she knew just the place. I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t been out after dark since I’d gone to Club Flesh with Ivory . . . not even to buy milk or bread.

After I closed the circle, I stepped aside to call Charles, who was out for the evening. “Ivory and Lauren want to go do grave-rubbings.”

“That one of your Wiccan things?”

“No,” I said, incredulous he was even asking. “Grave-rubbings. You lay a piece of paper on the grave, then rub it lightly with lumberman’s chalk. It gives an ‘imprint’ of the grave. Didn’t you ever do coin-rubbings in school? It’s like that.”

“I didn’t go to school,” he said, “but it sounds fun.”

“It does?” I walked farther from my friends, lowering my voice. “I mean at night. They want to go now.”

“You won’t have to worry at the cemetery. Cruor don’t go there. Besides, you should be fine in a group.”

An icy breeze crossed the yard, biting at my nose and cheeks. I pulled my coat tighter to ward off the chill. “No Cruor in the cemetery? You’re sure?”

“None in that cemetery,” he said. “The only Cruor residing in a cemetery are the Maltorim in Damascus. The Queen, Callista, says it keeps other Cruor away. Cemeteries are where the original Earth elementals came from and the one place they don’t want to return. Moreover, there’s nothing there for them. They want living blood, not dead bodies.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” I waited for him to say something else—anything—but he didn’t. “I better get going. Meet you later.”

We said our goodbyes, and I snapped my phone shut.

Ivory cleared the black taper and white pillar candles from the altar. She hadn’t said much since arriving.

“How’ve you been?” I asked lightly, coiling the black cord that had marked our circle.

“Dealing with family issues.” She turned away, abruptly dropping the conversation.

Ouch. I knew she was still upset with me, but I couldn’t understand why and didn’t want to start an argument over it. Instead, I helped Lauren clear away the plate of fruit, vegetables, and bread from the top center of the altar, then packed the black votive candle along with the cauldron into my box of supplies.

As I cleared the ashes of dead twigs, each having been named for things that needed to end—for myself, for others, and for the earth—Lauren crouched beside a stone statue in the yard and pulled a camera from her bag. She snapped a picture of herself and the marble lion. After a few more clicks, she checked the camera screen.

“Cool that Charles bought the old library.” She shoved her phone back in her bag and turned to me. “Cocoa?”

“Please,” I said.

She headed inside. I packed away the boline we’d used to cut our ritual apple. The crosswise slice had created a pentagram at the core, honoring the five elements—earth, air, water, fire, and spirit. I also put away the half-slice of apple we’d eaten from during the ritual, but the other half-slice I wrapped in a piece of cheesecloth to bury later—an offering to feed the souls of nearby spirits.

Ivory stood at the edge of the yard, staring off into space. I should’ve gone to her; instead, I folded the altar cloth away and carried the box to the back steps. She followed me inside, dragging her wine-colored nails along the wood-paneled walls as she peeked into every room. Old offices were now bedrooms, and the single-stall bathroom had been fully renovated.

“What did Charles do to this place?” she asked.

“He couldn’t live here the way it was.”

Lauren called from the kitchen: “Everything’s new!”

Ivory pointed down the hall. “I’ll wait in the parlor.”

I offered Lauren a hand in the kitchen. She nodded toward the mugs.

“So, are you calling him your boyfriend yet? You’re keeping things at his house.”

Lauren didn’t know I was actually living here. It was easier that way. “We haven’t exactly pulled out the label-maker.” I opened the cocoa packets and dumped them in the mugs. “Spoon?”

“I’m going say he’s your boyfriend.” Lauren poured the hot water over the cocoa mix, snatched a spoon from the dish rack, and leaned over me to stir. “I don’t see how he could be anything but.”

I moved the mugs to a tray. What made someone a ‘boyfriend’? I’d been avoiding any attachment to Charles. He would live forever, and I would not.

I carried the cocoa tray into the living room and pressed a steaming mug into Ivory’s hands before lifting my own. “Are you joining us for the grave-rubbings?”

Ivory’s gaze flickered upward, the flash of an eye roll I’d seen her give Lauren hundreds of times but never me. “Why wouldn’t I?” She set her hot cocoa aside. “We’ll visit the cemetery near my house.”

Back when our town had moved graves from the old cemetery, a few families insisted that their loved ones’ coffins not be moved to the new cemetery. In one newspaper interview, an elder of the town said the dead should never be separated from their ‘first soil’.

As a result, the town set up about fifty graves, all from the same three families, in a small cemetery at the end of Litton Avenue. They’d had to move not only the coffins, but the soil that had covered those graves as well. Moving the soil for all the graves would have been too much of a hassle. That was how our town ended up with two cemeteries. One much smaller than the old one, and one much larger.

A wide grin splashed onto Lauren’s face. “I heard that cemetery is haunted.”

Ivory spat out a laugh. “You’re the one who started the rumor!”

I wasn’t sure about that, but I didn’t say anything.  Neither did Lauren.

Before we left the house, I made Charles a turkey and cucumber sandwich and left it in the fridge to hold him over until dinner. He’d once told me he liked to eat a human meal after hunting, because it reminded him that there was more to him than his need for blood. I’d been making those meals for him ever since. Maybe it didn’t feel safe to speak my affections, but I hoped he knew I cared.

Probably more than I should.



LITTON AVENUE was clear of trick-or-treaters, but the night offered the scents and sights of Halloween through the open car windows—the smell of gutted pumpkins heated from the inside by small candles that flickered through triangular eyes. Stitched mouths with sinister toothy grins were carved into the flesh of jack-o-lanterns, and the aroma of pumpkin pies and roasted pumpkin seeds carried on the crisp night air.

About two thirds of the way down the street, Lauren’s headlights reflected off something in an alley. A half-destroyed sign: Basker Street. Could it be the same Basker Street scribbled in the book Paloma gave me? I’d never noticed the sign before, but that wasn’t the first time I’d had that experience. Many times I would swear I’d never seen something, only to start seeing it everywhere I went.

Coming back tomorrow was always an option, but we were already here, and the voices had only been growing in intensity. As the Cruor blood faded from my system, a permanent solution became more and more important—and the truth surrounding my ancestor’s death was the only stone I’d left unturned.

“Stop the car!”

Lauren jerked her 1978 orange Ford Pinto to a halt. I jumped out and popped my head back inside the passenger window. “I want to check an address. Be right back.”

“Wait!” Lauren scrambled after. “I want to come, too.”

“Hey!” Ivory stepped out and yelled after us. “Where are you going?”

“Come with us,” I called, halfway to the alley. I waited for Ivory to catch up while Lauren plowed ahead.

We caught up with Lauren. I expected consuming darkness, but light slanted in from streetlamps to reveal shoe-printed gum and stains of oil on the concrete. Doors with padlocks on the outside and broken windows repaired with plastic bags and duct tape lined the alley.

Toward the end, dirty bricks framed a plain wooden door. The numbers seven and nine hung above the knocker. I could see the outline of another number; there were dirty spots around the edges, and the rest of the door was sun bleached, leaving the shade of a number three.

793 Basker Street.

“This is it.” I traced my fingers over the numbers. “This is the address from my book.”

Ivory stepped closer. “What book?”

I put my finger to my lips, trying to hear the muffled voices behind the closed door and boarded windows, but the whispers clattering in my mind prevented me from focusing on what the people inside were saying.

I frowned. Now what? Knock on the door? When I turned back to offer my friends some kind of explanation for why we’d come here, a shadow shifted behind Lauren. I screamed. She screamed in response, and Ivory laughed.

“Damn it, Charles! Don’t sneak up on me.”

He grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the door. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice dark, maybe even a little angry. “You said you were going to the cemetery.”

“I saw this address in a book.” I tilted my head. “What are you doing here?”

“Taking you and your friends to dinner.” His offer didn’t sound friendly.

“How did you find us?” Did he see the car parked on the side of the road? Why was he on Litton Avenue?

“We’re leaving,” he said. “Now.”

I grasped Lauren’s hand and started to follow Charles. Ivory stayed a few steps behind, and Lauren kept flashing narrow glances my way.

“What’s his problem?” she asked.

“I have no—”

Several strangers jumped from somewhere above, landing almost silently to block our exit. To my left, several more stood on a fire exit, all dressed in familiar brown cloaks. They peeled back their hoods, some male and some female. Each had the same unnatural pallor, the same glistening fangs.

And they weren’t dressed for Halloween.

They must have been Cruor. Judging by Charles’ earlier reaction, he knew this too—and had known since before they showed up. So much for the idea I’d be safe traveling in a group.

There were at least a dozen Cruor. Most stood as if frozen by pain, hands balled in tight fists, teeth pressed firmly together.  A few leaned toward us, some inched closer. None looked like the type I wanted to invite over for tea.

I backed away, heart speeding. Charles turned to me, jaw clenched. Lauren moved aside, pressing her back against the building’s brick wall—even she sensed something was off. Ivory took a protective stance in front of her, but I was too stressed to be surprised.

I glanced over my shoulder. More Cruor crowded the other end of the alley. There must have been three dozen or more in total. I stepped closer to Charles, and he wrapped his arm around me.

A petite, dark-haired woman stepped out of the gathering. She circled us, seemingly more at ease than her companions, then stopped by Charles and rose on her toes to put her lips close to his ear.

“Hello, Charlie.” She drew out each word and emphasized his name with a giddy lilt. She ran her fingernails slowly down the back of his neck. “Who are your friends? We’ve never met them before.”

Charles recoiled from her touch.

A tall Cruor-man with cropped blond hair glided over. Ivory pulled Lauren farther behind her.

“They don’t know anything,” Ivory said.

He tilted his head, and his lips pulled back. The expression was too unnatural to call a smile. “I could enlighten them.”

He peeked around Ivory and waved at Lauren.

“Back the fuck off,” Ivory warned.

Lauren glanced to me, but I had nothing to offer. This was one of those times where I was too scared to freak out. Whatever part of the brain reacts to such events just shut right down. Just like it always did when a situation was too much for me to handle.

Lauren clutched Ivory’s hand, her eyes wide, her stance wooden. Her olive complexion paled, and the skin above her cheekbones and around her lips turned ashen. Clearly her freak-out meter wasn’t broken like mine.

The dark-haired Cruor circled behind me. She placed her hands on my arms. My skin crawled, and I shrank closer to Charles. Her hair grazed my neck as she leaned over my shoulder.

Charles pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length, and glared at her.

She giggled. “She’s cute. Is she your new girlfriend, Charlie?”

Each time she said his name in her singsong way, anger overtook my fear. I locked my gaze on him. “Do you know her?”

Her irritating grin stretched into something plain sickening. “Of course he knows us, honey. Or hasn’t he told you?”

{thirteen}

THE DARK-HAIRED Cruor-woman looked at Charles and laughed. “This is rich. You should drop by more often.”

His fists clenched—one at his side, the other at the base of my spine. “Back off, Thalia.”

She giggled. A tangle of eggplant-black curls tumbled down her back as she sauntered in front of him and snaked her arms around his neck. “Oh, don’t be like that. You used to be fun.”

She walked her fingers up the side of his arm and clicked her teeth. “Don’t you remember? Oh, but these last few months—where have you been? I’ve been so lonely.”

The pout on her face filtered into her voice. I wanted to smack her. My hearing blotted and my stomach churned. The stress frenzied the voices in my mind worse than ever, but soon a warm push at my mind calmed them away. The Cruor were trying to influence me. I pushed back. Not this time.

“Cut the crap, Thalia,” Charles said, a warning cloud settling across his features. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“I’m just playing, Charlie.” She cinched her gaze on my friends and me. Violet rimmed her large pupils—two large voids illuminated with an eerie glow. At least she wasn’t hungry, not with such a bright glow to her eyes. “How did you meet these . . . girls . . . anyway?”

Charles’ energy was palpable; a barely controlled anger coiled in his body as Thalia spoke. He shoved her away and grabbed my hand. “We’re leaving.”

“Not so fast!” She snapped her fingers, and two stocky Cruor emerged from the crowd. They blocked Charles’ path. A willowy, red-haired woman appeared at their side, her smile unnatural.

Thalia scowled. “Check them, Circe.”

Circe’s large green eyes widened. “Yes,” she hissed. She flitted between my friends and me, grasping locks of hair and inhaling deeply. Her nostrils flared at Ivory’s scent, but she passed her over. She reached me and nuzzled a long strand of my hair. As I leaned away, she smiled and stroked my head. “Such a life, this one!”

“Enough, Circe. Thank you.”

Once Circe disappeared into the crowd, Thalia smiled at Charles. “That one”—she bit her thumbnail and indicated me with her pinky—“would be valuable.”

A vein pulsed in Charles’ neck and a soft hum vibrated through his body. Why didn’t he just shift?

“Surely you aren’t attached?” she asked, dropping her hand away from her mouth.

“You are outside your rights, Thalia.”

“Temper, temper.” She sighed, the sound sickening coming from her. “But, my sweet Charlie, we’ve missed you. And what of Adonis and Blake? Have you forgotten who your real friends are?”

“These women know nothing. Do not cross me.” His voice sounded rougher, more gravelly.

“Cross you? Oh Charlie, I’d never cross you.” She patted his chest and winked. “You’ve already been crossed.”

A young, scrawny Cruor pushed his way through the crowd. He bowed toward Thalia. “I’m sure Charles can handle this . . . misunderstanding. He’s been around longer than both of us put together.” He arched his eyebrows.

Thalia stepped back, cocked her head to one side, and tapped a finger against her cheek. “Fine. We have their scents.” To Charles, she added, “Pray you handle this well.”

She turned up her nose and spun on her heel, then threw her hand to the air as she stormed off. The Cruor scattered, some following her into the house while others disappeared into the shadows.

The young Cruor remained. “You owe me.”

“Thanks, Adonis. Could you . . . ?” He nodded towards Lauren, who trembled behind Ivory. “Escort them to their car first. We’ll meet you there.”

“You got it,” Adonis said. “But be careful, man. Thalia’s been into some things lately . . . And Blake—”

“Blake doesn’t concern me.”

Adonis lifted his hands. “Just keep an eye out, that’s all.”

“I always do.”

I looked back as we walked away. “What about Ivory and Lauren?” My voice shook uncontrollably, and I realized how much my body was shaking. I felt cold and sick, as though I would never sleep again.

“Adonis can erase and change human memories. We’ll circle back and meet them at the car. Lauren’s memory of tonight’s events will not be the same. You’ll have to convince her to go to the diner instead of the cemetery.”

“But Ivory—”

“Adonis knows her. She’ll help.”

We walked in silence. Maybe if I waited long enough, my heart would slow and breathing would come easier. When no peace came, I turned to Charles.

“What were you doing here? Why didn’t Adonis want to erase my memory?”

He stopped walking. “We need to talk.”

“That thing . . . Thalia . . . knew you.”

“I stayed with them for a while,” he said, dropping his voice so low I barely heard. Even the Cruor, with their enhanced senses, wouldn’t be able to hear him now—not at this ever-growing distance Charles had placed between us and them. “I used to hunt with them.”

“Stayed with them?” I rubbed my palms against my thighs, wiping the cold sweat on my jeans. “Why would you do that?”

He stuck his hands deep in his pockets and his shoulders hunched forward. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

“Such as . . . ?” My heart sank, dreading the untold news.

“There’s more you need to know, things I hoped I wouldn’t have to tell you.”

I nodded for him to continue.

“Some of the Strigoi hunters didn’t only hunt the inhumane Cruor. They turned dark, hunting all Earth elementals, good and bad alike. The Universe tried dealing with this by creating air elementals—the Ankou.”

“There are others?” I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. Of course there were others. “I’m not sure I want to know any more.”

“You need to hear the rest to understand what I need to tell you.”

“Those were Earth elementals.”

Charles gently squeezed my hand, regret etching into the lines around his eyes. “The Ankou were sent as grim reapers of the evil Strigoi and also to collect the spirits of elemental who have met a final death. With their magic, however, came the ability for elementals to crossbreed. The blending of bloodlines caused discoveries to increase. Humans attacked the elementals out of fear. Many innocents died.

“As a result, the Maltorim banned the mixing of bloodlines to protect the elemental species as a whole, as well as many innocent humans. The Ankou were enslaved to perform purifying procedures, using their gift of advanced supernatural medicine to get rid of one or other of the bloodlines in each dual-breed. But the results were unreliable, and so the Maltorim decreed death to all of the dual-natured.”

“I still don’t see what that has to do with the Cruor back there or how you know them.”

“The Maltorim will kill all dual breeds and anyone who associates with them.” Charles gave me a long look. “To answer your question, Sophia, Adonis doesn’t want to erase your memories because he believes I will.”

“You? But—”

“Those Cruor . . . they think I’m a pure Cruor, too. If Thalia learns any different, she’ll have me and my family killed.”

I shook my head. “They can’t do that.”

“They can, Sophia. They do so all the time.”

“How do you pretend to be Cruor? Can’t they tell? I don’t understand.” I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Please don’t tell me—”

“I didn’t choose this.”

Shit. Charles was dual-natured? “But I’ve seen you, every day. I mean every day . . . in the sun.”

“Being Strigoi—being born instead of turned—changes things. I shift slower, but can tolerate sunlight. I’m not as strong as the Cruor, but I’m faster.”

“But the daffodil oil. You never had a problem coming into my house.”

“This is the very reason the Maltorim sees dual-breeds as a threat to the supernatural race. Despite our strengths being less potent, so are our weaknesses less severe. Our tolerances to such things—sunlight, silver, daffodil oil—are remarkable. It’s a bit draining and makes us feel . . . off . . . but we can still function.”

“Does Adrian know?” I asked quietly.

Charles’ Adam’s Apple bobbed. “Ivory and Adrian are the only ones who know I’m dual-natured. And obviously my parents. Now you, too.”

“You should have told me.”

He swept a lock of hair from my face, his hand warm against my chilled skin. “I didn’t want to scare you. Or put you in any further danger.”

“Who you are means more to me than what you are,” I said, knowing I was in no place to point the finger. I had my secrets, too.

His eyes burned into mine. He caressed my cheek with the back of his fingers and slid his hand down my arm to my hand. Goose bumps rushed over my skin and my heart quickened as our faces inched closer together, his breath feathering against my cheek. All those times before we’d been this close I hadn’t been sure what I wanted to happen, but now I had no doubts.

He lifted a hand and trailed his thumb over my bottom lip. His gaze lowered to my mouth and then he tilted his forehead against mine, locked his eyes on mine, and lowered his voice. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to kiss you.”

In the limited light, through the shadows frozen between our faces, I could make out the lines of his face and the brightness of his eyes. I wished he would kiss me. Wished to drum up the nerve and kiss him myself.

Charles closed his eyes and bent his head closer to mine. My eyes closed, too, and the world was silence and we existed in the darkness behind our eyelids. A breeze slipped between us, and, for a moment, I thought possibly his lips had brushed mine.

He pulled away, eyes full of regret. “I may never be able to give you what you want. It’s better for you if I don’t . . . if I—. Sophia, even if I wanted to grow old with you, I could not.”

“It’s okay,” I whispered, but I wasn’t sure what ‘okay’ meant. The one hope I’d had of a future between us being possible had just been torn away.

“Can you understand why I didn’t tell you?” he asked. “If they knew I was the Strigoi who had helped you at Club Flesh, they’d realize I wasn’t pure. That would have ended badly for us both.”

I cringed at the word ‘pure’. Now I understood why he’d feared being followed when we’d met at the club. Did he live his whole life this way, always questioning the intentions of anyone who crossed his path? Always wondering if someone was ‘onto’ him?

“I would never say anything,” I told him, giving him a long look to impart the sincerity of my promise.

“You might not have to.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked into the distance. “How did you say you found this place?”

“A book my mentor gave me had the address. And some code: LC 47.”

“Local Coterie 47,” he said, returning his gaze to mine. “Every Cruor coterie has a number. What book was it?”

“Maltorim records for the Salem witch trials.”

“Sounds like one of Adrian’s books.”

One of Adrian’s books? It made sense, I guess. Perhaps Ivory had borrowed it and accidentally left it at Sparrow’s Grotto. Paloma probably thought it had shown up out of nowhere.

“So what are we going to do about the Maltorim?” I asked.

Charles frowned. “They must be aware something’s up. That a Strigoi saved you and now you’re with me. If they put it all together . . . ” He shook his head. “We can’t risk drawing more attention to ourselves. Marcus’ interest in you was bad enough. Now he’s finally back in Damascus, and you’ve got Thalia’s attention instead.”

“Do we need to leave?” Was anywhere safe?

“No one would make a move without being sure. I don’t think they’re even considering it, not yet, and they have no knowledge of where I live. If needed, though, my parents have a place in the Japanese mountains where we could stay—one of the few locations left in which the Maltorim has no real presence. We would just have to be careful we weren’t followed there.”

“This dual-breed thing is the real reason you don’t age?” I asked, suddenly uncertain of everything I’d learned up until this point.

“Even if I stop shifting, I’m still part Cruor. Only pure Strigoi can age.”

I didn’t care if he was part Cruor, but if we could turn him into a pure Strigoi, then there was hope of a future for us. Us, together. Though I wasn’t looking for any major commitment, I needed to know if it was possible. I needed to know how much to protect my heart.

“What about the procedure?” I asked. “The one the Ankou once used.”

“I said I’d be able to age,” Charles said darkly. “I didn’t say I would.”

At his sudden change of tone, I pulled back, trying to keep my face a mask of indifference.

After a long moment, he added, “I have my family, understand? And the Ankou might turn me over to the Maltorim.” He closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose. “I can’t think about this right now, Sophia. I’m sorry.”

I gave him a solemn. “You mentioned the Ankou as a third elemental race,” I said. “There are more?”

He nodded. “The Chibold, once, but not so much now.”

“Fire elementals?” I asked.

“They were sprites that materialized as small human children, though some aged into their late teens. They needed host families to survive, but as adoption became more of a bureaucratic process—and these weren’t real children—the host families became fewer and further between. The Chibold also had a reputation for causing trouble, thus not many supernatural families being willing to take them in.”

“What happened to them?”

“They died off, as happens if they go longer than a century without a host family. They were around during the War, back when the Maltorim first declared the dual-natureds be killed. The Chibold caused a lot of destruction with their fires and telekinetic powers.”

Wouldn’t that throw the Universe’s balance completely out of whack? Missing an entire element? Then again, they’d thought it was a good idea to only introduce one at the start. As crazy as I was, I had no place making judgments about ‘balance’ or the Universe’s decisions.

The Maltorim, on the other hand, was another story entirely.

We walked the rest of the way around the block in silence, stopping when Lauren’s car came back into view. Adonis was still with Lauren and Ivory, but no other Cruor were anywhere to be seen. Judging by the glazed sheen to Lauren’s eyes, she was still under his influence. We stayed far enough away to talk privately, so long as we kept our voices low.

“I’m still worried about Thalia,” I said. “She said they have our scent now. Whatever that means.”

“Thalia has the attention span of a gnat. She’ll find something else to occupy her time by the end of the night. You’d have been better off never coming to her attention to begin with, but she’s not going to hunt you down.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“You’re not that important, darlin’,” he said, smirking.

Though his light candor broke the tension surrounding my concerns, Thalia still struck me as someone far too passionate to let things go.

I shuddered, remembering the other Cruor—the crazed redhead. “What about Circe?”

“Circe is a marionette controlled by its puppet master. She’s not going to do anything unless Thalia tells her. Those two are always together.”

“Thalia might not want to kill you,” I said, “but there’s no reason she wouldn’t come after me.”

“Thalia isn’t as dangerous as she likes to believe. She’s too busy sucking up to the Maltorim to break any laws.”

“Still, maybe it would help if I learned more about your world,” I said, hoping I could use this opportunity to get answers about my ancestor without him learning about my family’s curse.

“Such as?” he asked.

“You said humans once killed some of your kind. That some who died truly were elementals.”

Charles nodded.

“This is going to sound crazy”—I stole a glance at him—“but an ancestor of mine was killed during the Salem witch trials. Her court document was in my attic, but there’s no mention of her in any public records. Could she have been an elemental? Like, say, a spirit elemental?”

“Oh.” He sucked in a deep breath and nodded. “Wow.” Another moment passed. “Well, she might have been a human who got dragged into things.”

“Or not,” I said.

“There were spirit elementals,” Charles replied. “Witches. But they were an extremely small population.”

“Witches?”

“Humans chosen by the Universe, imbued with unique powers that would have been too risky to give an immortal. They died with their human bodies. Their existence was short-lived. I don’t know anything more than that.”

“You’re a huge help.”

“If you’d let me finish . . . . I was going to say Adrian might know more. I’ll call him tonight and arrange something.”

Feeling a little more secure, I allowed myself the indulgence of asking him more about the Cruor lifestyle. It hadn’t mattered before, but if it was part of who Charles was, I would need to understand everything.

He explained how their blood cravings worked—how he didn’t struggle with them as much as a pure Cruor. He told me how most didn’t live as well as they could afford out of fear they might draw attention to themselves. Those who integrated with society lived their lives through forged documents and false family trees; they kept their money spread throughout different banks and in Swiss accounts.

As for the Strigoi, their animal forms also put them at more risk, such as if they crossed the path of a hunter. A human would have no way of knowing they were more than an animal. The idea of it made me happier I didn’t eat meat.

I asked Charles what happened if Strigoi were killed in their animal form, and he said . . . nothing. They just stayed in animal form; it was the Universe’s way of protecting their secrets.

“Don’t you worry about hurting your own kind during a hunt?” I asked.

Charles shook his head. “We know who we are. We would never accidentally confuse another Strigoi for a real animal. Their scent, their eyes . . . even the way it feels to be around them . . . it’s too unique to mistake for anything else.”

So this was ‘life’ as an immortal? Suddenly my own troubles didn’t seem so bad.



WHEN I ARRIVED BACK AT CHARLES’ PLACE, I flopped down on my guest bed with my Book of Shadows to make some additions and updates.

Charles had confessed that pure Strigoi don’t really need blood to survive; he only needed it because he was part Cruor, something he’d hidden from me as an attempt to protect me from the dangers of his world. Knowledge of their world was a gray area. Knowledge of a living dual-breed was a death-sentence.

I crossed out the Strigoi’s need for blood from my Book of Shadows’ entry, then added the rest of what I’d learned.

Strigoi are faster than Cruor. If they are in animal form when they die, they remain that way to protect their secret. They can sense others of their kind by scent and appearance.

Cruor are stronger than Strigoi.

I made new entries for the Ankou, Chibold, Witches, and dual-breeds as well.

Ankou: These air elementals are like grim reapers. They also have magic that can help elementals crossbreed as well as magic that can purify a dual-breed into a pure bloodline.

Chibold: These fire elementals are sprites that materialize as small children. They need host families to survive; if they go longer than a century without a host family, they die. The Chibold have powers over fire as well as telekinetic abilities. They are believed to be extinct.

Witches: Also known as spirit elementals, Witches were humans chosen by the Universe. Their powers were too potent to give to an immortal. They died with their human bodies.

Dual-breeds: Any elemental born of a pairing of two different elementals. Their strengths are less potent and their weaknesses less severe. The Maltorim sees them as a threat, and any discovered will be executed.

Mentally exhausted, I closed my Book of Shadows and tucked it away in my dresser drawer. Though my sleep was fitful, it came easily.

In my dreams, I saw Elizabeth again. She was standing in front of the gallows, inches away from me. She stared into my eyes, slowly lifted the Samhain ritual apple to her lips, and bit into its red flesh.

Inside, the fruit had rotted.

{fourteen}

THE NEXT MORNING, I sat at the kitchen table and gave Lauren a call. She picked up after the first ring, her voice easily filled with ten times more energy than I could ever muster.

“Amazing night last night,” she said. “We need to go there again next year!”

Too bad the ‘there’ she was thinking of didn’t exist—not in the way she remembered. “It was okay, I guess. I’m just calling to check on you.”

“It was okay? Just okay? That was the best haunted house ever. Do you remember the address?”

“Drats, I don’t,” I lied. “Can’t even remember the street name.”

She sighed heavily, and my heart sank. To her, this was reality. Charles’ friend, Adonis, had made sure of that. Though the Cruor’s practice of stealing memories unnerved me, what bothered me most was their ability to place thoughts into someone’s head and create memories of things that had never happened. And now I enabled their lies.

When I didn’t say more, Lauren continued. “I just thought . . . well, that guy who walked us back to the car. Does Charles know him?”

“I don’t think so,” I lied.

“Too bad. I wouldn’t mind him taking me out to dinner sometime.”

That’s what you think. “If I see him around, I’ll be sure to tell him. So, really, you’re okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Nothing. Look, I gotta go. Work. Catch you later?”

“You bet,” she said.

I should’ve been relieved she didn’t remember anything, but I was too busy stressing over lying to my best friend.



ALL THROUGH WORK, I couldn’t stop thinking about Charles. What was life like for him? He harbored secrets for fear of judgment, something that should have brought us closer together but instead placed a whole world between us. He trusted me with the knowledge of his dual nature, while I would never be able to tell him of the whispering voices that occupied my mind.

I simply could not risk him responding the way Ivory had.

When my shift ended, I found him outside, sitting on the hood of my Jeep. He wore an olive-green, button-down shirt left open to a white tee. No jacket, of course. Charles never wore a jacket. Not even in sub-degree weather.

My heart sped, but I managed to keep my voice smooth. “I thought we were meeting later?”

He grinned, hopping down. “I wanted to see you in that sexy work uniform.”

I pushed his shoulder in playful response, but he didn’t budge. He chuckled, then eyed my Jeep and tapped a knuckle against the metal body. “Still driving this thing?”

“Spit it out. You think women shouldn’t drive or something?”

He laughed. “Not at all. Though you realize your car isn’t at all gas efficient, don’t you? And the emissions—”

“I’m not getting rid of my Jeep, okay?”

“Would it be so terrible to trade it in for something a little more . . . eco-friendly? Some of us plan on being around for a while.”

“Fantastic reminder. Thanks. In case you haven’t noticed, your Prius doesn’t handle the snow very well. That wouldn’t happen to be the reason you left it home today, would it?”

“I like walking,” he said, an easy smile playing at his lips.

“I’ll remind you of that after our next snowstorm, when you’re asking for a ride to buy groceries.”

He stepped closer and swept a strand of hair away from my face. There was that heat again—a chemistry that spun between us and made me feel like a fly stuck in a web. A chemistry I needed to ignore.

“I have to go.” I opened the door to get in my car, but then turned around, shaking my head. “I can’t believe you came here just to give me a hard time about my Jeep.”

His jaw clenched, and his fists balled at his sides. “I didn’t.”

“No?” I raised an eyebrow. “Then why?”

He closed the distance between us and placed his hands on my waist, stopping me from climbing in. Despite the early November chill, my skin suddenly warmed. His gaze dropped to my lips before he leaned in gently to close his mouth over my own.

I parted my lips to welcome the kiss, and he pressed closer, his tongue exploring my mouth, the kiss singing through my veins as I tried to deny the pulsing knot forming in my stomach. The kiss ended too soon.

“I really should get going. I still have to pick up groceries,” I whispered, though my reasons for wanting to leave had changed completely. And it wasn’t like I could get away from him. I was heading back to the house—his house. Hopefully the drive would cool me down.

“Let me give you a hand.” He stepped between my legs, grabbed me by my hips, and lifted me into my seat. His arm was wrapped around the small of my back and his hips pressed against the inside of my thighs, his heat playing against my own.

Moments like these made me want to give in to my physical desires, even if I wasn’t ready to turn over my heart.

Charles turned my palm up and kissed the inside of my wrist, and my skin tingled beneath his warm, velvety lips. Then he pulled away, the tips of his fangs dipping past his upper lip. I wondered how he’d hid them before—apparently Cruor’s fangs often descended when they engaged in any carnal activity, though I’d never seen Charles this interested until recently. His fangs weren’t so scary, though, not with the knowledge they belonged to a man who would cause me no harm.

“See you tonight,” he said, taking another step back. He was scowling now, or maybe that was the only way for him to hide his fangs.

I cleared my throat. “Mmhmm. See you.”

I settled into my seat and closed the door. After I started the engine, I glanced back up, but he was already gone.



WHEN I ARRIVED ‘home’, the sky was drained and pale and the air easy to breathe and smelled like fresh snow. The front door swung open before I knocked, and Charles ushered me inside. Of course with his super speed, he’d managed to return home faster than I could drive there.

“Were you waiting by the door?” I teased as he helped me shrug off my coat.

“I heard you pull up.” He hung my coat on a peg of the hall coat rack. “Adrian will be here soon. Should I put on some tea?”

“That’d be great.”

He motioned toward a black leather sofa, complete with red silk pillows. It wasn’t the sofa I’d seen there this morning. “Please, sit down.”

“Ummm . . . what happened to the sofa?”

Charles laughed. “The other one was only temporary. I finally got around to ordering something new.”

Once I seated myself, he headed for the kitchen. A young woman outside caught my attention. She was standing across the street in her nightdress, her hair dark and her gaze empty, her bare feet reddened by the snow blanketing the pavement. Her thin lips hinted at a frown, and she stared straight at me, unmoving.

My heart rate picked up, and I craned my head toward the kitchen. Charles was pouring the tea.

I looked out the window again, and I shivered. She stood in the middle of the road now, her gaze still cutting toward me as though she’d not moved at all. When I’d first looked, she’d been across the street, on the sidewalk. I was sure of it.

Moments later, Charles returned from the kitchen and pressed a steaming cup of tea into my hands.

“What is it?” he asked, following my gaze out the window to where the young woman still stood. She turned woodenly and walked away. “We could sit on the porch, if you prefer.”

Couldn’t he see her? I should have been freaked out that I was either seeing ghosts or hallucinating, but in the scheme of the last few months, the turn of events seemed almost mundane somehow. Or perhaps my numb-reaction-to-horrible-events gene was in overdrive.

I opened my mouth to say something but decided I’d better figure a few things out first. Last thing I needed was another repeat of the whole Ivory situation. She was still barely talking to me, and it wasn’t for my lack of trying. If that was the general reaction to people ‘hearing things’, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the reaction to people ‘seeing things’.

I forced a smile at Charles. “The living room is fine.”

The teacup warmed my fingers as I sipped. “Honey?”

“Yes, Dear?”

“You’ve put honey in the tea, I mean.” I smiled, shaking my head. “Tell me you’ve been waiting all day to use that line.”

He grinned, flopping on the couch beside me, and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

The streetlights outside flickered on, reflecting off the icicles hanging from the storm gutters on the houses across the way. The street was empty, and I sighed my relief, snuggling closer to Charles and relaxing against his warm body.

Mentally I struggled to block any emotions trying to surface. Sure, last night changed things between us. I knew we were ‘together’ now, in our own way, but I would age, and he would stay the same. We had no future, not unless he rid himself of his Cruor side so that we could age together. I wasn’t ready to make a commitment under these circumstances.

His breath was hot against my neck, and a fluttering repeated in my stomach. He touched his lips to the hollow beneath my ear, then he buried his head against my shoulder.

“I want to be with you. To not resist the urges you create,” he murmured against my neck, “but more than anything, I am compelled to protect you. Compelled beyond reason, perhaps, but I know I must. What happened earlier today, outside the diner . . . ”

“I’m glad you kissed me,” I said with sudden boldness.

He sighed, leaning back and closing his eyes. “I can’t let you get hurt.”

“I’ve made it this far,” I said quietly. “Still in one piece, too.”

His jaw tensed. “That’s not the kind of hurt I mean.”

I knew that. I knew he didn’t want to hurt me physically or emotionally. And I was trying not to get attached. Really and truly.

Some things were beyond my control.

“This wouldn’t be a problem if we could age together.” I regretted the words almost as soon as I’d spoken them.

Charles scoffed. “Many would kill for immortality.”

“All I meant—”

“Would you sacrifice your way of life for me? Or do you expect only the reverse?”

I didn’t want to be selfish, but, when it came to this one thing, I had to be. As much as I wanted to explore the possibilities of getting more involved with him, I refused to allow myself to commit when we had something as huge as immortality standing between us. Maybe I wasn’t capable of keeping strong against my desires, but I would fight to protect my heart.

The front door rattled as Adrian stepped inside and stomped snow from his tidy black dress shoes. “My apologies. Am I interrupting?”

I stood. “No. We were waiting for you.”

I turned back to Charles, frowning.

He stood and kissed my forehead, then whispered low in my ear, “We’ll figure things out. I promise.”

He continued over to the front door and clapped his hand against Adrian’s arm. “Good to see you. Come sit.”

Adrian pulled a stack of books from a navy-blue messenger bag and stretched his arm to set them on the coffee table, keeping the furthest possible distance from me.

“These may help, though I must warn you, they contain some . . . non-traditional views. And,” he said, taking some small USB-port-type thing from his pocket, “there’s always the Internet.”

“Ha!” I said, trying to contain my laughter. “The Internet.”

“Why do you say ‘ha’?” His brow furrowed as though I’d suddenly grown a third arm. He slid the device across the coffee table toward me. “That is D-connect.”

I examined the wireless card, studying the red encircled symbol of a snake on the side. “What is this?”

Adrian grinned. “Something we should not have in our possession. Queen Callista—and anyone else on the Maltorim—would impose some undesirable consequences for such an offense. The alterations I’ve made should ensure that doesn’t come to pass.”

Charles cleared his throat.

“I should say, actually, that Charles is the one responsible for the alterations. He placed an electronic leech on the card, thus erasing data as entered. Activity cannot be tracked.”

Charles tapped his fingers against the coffee table. “It’s not perfect.”

“How does it work?” I asked.

“As an Internet card would, though the websites are different. Here,” Adrian said, taking out a laptop and booting up. “I’ll show you. What are we searching for?”

“Anything pertaining to a relative of mine, Elizabeth Parsons, or other spirit elementals.”

“Ah,” he said. “Witches.”

He brought up an online supernatural database and left me to browse the selection, but nothing caught my eye. Charles took over, while I looked through the hard-copy books Adrian had brought.

I settled on The History of Witches and returned to my seat. A lot of work had gone into making this book: hand-sewn binding, pages creased with a polished piece of bone. Definitely one-of-a-kind.

The couch shifted as Charles settled beside me with the laptop. Adrian grabbed a book and sat in an adjacent recliner.

“The spirit elementals were chosen around the time the Salem witch trials began,” Adrian said. “In effect, they ended up being called ‘Witches’, even though only one true elemental was hanged.”

“That’s what I’m looking for.” I cracked open the book in my lap. “Information on that one witch. She’s not listed in the traditional histories, right?”

“I’m not sure. Admittedly, I’ve never had any reason to look into this.”

I skimmed the Table of Contents and flipped to the first section, marked ‘Victims’, which listed the names of all the people killed over the years for ‘witchcraft’. The list contained two sections: Humans, Witches. If the section had only listed one name, it would’ve been sickening, but the way pages spilled on, name after name, was nothing short of horrifying.

All those innocent people.

I scrolled through the list of humans first, and, nearing where my ancestor’s name might be, I held my breath. Did I want her to be human? What if she was—would it mean I’d never escape the whispering curse? Were the two things even related?

Elizabeth’s name was not on the list. I scanned a second time, and my concerns doubled. What if she wasn’t on either list?

The supernatural list was significantly shorter, the cause of death for those listed not being attributed to the trials but simply to having been killed during those times. I trailed my finger over the names. Halfway down the page, I found her: Elizabeth Parsons, 1674-1692. The only elemental hanged during the Salem witch trials. Others had died from typical deaths, such as old age, sickness, or murders unrelated to the trials.

She’d died at age eighteen . . . the same age I was when the hissing in my brain started.

I glanced from the page to Charles and Adrian, now buried in their own research, and decided to read a bit more before sharing what I’d found.

Nothing else caught my attention until I began reading about the Universal Necessity of Witches.

Humans had fallen to the practice of killing the elementals, believing them to be accursed, naming them as witches. The penalty of the claims resulted in the death of many innocent humans. And so, at the time of the Salem witch trials, coinciding with the dual-bred cleansing, the Universe chose the spirit elementals—witches.

Their immortality was not tied to their nature, however, as was true of other elementals. Instead, their immortality existed in their magic, carried through their bloodlines. These were the most vulnerable of the elementals, but, so long as their powers were used for good, they could perform without limits. However, should they choose a darker path, their magic would draw harm to themselves.

Okay . . . so not what Charles had told me. Charles believed the magic of those elementals had died along with their human bodies.

The Maltorim continued to lead the genocide against the Universe’s command, and the spirit elementals, being under attack themselves, did little to slow their efforts.

However, in time, the dual-breeds dwindled so low in number that the war subsided to quieter efforts. When the spirit elementals died, their magic was halved and passed on to their descendants. With each passing generation, the magic halved again, and after several centuries, the witches’ powers tapered away to virtually nil.

Because the efforts had failed, and the witches were weso often in danger of persecution, they never had the chance to use their powers. The Universe chose no further spirit elementals.

The section defining spirit elementals said they kept the same life expectancy as any other human, though rumor spread of witches who gained immortality through being turned by the Cruor. This weakened their powers, but left them with more tolerance to sunlight than their makers.

After the book’s sixth chapter, I settled on the floor, lying on my stomach as I leafed through page after page. I skipped past the witch trials, covering the Middle Ages, Early Modern Europe, and the Modern Era. They’d taught us about all that in high school, and I’d studied even more extensively in college. The eighth chapter grabbed my attention: Spirit Elementals—The Genetic Legacy of Witches.

I read a few pages, then stood, finally having found something of use. Apparently, there was more to ancestral magic than the ‘halving’ rule.

I held the open book in the crook of my arm. “I got something.”

Charles and Adrian set their books aside and focused on me.

“This Chapter on Genetic Legacy says the descendants of spirit elementals are at times granted their ancestor’s magic on loan. It can manifest in a small burst of power or may develop over time, though most descendants are unaware of their potential.”

Adrian gave me an empty look and tossed his dreadlocks over his shoulder. “What does it mean?”

“It means I might be able to borrow my ancestor’s powers.”

Adrian shook his head. “I mean, how does the information relate to you?”

“Oh, right.” I brought the book over to Charles and Adrian, flipped to the front, and pointed to Elizabeth’s name. “That ancestor of mine? Well, she was a spirit elemental. Which makes me—”

“The descendant of a witch,” Charles finished. He leaned back into the sofa, interlocking his fingers behind his head. He stared at the ceiling and pressed his lips together. Finally, his gaze shifted back. “So you have the potential to acquire her abilities. What are they? How do you tap into them, and would you even want to?”

Did I want supernatural abilities? Not exactly. I just wanted to silence the voices in my head. But maybe learning more about my ancestor’s powers would help me protect myself from the Cruor, should we ever cross paths again. It might even mean being able to protect Charles if he embarked on the journey to relinquish his Cruor side and grow old with me.

I held the book up. “Adrian—do you have more like this?”

“What do you have in mind, and do you truly suppose the information would make any difference?”

I didn’t ruffle at the condescending edge to his voice. I sensed Adrian never took things like ‘feelings’ into account. He just wanted to find solutions and implement them.

After stacking the book on the coffee table pile, I walked to the window. Light from streetlamps glinted off the snow floating to the streets. The old man across the road, wearing a thick plaid coat, frigidly shoveled snow from his driveway. He paused a moment, staring over at me, but I didn’t look away. Everyone stared at me.

I let out a deep breath. “Scrying would be a good start and can also be done with fire, which might be best since I’m a fire sign.”

I kept my back to them, hoping to conceal any evidence on my face that I was hiding something. Yes, I wanted to protect myself. But I also wanted to end my family’s curse. “And might you have anything on the effects of magic on the mind?”

Those words having been spoken, I turned to face them. No one flinched. My request had been vague enough. Then again, what were the chances Adrian would bring me a book about hearing voices?

Adrian nodded. “I will check my collection and drop anything relevant off here.”

“Wonderful.” I smiled over at him. “Where do you get these books anyway?”

“The library.”

I lifted another book from the table and fanned the pages. “I would have noticed something like this at the library.”

“Different library, Miss Sophia,” he said in his usual refined articulation, a bit of friendliness hidden beneath his stuffy conventions.

“So this library just gave you these books?” I asked, smirking.

“I worked there for a time. When they sought to have some books destroyed, I offered my services.” He grinned mischievously. “I, of course, did nothing of the sort. I realized the Maltorim only sought to hide the truth behind their efforts to eliminate the dual-natured, thus I hid the books instead.”

I hated this mysterious Maltorim and that there wasn’t something more we could do to stop them. But while I might never save all the dual-breeds, I might be able to harness enough magic to protect Charles and myself.

“Please, bring more books if you can.”

“I will,” Adrian promised.

As I watched him leave, the young woman I’d seen in the street earlier reappeared outside the window, this time standing in Charles’ yard. The breeze swayed the leaves in the trees behind her, but her hair and nightgown were unmoving. The more she closed in with her gaze fixed on me, the more I hoped answers would quickly come.

{fifteen}

ON THE MORNING OF YULE, I woke with a strong sense of purpose. I’d spent the last couple of weeks reviewing some books Adrian had dropped off. I hadn’t found out anything more about my heritage or curse, but I had found out how to help Charles become a pure Strigoi.

I set a tray of chocolate chip pumpkin spice cookies on a rack in the kitchen to cool. Outside, the melted snow had caked dead leaves to the yard and sidewalk. The surrounding houses showed no trace of the season, overstuffed black trash bags stacked high along the roadside, each yard an immaculate carbon copy of the last.

Charles and I had been dating for over three months now, and while I wasn’t seeking a commitment—not now, anyway—I wanted to know if a future between us was even possible. Now I knew it was, but that was entirely up to him.

I headed down the hall to his room and pushed open his bedroom door. His blue plaid comforter covered him from head to ankles, only his feet peeking out to hang over the edge of the bed.

I sat beside him and pulled the comforter away from his face. “Charles!”

He jolted upright. “Huh? What?” His gaze darted around until his attention settled on me. Confusion slipped from his features and a crooked grin worked into place. He pulled me onto the bed and propped himself on one elbow.

I giggled and poked his chest. “You overslept. I ate breakfast without you.”

“Oops,” he said, walking his fingers up my belly, between my breasts. “I was out late. Hunting.”

“You at least have to get up to open your gift.”

Charles shoved his blanket away and tossed his legs over the side of the bed. His feet thudded against the hardwood as he stood. My gaze drifted downward, his flannel pajama pants slipping lower on his hips to reveal the upper crest of his butt. I bit back a smile.

He glanced over his shoulder, tugging up his pants, and kissed my cheek before stepping into the master bathroom—another one of his renovations.

I flopped back against his pillow. It still smelled like him—like vanilla and sandalwood and musk. I couldn’t deny my attraction to him, which seemed to be taking over more with each passing day, but we’d never made it beyond what Lauren called the ‘heavy petting’ stage.

Truth was, that was already a lot further than I’d gone with any man before. But so what if I was a late bloomer? Not everyone started dating in high school. At least that was what I’d always told myself.

Besides, I wasn’t sure it was right to be intimate with Charles when I couldn’t be completely honest with him. Would he still want to be with me if I did tell him everything? Ever since I’d told Ivory, she rarely answered my calls, and we’d been friends for years.

Maybe first, before worrying about sharing my secrets, it would be best to find out if a future between us was even possible, though he wouldn’t like what needed to be done to make that happen.

Charles emerged shirtless from the bathroom, the muscles in his stomach stacked down to where his jeans rested at his hips. My heart thumped against my lungs, and I hopped to my feet.  I wanted to run my hands over the muscles of his shoulders and press my cheek against his bare chest, but I remained firmly planted where I stood.

He smirked as he pulled a black and grey striped sweater over his head, and I sighed as all that beauty was hidden from view.

“Just going to run a comb through my hair,” he said.

“To sit in the living room?” I grabbed his hand and tugged him closer, snaking my arms around his waist. “You look good with bed-head. Reminds me of the night we met.”

He planted a gentle kiss on my lips, then grabbed my hand and led me out to the living room. We sat on the floor beside our potted pine tree decorated with candy canes and pinecones and a popcorn garland. I insisted he open his gift first. He peeked into the silver gift bag, removed the pocket watch, and smiled at the inscription.

“‘It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see’,” he read.

“Henry David Thoreau.”

“This is perfect, Sophia.” He smiled, then reached behind him and handed me a box wrapped in recycled paper. “Now your turn.”

I ripped a small area of the wrapping, and a gold foil box peaked out. “What is it?” I asked.

“Open it.”

I tore the rest of the paper away and lifted the lid to the box. Cushioned inside was a spiral bracelet, threaded with iridescent glass balls of gold and garnet and plum, accented with tiny pearls and crystals.

The air rushed from my lungs in a sigh. “Oh. Charles, it’s . . . amazing.”

I was relieved to find the bracelet fit perfectly. Only Grandfather Dunne had ever known to buy me bracelets small enough not to slip off.

I lied back and stared up at pinecones in our tree. Charles was perfect for me in every way but one: he was immortal. I would age, and he would not. How weird would that eventually become?

How could I make sense of all this—of my feelings for him and the reality that a future together was unreasonable?

Charles propped himself on his elbow beside me. “Something’s wrong.”

I rolled to my side, resting my head in the palm of my hand. My legs stretched out, though my feet didn’t reach far past his knees. I was looking at our feet only because I feared what I might find if I looked in his eyes—not just in his expression, but in my heart as well.

Could I be with him even with his immortality and my own secrets standing between us?

“Look at me,” he said in a firm-but-gentle tone. I lifted my gaze, and his eyes burned with a familiar intensity that heated me from my core. “I know you are worried about what will become of us, but you need to trust things will work out.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because,” he said. “Because I have never allowed myself to get involved before, but with you I am unable to deny the connection. Things have to work out.” He tucked a loose curling strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re my life now, Sophia. That will remain so. Always.”

“Am I?” I whispered. I grazed his forearm with my fingertips. His skin was warm, smooth, and buzzing with energy. Touching him . . . it was how I imagined it would be to touch light. Not the heat, but the very essence.

“I’ve stopped protecting my heart from you,” he said. “I’ve stopped fighting the way I feel, stopped fighting the natural draw I feel toward you. Now you need to do the same.”

My throat tightened, and I squeezed my eyes shut, wanting to disappear from the moment.

“Stop fighting it,” he murmured. “You can’t treat everyone in your life the same. You can’t treat us all as though we’ve hurt you.”

I shook my head slowly, opening my eyes. “I don’t.”

He grinned, lifting my hand and grazing his lips over my knuckles. “Don’t you?”

Shit. He was right. “It’s not that easy,” I said, finally. “It’s not even about that.”

“Everything has to make sense with you.” Charles’ voice edged on frustration. “It all has to add up, to be perfect, neat, in your control. You make your decisions based on fears of how others might judge you. How can you live like that?”

I eased my hand away from his grasp and sat up. “Wow,” I said, unable to contain my defensive tone. “Don’t hold back for my sake.”

He sat up and grasped my hand again. “I wouldn’t want you to hold back for mine.”

“I’m not holding back,” I lied.

“Do you think, after three centuries, I can’t read a person? Auras or not?”

As much as I hated the way he challenged me, it was also the very reason I knew he was my perfect match. He inspired me toward growth. Now I worried what I was about to say would ruin the one thing he appreciated about me: that I’d accepted him for who he was when the rest of his world, and probably my own as well, would not.

“Fine. You want me to tell you what’s bothering me?”

“Yes,” he said. “That’s exactly what I want.”

I searched his face. Should I tell him what Adrian’s books had said? How would he react to the idea of sacrificing his Cruor side? His immortality, at the very least, would remain so long as he continued to shift. I wasn’t asking for a commitment, only the promise of possibility.

He caressed his thumb across my bottom lip and along my jaw. “Thinking again?”

I inhaled deeply, repressing a sigh. “I read something in one of Adrian’s books about your . . . you know . . . problem?”

I hated calling it a problem. Being a dual-breed wouldn’t have really been a problem if the Maltorim hadn’t made it one. But his immortality—admittedly, that did bother me.

His easy smile slipped. “Is this in regards to the Ankou?”

I straightened, trying to contain the fluttering in my stomach. “I know you’re skeptical,” I said, “but this sounds promising.”

“They do have a special form of magic—especially where transformations are concerned—but they aren’t going to help unless something’s in it for them.” His hand dropped back to his side. He was all discussion now; clearly, this wasn’t what he expected me to bring up.

“It’s worth a try,” I said quietly. “I have a feeling this might work.”

“First tell me what the book said.”

I spun the beads on the bracelet he’d given me. He wasn’t going to like my answer.

“We kill the part we want gone?” I said, my uncertainty strong enough to turn my statement into a question. “They performed the same procedure at the start of the genocide, but the recent success rates have been nearly flawless.”

“Genocide?” Charles repeated. “Nearly flawless?”

“The Maltorim killing people who aren’t ‘pure’.”

“Not exactly a genocide. Go back to what you were saying: I have to die first? What kind of theory is that?”

“How is it not like genocide?”

“They didn’t kill off all of one kind. Only those who were dual-natured.”

“The dual-natured are a kind of people.” Sadness tugged at my heart. He’d grown up in a world where his mixed nature wasn’t accepted, and this had become his ‘truth’. “I’ll stop looking into this if you aren’t interested.”

His expression sagged. “I don’t trust the Ankou. They might do a lot of good, some of them, but they aren’t any better than any other supernatural race. There’s a good chance they’ll turn us in to the Maltorim, and the Maltorim gave up their efforts for purification long ago. If they find out about my nature, I’m dead. My family’s dead. You’re dead. That’s all there is to it, Sophia.”

“The Ankou have been helping save other dual-natureds from being killed,” I persisted.

“Even if this were true—and we have no way to know for certain—you must understand my position. I’m trapped between worlds. You are mortal, and my parents are not. I refuse to let go of either of you. There has to be another way.”

“What other way?” I asked.

He exhaled quietly, setting his gaze on mine. “Please try to understand what it’s like for me. There is no in-between. There will never be any sense of death coming. It’s not something that will creep up on me as the years pass. When I die, it will be at the hands of someone else—someone who knows how to kill my kind. It’s not as though I asked for this life. I wouldn’t wish immortality on my worst enemy.”

He spoke with such conviction that chills pricked my arms.

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” I said.

“I’ve lived to see a lot of people die,” he said solemnly, “and I have to spend eternity carrying those losses. If I lose my parents, I would be alone in my grief forever. I would be giving them the same if they lost me. You must understand: immortality is not an escape from death. It’s an accumulation of loss. I risk too much by exposing myself on some whim my Cruor side can be removed.”

“I would never ask you to give up your parents,” I said, hoping to impart my sincerity. “And I hope you know that if immortality weren’t an issue, there’s nothing I would change about you.”

“I know, Sophia,” he said warily. “I wish I had answers for you. For us.”

“I just don’t know how to be with you completely when there’s no possibility of a future for us.”

“Being the world’s biggest pessimist isn’t everything,” he said. “Maybe if you show a little faith, things will work out.”

“How?”

“Faith, Sophia. Life isn’t always going to give you the answers to the questions you’re asking. Sometimes you have to make do with the answers you get.”

If only he knew that was exactly what I was doing. “Thanks, Yoda.”

“Like it you do, when I tell you these things.”

“You’re hilarious. Really. But what are you going to do? Fetch my walker when I’m eighty?” As I spoke the last sentence, a bit of my deeper hurt jabbed into my voice, and I swallowed, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “I’m just trying to be reasonable.”

“That’s your problem. Your head keeps getting in the way.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re asking me to kill part of who I am, and yet you won’t even open up to me. What is plaguing you, Sophia? You toss and turn all night, you’re never fully there when I’m talking to you. Something is bothering you. I might be able to help if you would talk to me.”

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

“Give and take, Sophia. It needs to go both ways.”

I stared at my hands, wishing more than anything I could just disappear entirely.

“Let me tell you something, Miss Reasonable. We definitely can’t be together if you’re dead, and you might as well be signing a death wish if you plan to seek out the Ankou under these circumstances. They aren’t called ‘the elemental grim reapers’ for no reason. If something happened to you, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”

“All I wanted to know is if you would be willing to grow old with me, if things ever developed between us that way.”

“What do you think all this is about?” he asked, spreading his hands. “This is about wanting to be with you. But it’s also about what being with you means.”



THE NEXT DAY, Charles and I cuddled in the bedroom with our favorite movie—Red Violin. Charles rested back against his pillow, eyes closed. I couldn’t see past his youthful face—couldn’t see him as a man who’d lived through centuries.

“How much of your life can you remember?” I asked.

“Remember?” He opened his eyes, his expression soft and curious. “I don’t. Everything blurs together, to the point most major life events carry about as much weight as tying shoelaces. But there’s always a new adventure. Always something new.”

“Like me?”

He pulled me on top of him, so that I straddled his hips. “You are more than an adventure, Sophia.”

I crossed my arms behind his neck, and his heartbeat quickened against the inside of my forearms. He planted several soft kisses along my jaw, his fingers playing across my collarbone. Anticipation robbed me of my breath, and my heart leapt to my throat.

He tipped his forehead to mine, his face too close now to make out anything more than his teal eyes and dark, tangled lashes. My heart went wild in my chest. I quickly realized I was holding my breath, and it took a conscious effort to release it slowly.

“Charles?” I whispered, my lips brushing his as I spoke.

His mouth closed over mine, and I kissed him, tasting him with a hunger that belied my outward calm. He wound his hand in my hair, his lips pressed firmly on my own. A wave of heat traveled over my skin as desire pulsed through my body like wildfire on a hot Colorado day, consuming me the way those fires consumed whole stretches of forest.

Charles’ warm hands untangled from my hair and slid down my back, his fingertips tracing small circles across my skin, just under my shirt. Swimming through the haze, I fought to control the swirl of emotions and relax away my doubts as his hands slowly moved up to caress my breasts through the lace of my bra. His thumbs grazed my nipples through the material, and my breath quickened.

“Sophia,” he said softly, pulling away. “We should stop.”

But when I kissed him again, he didn’t resist. Our breathing shifted into deeper, heady breaths, the air surrounding us growing thicker and effused with passion. A growl rumbled in his chest as I slid my arms around him. I leaned back on the bed, pulling him on top of me, his body flush with mine, his mouth moving to my neck, dropping kisses across my chest, down to where the plunging neckline of my blouse came to a halt.

His body shifted between my knees, his interest pressing the inside of my thigh as his lips returned to mine and his hand caressed over my hips, up toward my navel. His fingers played along the waistline of my jeans, skimming the skin beneath the top of my underwear, and I sighed. He paused, kissed me once more gently, then flopped back on the bed to stare at the ceiling.

Moonlight shone through the window and gleamed off his fangs. My heart sped, but desire replaced my usual fear. I didn’t care about his fangs. I only wanted to give in to the steady pool of warmth in my stomach.

I sat up and cupped my hands around his face, strands of his hair feathering against the pillow. “We can’t stop every time.”

He pointed toward the movie. “Look. Your favorite part.”

“Your fangs bother you that much?” When he didn’t answer, I straddled over him, blocking his view of the television. I leaned forward, my hair spilling over my shoulder onto the pillow beside him, and pressed a kiss against his neck and another along his jaw. I ran my hands over his shoulders and whispered in his ear, “They don’t bother me.”

Charles grabbed my wrists, and, in one swift movement, pinned me to the mattress. He didn’t need his strength to hold me there—the suddenness of his actions were enough to leave me frozen. Heat radiated from his body, warming against my thighs, stomach, and breasts. His scent of vanilla and sandalwood and his close proximity sent my body into a state of arousal, and my nipples hardened beneath my bra. I peered up at him, unsure what to make of the situation. His body suggested passion, but his eyes were cold and hard.

“You are the most aggravating woman I’ve ever met,” he said. The muscle in his jaw twitched. “You expect far more self-control from me than any man could have.”

“I’m not asking for your self-control,” I said firmly.

He released my wrists and climbed off me.  “You’re not ready for this.”

“I am.”

“You’ve never done it before,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking to the wall across the room.

I swallowed past the tight lump in my throat. “You don’t know that.”

He turned, raising an eyebrow. “Tell me otherwise.”

I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze, and I pressed my lips together, for once unable to conjure a lie.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “There may be many things I cannot give you, Sophia, but I can give you the time to learn yourself. To be certain—”

“I am certain.”

“—of our future,” he finished.

How could either of us be certain of that? “I’m not asking for any promises. I understand why you can’t—won’t—change, and I’ve decided to accept that.”

“You decide a lot of things.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You allow your mind to silence your heart.”

“What do you want?” I asked, both defeated and determined to figure him out. “You don’t want to be with me, but you don’t want me to leave. You don’t want to grow old with me, but you don’t want me to be with you so long as you’re immortal. Tell me, what is it I’m missing here?”

“You should expect more.”

“You don’t want me to!”

“I do want you to. I may not be able to give you these things, but they are things you should want. They are things I want, too,” he said, his voice tight and his words strained. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You can’t. Your fangs . . . well, only a pure Cruor can turn a human, right?”

Charles climbed off the bed. “It’s not about that.” He walked over to the bedroom window before turning back, his face a marble effigy of contempt. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice with a raw edge. “We’re going to get through this. But I don’t know if I can promise you what you want.”

He returned his gaze to whatever was outside the window, and I watched him in silence from the bed, wondering how the world looked through his eyes.



LATER THAT NIGHT, the spirit lady watched me through the kitchen window while Charles cooked dinner. Her eyes were bleeding.

I never panicked when I saw her anymore. She was as constant as the rising sun—with me wherever I went for the past few months, her figure drawing ever nearer.

“It’s not terrible I’m immortal,” Charles said, glancing away from the grilled cheese he was making on the stove. “For you, I mean.”

I froze. His sentiment came out of nowhere, and I wasn’t sure how to respond.

“No?” I asked.

He stared stonily back. “I can protect you. If you understood the potential dangers—”

“I understand fine,” I said. “And I can protect myself once I figure out how to tap into my ancestor’s powers.”

“You’re still upset I won’t seek out the Ankou,” he said.

“You have your reasons,” I said, even though he was right.

“The Ankou should be focused on why they are here,” Charles said, engaging in the argument I was trying not to have on the surface. “It’s beyond me how they find time to do these things when they are supposed to be moving the spirits of deceased immortals to the afterlife.”

Moving spirits? That’s what the Ankou did? The revelation panged through my chest, and lungs constricted. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe.

Of all things, this revelation was the one that would shatter my resolve. It meant I wasn’t safe from Charles’ world, not if the spirit following me had anything to do with elementals.

Charles dropped the spatula for the grilled cheese and turned to hold me against his chest. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said.

I shook my head. “Charles, there is a spirit following me.”

{sixteen}

“A SPIRIT IS FOLLOWING YOU?” he repeated, the lines across his brow deepening. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

I gave an insignificant shake of my head. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

He arched his eyebrows. Yeah, I sounded crazy.

“Look, where I come from, they exorcise people, so seeing things that other people can’t isn’t exactly something I want to broadcast. I didn’t think it had anything to do with elementals.”

“We still can’t go to the Ankou,” he said firmly.

“Why not?”

“First of all, the most helpful of them are in Brazil, and secondly, I don’t think it’s wise to approach them. There’s no telling how they might respond.”

Defeat settled heavily on my shoulders. “So there’s nothing we can do?”

“Sophia, there is something you must always remember about my world. You cannot count on running or hiding forever. Whatever you do, fight. Always, always fight, until your dying breath. That is your only chance at survival.”

“Until I die? Stop being so morbid!”

“You can’t be passive about this. Morts don’t follow people for the fun of it.”

“Morts?”

“Mortuss Phasmatis. Spirits of elementals who have met their final death but are stuck between this world and the afterlife. The Universe tasked the Ankou with moving these spirits—either to new lives or to the afterlife—but if the spirits remain too long, they sometimes possess humans.”

“Seriously? Seriously, Charles? Why the heck does it want me?”

“Likely because you don’t have an aura. That makes your ability to resist possession stronger, but if they succeed, they can take you over completely—not only to use your body but to bind with your spirit as well.”

“How can you be so calm about this? What am I supposed to do? Could it really possess me?”

Charles placed his hands on my shoulders. “Calm down. Let’s talk about this. When did you first see it?”

“It’s a her, and I first saw her when I woke up in Ivory’s room after I was attacked at Club Flesh.” My eyes widened with realization, and I covered my mouth. “Oh shit. She followed me here, didn’t she?”

“How close is she now?”

I peered over the ridge of his shoulder, through the window of the kitchen door that led out to my backyard. The young woman with the dark hair now had her face pressed to the windowpanes.

I shuddered. Her face was pressed to the windowpanes, the blood from her eyes smeared across the glass. A shudder ripped through me and threatened to empty the contents of my stomach. I hadn’t been so afraid of her before. Maybe ignorance really is bliss.

“She’s right at the kitchen door, literally pressed against it,” I said, my words leaving me breathlessly.

“I’ll call Adrian,” Charles said. “He’ll advise us on what to do. In the meantime, stay away from the windows and don’t look the mort in her eyes.”

Thank my lucky stars that Charles knew how to keep calm when I did freak out, though I much preferred my usual state of numbness over such events.

The only room in the house with no windows was the bathroom. I settled down in there and had Charles bring me every magical references book I owned.

“Would smudging help?” I called out into the hallway.

Charles popped his head into the bathroom. “Smudging?”

“Burning pine needles and sage.”

He looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “Why would that help?”

“We could use mint or salt,” I offered next.

Charles just laughed. “I thought you went to school for history.”

“I did.”

“Think about it, Sophia.”

Ah. Right. Mint and salt kills bacteria and germs. That would have helped keep people from getting sick, which would have made them less likely to hallucinate. That might help if I were sick, but not in dealing with actual Morts.

Adrian arrived shortly before midnight. “She’ll need to do this under nightfall,” he said to Charles. “If you try moving her to another location at night, you’re more likely to draw attention from the Cruor than if you just attract the Ankou to come here.”

“This is less than ideal,” Charles replied. There was a weight to his voice that unnerved me. “This could risk our location entirely.”

Adrian frowned in a way that seemed almost apologetic. I could marvel for hours at how that man’s expressions could be so nuanced, how something as simple as a frown could evoke so many different things.

“There’s no other way.”

Charles raked his hand through his hair. “Then we better get started.”

Their genius plan was to use me for bait for all the Morts in the area. Then call the Ankou to come exterminate the problem. My anxiety over the whole ordeal was mounting more and more by the second.

I kept mostly to the bathroom, but I did peek occasionally to see what was going on. The backdoor kept wrenching open and slamming shut, and I couldn’t help but cave to my curiosity. The thought reminded me of what Marcus had said, that it was my dad’s curiosity that got him killed.

Had he been somehow involved in this other world?

Adrian went outside ahead of us and set up a circle of wooden poles in the yard. He returned inside to retrieve a chair from the kitchen, which he placed in the center of his circle.

I leaned into Charles. “Why did he paint the poles blue?”

“It’s lime, milk, and pigments that make a blue paint. It’s supposed to look like water.”

“Ghosts don’t like water?”

Charles didn’t answer me. Increasingly, the stress in the pit of my stomach could be more readily attributed to Charles’ demeanor, rather than any knowledge that would lead me to feel afraid.

The spirit of the young woman wandered over to Adrian’s structure, concern etched into her features. Her arms hung limp at her sides. Within moments, two more spirits joined her: a young boy with blond hair and, with him, a tall, thin woman with short, dark-red hair.

“There’s more than one,” I said nervously.

Charles wrapped his hand around mine and squeezed.

A few moments later, Adrian had attached wind chimes to each blue pole. He came inside and wordlessly ushered me out. I opened my mouth to ask what would happen next, but he whispered harshly, “Don’t speak.”

He seated me in the chair surrounded by the poles and started walking in circles around me, dragging a stick along the wind chimes. He was chanting something in a language I hadn’t heard before. My heart rate picked up, and I couldn’t decide if I was too afraid to close my eyes or too afraid to leave them open.

Then something blurred the spirits and they burst into black particles that flurried to our feet. Their remains coated the ground in ash that quickly dissolved to smoke and floated off on the breeze.

Was that it?

I started to stand up but Adrian shook his head at me as though the simple movement were a reprimand for my actions. I froze, then inched back into my seat. He handed me a chalice full of rose water and I took the hint to drink it.

“Now we wait,” he said, and he walked inside, leaving me there. He and Charles watched me through window, unmoving. I wondered if my face revealed my fear as much as Charles’ revealed his concern.

How had my life turned to this?

Perhaps I’d always had one foot in the supernatural world, but over the last few months, things had been shifting. Now here I was, being thrust further into the darkness, my fingernails gripping helplessly to hang onto these last threads of the world as I’d known it.

All I could think was how much I wanted to leave the supernatural world behind.

All of it.



WHAT FELT LIKE AGES LATER, but what my watch revealed had only been one hour, my time sitting alone in the dark was over. Adrian came outside, grinning the full effect of his pride.

“They won’t be bothering you again for quite some time. We will take you inside now and you will rest.”

Once I was inside, lying down in the bedroom and completely unable to fall asleep, my heart still pounding in my chest, Adrian left. I was too frazzled to care that no one had explained to me what had just happened.

Charles came and sat on the edge of the bed. “You all right?”

“I think one of them killed my mom,” I said.

“How so?”

I recapped for him how my mother had died. “Mrs. Franklin thought it was witchcraft, because right after my mom fell to the floor, there was smoke rising from her body. It was just like the smoke outside.”

Charles’ expression was grave. “It may have tried to take you instead.”

“Oh no,” I said certainly. “My mom wasn’t really possessed. Mrs. Franklin just thought she was.”

“Exorcisms are the best way to invite Morts into a home. She might not have been possessed when Mrs. Franklin brought her there, but it’s possible something happened once they began their endeavors.”

I swallowed around a lump in my throat. “Well, anyway, it doesn’t matter because that was a long time ago.”

“Sophia,” Charles said in a way that made me want cry, simply by overwhelming me with his compassion.

“What’s done is done. Can’t change the past,” I added as cheerfully as I could.

The smile on my face felt so unnatural I wasn’t sure how to sustain it nor how to let it fall naturally from my face. I turned away instead.

{seventeen}

JANUARY CAME AND WENT. I would not be returning to work. Maybe I would eventually, but for now I needed to keep my distance. I spent all my newly freed-up time poring over books from Adrian, looking for more answers about my ancestor and how to tap into her gift. I needed to be able to protect myself. Charles couldn’t be there to protect me all the time.

Adrian’s books provided minimal support. The information on fire scrying—using fire to see visions—was useful, but the books addressing magic of the mind talked about telepathy and telekinesis and other things of little-to-no help.

Charles and I had been together for nearly six months, though the time felt more like a lifetime. I’d learned some important things from the experience.

One: I didn’t want anything to do with Charles’ world. Two: I wanted everything to do with him. And three: I couldn’t have it both ways.

As though my current stresses weren’t enough, the voices had amplified. I contemplated telling Charles. He’d need to know eventually; if not now, when? Was I ready to tell him these things, even at the risk of losing him?

Charles’ footsteps sounded in the hall outside our bedroom door—footsteps I’d memorized and loved for their reliability. The kind that echoed with a dull, non-threatening thud. His approach replaced my stress with joy, and I bit back a smile.

Somewhere along the way, we’d ended up sleeping in the same bed. I couldn’t think of any other man I would trust enough to do that with.

Charles placed a hand on each side of the doorjamb and leaned into the room. “I have a surprise for you.”

I arched my eyebrows in reply and followed as he led me to the spare room—the room I’d stayed in when I first moved in here. It’d been locked up for over a month now.

He swung open the door and stepped back, allowing me to enter first. The entire wall to my left had shelves, wall-to-wall, ceiling-to-floor, packed with books. Beneath the window, candles scattered across the surface of a small desk. I smoothed a hand over the arm of a microfiber love seat near the door.

“Charles.” I shook my head, smiling. “I can’t believe you did this!”

A smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “Adrian and my mother donated books to your collection.”

Charles stepped fully into the room. “Do you like it?”

“Like?” I asked, spinning back toward him. “Charles, I love it!” I wrapped my arms around him, locking my lips with his. He murmured against the kiss, and I pulled back. “What?”

“I forgot to tell you—my parents are stopping by tomorrow evening for dinner. They called right before you arrived. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? Of course not. Should I make plans with Lauren?”

His eyebrows pulled together. “That’s why I was telling you.”

“To let me know not to be here?”

“No.” He chuckled. “What are you talking about? They’re looking forward to meeting you.”

“Oh,” I said. I sunk into the loveseat, and Charles sat beside me. “I’ve never met a boyfriend’s parents before.”

Actually, I’d never done anything more than date a guy for a few weeks here and there in high school, which had amounted to little more than hand-holding in the school hallways or kissing in the back corner booth at the local ice rink.

Charles wrapped his arm around me. “You have nothing to worry about.”

But I did. I had a lot to worry about. I was going to meet Charles’ parents—the people I would be stealing him from if he ever became a pure Strigoi and started aging with me.

Was it now, more than ever, important to tell Charles about the voices? Or was now the worst time to bring up my secrets? If I didn’t say something soon, should I never say anything at all?



I DECIDED TO TACKLE THE BASEMENT. It was huge and bare—the perfect place to hold rituals. The floor stretched out in an unwrinkled slab of concrete, only chipped in a few places along the walls.

Charles made a run to the hardware store to purchase some paint. When he returned, he set the two buckets on the bottom step. “You’re cute when you’re determined.”

Cute. Not a word most women like to be called, but better than crazy.

Charles cut in the wall edges using the antique white paint, and I rolled out the rest. Within two hours, we’d completed the task, thanks to Charles’ incredible speed.

We headed to the kitchen for a break, leaving the cellar doors open with a rotating fan circulating the air to dry the paint. Charles served peach cobbler and lemonade, but while the cobbler was warm and sweet, the room was cold and heavy with silence.

My basement project was a foolish attempt for distraction. Painting over the imperfections did me no good: waiting for the paint to dry forced me back to my thoughts—forced me to think about Charles’ parents coming to visit and whether I needed to open up. There was one major problem with sharing secrets, though. Once the words left my mouth, I could never take them back.

Charles sipped at his lemonade in a way that seemed almost scripted. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” I said, poking at a slice of peach on my plate.

No, just a bunch of frenzied whispering voices assaulting my brain. As usual.

Not only were they as non-distinct as ever, overlapping and running wild in my mind—Sto. Are y. Bel. Didn’t see th. Shhh.—but now they were accompanied by dread and anger and other emotions that didn’t line up with what I was supposed to feel.

When the paint finished drying, I returned to the basement and applied a stick-on decal to the wall—a brown tree with yellow and pear-green leaves and a bird cage hanging from an outstretched branch with an orange sparrow inside. In spite of all the brightness and openness of the room, I felt only like the caged bird. Trapped inside myself by the truth I refused to share.

Leaving the floor a deep, gray color, we moved the old upstairs couch—just a few shades too pale to be lemon—from under the basement stairs to the space along the wall where I’d applied the tree decal. I tossed a couple poppy red pillows on either side, and still I wasn’t happy.

As if decorating were a substitute for addressing my emotions. But even this realization didn’t stop me; it only made me hate myself more as I continued.

“Do you mind if I finish up alone?” I asked.

Charles placed a gentle kiss on my temple. “I’ll start dinner,” he said, and he left me in the drearily cheerful room.

In one corner of the basement, I set up two wooden chairs I’d painted daffodil yellow and a small table I’d painted avocado green. Beside the couch, I placed a cream-colored cabinet from my grandfather’s house, the only family heirloom I had in my possession. Using the cabinet as a side table, I filled a clear vase with crystal beads and tucked in several silk flowers, creating an arrangement of candy pink gerberas, bright blue hydrangeas, and lime-colored daisies. I spritzed the flowers with a spray that lived up to its promise of crisp rain and traces of fresh mint.

I stepped back. The bright, airy room radiated a warmth I couldn’t share. To say the room reflected me in any way would have been a lie. This room, this house, was merely a reflection of who I wanted to be. Not who I was.

I sank into the sofa, dissolving into tears. Guilt became a steady undercurrent to my emotions. Why was it so hard to tell him the truth? I’d told him about the spirit following me, and he’d been able to help with that. He hadn’t thought I was crazy. Even if he couldn’t help with this, there was no reason I shouldn’t be able to open up with him about it.

I took a deep breath, pulling the air all the way down to the bottom of my lungs, then headed upstairs. Charles was in the bedroom, flipping through his music collection. When I stopped in the doorway, he snapped the binder of CDs shut.

Despite all effort to remain calm, my breathing was unsteady. “I need to tell you something.”

His forehead creased. “Anything, Sophia.”

“I have this thing,” I said. The space from the bedroom door to the dresser where Charles stood extended a hopeless distance. “I hear things sometimes—thoughts that aren’t my own.”

Charles blinked but said nothing.

“It started as a hissing noise a few years ago but has gotten worse over the past six months.” Even my voice was shaky. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry. I needed to say this. If he didn’t want to be with me because of this, then maybe we shouldn’t be together. “I’m sorry. I’ve been one disaster after the next. I’m complicating your life. If you want me to leave, I would understand.”

Charles crossed the room and grabbed me by the elbow. “You’re nuts if you think I would want you to leave. This is what’s been bothering you?”

I shrugged one shoulder, as though that would hide my hurt. “I was afraid to tell anyone. Everyone else I’ve ever opened up with has turned away.”

“Sophia,” he said, touching my cheek. “I’m not going to turn away from the only person I’ve ever trusted to accept me. Not for anything. You belong to me. If for a moment, then for eternity.”

“Eternity?” I asked wearily.

“We’re going to find a way,” he promised. “This is one of many hurdles we will face, but we will overcome this—this and everything else standing in our way. Whatever it takes. We can fight for this, too.”

“I know, I know. Whatever you do, fight,” I droned. “But I’ve been fighting this for a while now. The voices aren’t going anywhere.”

“Perhaps they aren’t supposed to. Remember, you’re the descendant of a spirit elemental. If she was telepathic, you might be, too.”

Charles didn’t understand. I pressed my lips together and shook my head.

“Will you at least look into it?” he asked.

My breath rushed from my lungs. “I don’t think—”

“Good idea. Don’t think for a minute.”

All this time I’d worried that opening up to him would cause problems, but it was the secrets that kept us apart. The more open he’d been with me, the stronger our bond became. I needed to start opening up to him, too.

I sat on the edge of the bed, and Charles knelt in front of me. The cardboard box he pulled from beneath the bed ripped a little as he tugged. He sifted through the contents until he found a large, unmarked book.

“This is one of my mother’s old journals.” He leafed through the pages, fingers running over the lettering and lips moving rapidly until they reached a page headed ‘Telepathy’. “Do you try to tune out the voices or listen to them?”

“Block them,” I said. “Sometimes I can’t hear myself think because they’re so loud and they’re all clattering at once.”

He set the book on top of the box. “Perhaps you try so hard to block the voices that you block your own thoughts in the process.”

I spread my hands. “What am I supposed to do?”

Charles sat beside me on the bed, his hands resting in his lap. “My mother used to say, ‘much confusion can be lifted with an open mind.’ Try.”

I curled my legs beneath me. “Try what?”

“To stop fighting. Stop pushing the voices away.”

“If I focus, the voices get louder. Not clearer.”

“Don’t focus. Open your mind.”

Open my mind? How was I supposed to do that?

The closest I’d ever come to clarifying the voices was when I was relaxed, so I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing while Charles waited quietly. Several minutes passed. Just as my frustration threatened to take over, something sparked in my head.

. . . help in some way.

“Is that you?” I asked.

“Is what me?”

“The voice.”

“No. Telepaths only hear their own kind.” But it might help.

Now I was certain it was Charles’ voice echoing in my mind. “Help with what?”

Charles stared at me for a long moment, as though considering, then gave a silent nod. “That’s not telepathy.”

“I know.”

For a minute, hope fluttered in my stomach at the idea Charles might be able to help. But either way, at least I was no longer alone in this.

We spent the next thirty minutes testing my ability. Sometimes the thoughts of several elementals floated through my mind at once. At least I assumed they were elemental. Last I checked, humans weren’t very concerned with their fangs or the pain of shifting or whether their wings would be visible in sunlight. If I pinpointed Charles’ voice, the others fell away. I dropped the connection, and all the voices snapped back to a jumbled mess.

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. “Other elementals wouldn’t like this, you in their thoughts. Perhaps this is why you were so easy for Cruor to influence at first but are now capable of blocking their attempts. We need to tell my parents.”

“Do we?” I asked. I didn’t want to tell anyone more than necessary.

“If you want answers.”

He stood and paced the room, not looking at me as he spoke. His fingers rested over his lips and his thumb rubbed the stubble on his cheek. My hands twisted in my lap, my stomach tightening each time he passed. Back and forth. His thoughts too rapid to focus on.

He lowered his hand to his side. “This might have something to do with your ancestry.”

“I thought so, too. The voices left for a while after I drank Adrian’s blood. Maybe that’s a cure.”

“You’re talking about getting rid of them?”

I stared at him blankly. Of course that was what I was talking about. “Did you have a better idea?”

He turned to me, his expression deflated and uncertain. “You could use your ability as a warning system. A way to protect yourself.” His gaze swept over my face, undoubtedly taking in the skepticism that had surely arrested my features. He frowned. “Before we talk about getting rid of them, let’s at least see what my parents have to say.”

{eighteen}

AT A QUARTER TO SEVEN, voices tingled my subconscious. I listened long enough to determine their source before stopping by the kitchen. “Five minutes.”

Charles leaned against the stove. “They called?”

“I heard them. Something about you used to mash food in your hair as a baby,” I teased.

“Very funny,” he shot back.

I waited in the foyer until the doorbell rang. Charles walked up behind me, drying his hands on a dishtowel. He tucked the gingham square in his back pocket and placed a hand on my shoulder.

This was it. Meeting the parents.

I smoothed some non-existent wrinkles from my brown slacks and took a calming breath while Charles reached past me to open the door. I greeted each guest with a small nod. They weren’t at all what I expected.

Mr. Liette didn’t look much older than me. Mid-twenties, maybe? Same dark, toasted almond hair and deep teal eyes as his son, though Mr. Liette was pallid and sallow—not at all the same radiant glow of Charles and Mrs. Liette’s skin—and his style of dress was far more formal than his son’s, a red brocade vest peeking out from beneath his suit jacket.

Mrs. Liette looked younger than me, with hair all soft wisps and curls of auburn spiraling to her snow-dusted shoulders. Her cheekbones shimmered a pale lavender-pink and her eyes were bright emeralds, with facial features small and sharp, her hands tiny and fingers thin. She wore a lavender, empire-waist gown, the belt below her breasts braided with strands of cream-colored suede.

Charles cleared his throat, and I realized I’d been staring too long without speaking.

“Mr. Liette, Mrs. Liette,” I said. “Such a pleasure to meet you.” I offered my hand to Charles’ mom, who accepted and placed her other hand on top, her skin smooth and warm.

“The pleasure is mine, dear. Please, call me Valeria.” Valeria spoke in a warm voice that matched her smile. She turned to her husband. “This is Henry. We’ve heard wonderful things about you.”

She released my hand, and I offered mine to Henry. His touch was icier than Adrian’s had been, and I wondered if all Cruor were so cold or if Adrian and Henry were anomalies.

“Please, come in.” I stepped aside and motioned toward the living room.

Charles wrapped his mom in a hug. They looked more like siblings than mother and son. She closed her eyes and held him in the embrace for a long moment before releasing him, then her hand lingered on his cheek as she focused on him with the gentle, loving gaze only a mother could impart.

“I’m so glad you two came,” Charles said. “How was the trip?”

Henry, looking at Charles, tilted his head toward the door. Then he turned to Valeria and me. “Excuse us, please.”

What was that about?

Valeria’s smile never wavered. After the men stepped outside, Mr. Liette’s thoughts echoed through my mind: . . . if we didn’t lose them at the edge of town.

My heart quickened, but I gave Valeria a smile I hoped covered my concerns. “I’ll put on some tea.”

I walked to the kitchen and tapped my fingers on the granite counter while water heated in the kettle. I needed to stay busy, stay out of the Liettes’ thoughts. I grabbed two carrots, an onion, a stalk of celery, and some white beans from the fridge.

Lost who at the edge of town?

“Let me give you a hand.”

I jumped. When I turned, Valeria was standing in the doorway.

“You startled me,” I said.

“Is everything all right, dear?”

“I think I’m just nervous.”

“Don’t be. Now, what’re you putting together?”

“A quick soup. Or I’m trying to. Charles is better with the cooking.”

“Scooch over.” Valeria eased beside me and chopped the carrots into tiny disks. “Whatever you have in the oven smells delicious.”

“Another one of Charles’ creations,” I said, immediately comfortable. “Hummingbird cake?”

The smile she offered didn’t reach her eyes. “His sister’s favorite. Fresh pineapple, bananas, cinnamon. Roasted pecans on top. I never would have guessed Charles would remember the recipe after all these years.”

She went on about the cake, but I was stuck on something else: “Charles has a sister?”

“Oh, dear.” Valeria stopped chopping. “Please, don’t mind me.” She went back to slicing, working a little slower. She slid the sliced carrots aside with the edge of the knife.

I debated responding, but by the time I worked up the nerve to speak, the moment had passed. We sliced the remaining vegetables in silence. Though I shouldn’t have, I tried using my curse/gift to pry for more, but she’d pushed the sister from her mind. Two other children—young twins, one girl and one boy—lingered in the first sister’s place.

The front door creaked and clicked shut, jolting me from her thoughts, and the men thudded their way to the kitchen.  I felt as though I’d been caught stealing . . . a feeling I knew all too well and never wanted to relive. I needed to stay out of their heads.

“Smells good in here,” Henry said.

Valeria smiled over her shoulder. “Oh, hush.” To me, she said, “You do have blood on hand? Henry of course can’t have soup or cake.”

“Charles has some from his last hunt,” I said.

I’d nearly forgotten pure earth elementals couldn’t eat human food. When I was first getting to know Charles, he’d said he needed blood because he was Strigoi. In truth, he needed it because he was part Cruor. I gave Charles a long look as I swept the vegetables into my hand and plunked them into the soup pot.

Were there other things he wasn’t telling me? He’d never mentioned a sister.

Pouring some animal blood into a glass, I tried to pretend the red liquid was something else. I thought of blood oranges, but that put me off from oranges more than comforted me over the idea of warming blood.

I carried everyone’s drinks into the living room on a tea tray. As I handed Valeria a cup of tea, I glanced at Henry. He sipped his blood, and my stomach lurched. Charles never drank blood in my presence. The jug in the fridge was tolerable, but consumption was another matter.

Henry set aside his glass. “Relax and join us, Sophia.”

Everyone was already sitting. I’d been staring. I hurriedly sat next to Charles on the couch. “So . . . how did you two meet?”

Another award-winning icebreaker.

Valeria plunged right into her story. She told me she was born to one of Queen Anne Boleyn’s maids in 1531, and she and her mother stayed with the royal family even after Anne’s death, continuing under Queen Elizabeth the First’s reign.

“My mother hadn’t known my father was Strigoi,” Valeria said, “but once I hit my teen years, I began shifting. We confronted my father, who explained what I was and what it would mean for me, but he refused to offer any support. He wouldn’t even accept responsibility over my life, as it was frowned upon for someone of the court to mingle with servants.

“At first, I’d been unable to control when the shifts occurred. My mother feared someone at the court might learn and have me executed. She gave me what little money she had and sent me to the street, swiping tears from beneath her eyes and trying to keep her composure so that no one would read anything into the exchange taking place between us. Different times, back then.”

The air in the room grew heavier. I curled up my legs and sipped my tea as Valeria shared the story of how she met Henry, her words painting the history between them like a movie in my mind.

...

AS THE LAW of 1547 said, after three days without a job, Valeria had to offer to work for any employer for any wages, even if only for food and drink. But no one would hire her; they all wanted strong men.

It was Henry’s father who, after finding her begging at the market, finally took her to the local magistrate, where under law she was made a slave to their family for two years. She’d been in service to Henry’s father for a year when he found a necklace she had kept hidden—the only keepsake of her mother, her only symbol of hope. He took the necklace from her as payment for the food and shelter he provided, and she dared not argue.

One night, Henry went out, and a week passed before his return. He knocked on Valeria’s window and asked her to leave with him. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I laid eyes on you. Now I am certain we can have a life away from all this.”

“If they catch me, I’ll be branded to a life of slavery.”

Henry shook his head. “I promise no one will hurt you. Come now.”

She climbed out the window, and the two ran as far and as fast as they could—Valeria in such a state at the time that she hadn’t even noticed Henry keeping up with her own unusual speed. They didn’t stop running until they reached a small, windowless house with a thatched roof.

“You don’t open that door,” he told her.

He didn’t say anything else to her for three days.

Every night, he set out to hunt and returned with a small animal. He shucked its skin in silence, cleaned its meat, and cooked for only Valeria to eat. Rain fell on the forth night. The roof sagged, and vermin and insects fell from it to the dirt floor below. Though the beds were made from straw and ridden with lice and fleas, neither attempted to bother Valeria or Henry. Even the rats stayed away.

Why had Henry left his comfortable life with his father for this?

That night, Henry arrived home from his hunt with a live rabbit. He sat across from Valeria and locked his gaze on hers. Her stomach clenched, and she leaned back. Henry’s fangs descended, and he bit into the animal’s flesh and drank.

Valeria gasped.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he said in a low, gruff voice.

She softened. “I know.”

“And you?”

Valeria swallowed, looking down at her hands.

“I saw you,” he said, “shortly after my father brought you to us. You were a bird, and then you were standing naked in the service quarters.”

She bit her lip. “You didn’t say anything.”

“Would you prefer I had?”

Henry told Valeria how, coming home from a pub one night, he had been bitten and drained, left for dead. He sensed his maker out there somewhere, but could not find him. He found other Cruor and learned as much as possible before returning for her.

In the late 1600s, they learned of the new supernatural law—the law that the races were not to mix. But they were already pregnant with Charles and so were forced into hiding. Even today they stayed as far as possible from society—supernatural and otherwise—hoping that would provide Charles the opportunity to live without fear of persecution.

...

“WE WERE ON OUR OWN after that,” Valeria said, “but I think that was the least alone we’d ever felt.”

“I still don’t understand how you carried a child,” I said. “I thought the Cruor can’t have children.”

“They can’t,” Valeria said, “but as I am Strigoi, it is of no concern. So long as I didn’t shift, my womb and the child could grow.”

“Charles explained the Strigoi age if they don’t shift, but this isn’t true for him.”

Valeria pressed her lips together. “Charles and—” Valeria covered her mouth and coughed quietly. “Charles aged like any normal child would . . . the way a Strigoi would. At nineteen, he gained the ability to shift. But even without shifting, he’d stopped aging. We realized then his Cruor heritage ran deeper than we’d thought, more than merely his need for blood. Charles will never age beyond nineteen.”

Nineteen? He certainly looked older. Technically, he was older. I couldn’t let the revelation rattle me. He was too old for me, he was too young for me . . . either way, all that mattered was the opportunity for us to age together.

“What if he could grow older?” I asked.

Valeria beamed. “Ah, yes! He asked us about this, and he has our blessing. Believe me, anything for love.”

He’d talked to his parents about this? I couldn’t contain the small bubble of hope that stirred within me.

“I think we’ve chatted enough,” Charles cut in. His voice had a steely edge, and he didn’t wait for a reaction before continuing. “Sophia is the descendant of a spirit elemental. We should focus our energies on discussing that instead.”

The change of subject was so sudden that even I was shaken by his statement. Valeria’s eyebrows arched, and Henry’s face gave a flicker of expression—concern, perhaps?

“Is this true?” Valeria asked.

“Yes.” I looked hesitantly to Charles. “I also hear people’s thoughts. Like you and your husband.”

“Well, that is something of a dilemma.” She sipped her tea and then set her cup aside. “But only because you think it to be, Sophia.”

“What do you mean?”

“Might you be able to tap into human thoughts as well?”

I bit my lip, considering. “I don’t believe so.”

“Clairaudience, then,” she said. “Not as odd as you might think.” She placed a hand over mine. “The thoughts of mortals and immortals are anchored in separate realms in order to protect elementals from mortal telepaths. However,” she continued, “clairaudients like yourself can bridge over to access the thoughts of immortals. It’s believed to be a common gift among witches and their descendants, since they are both supernatural as well as mortal.”

“The voices left once before,” I offered, “after Charles’ friend gave me Cruor blood to heal some injuries.”

“With his life source in your system, you were temporarily pulled from your own realm. Clairaudients cannot access thoughts in the realms they occupy, so you will not hear immortal thoughts when in the immortal realm.” She stared into the middle distance, smiling softly. “I’ve met someone like you once before. In Nepal. Anytime she drank Cruor blood, though, she heard human thoughts until the immortal essence filtered from her system. Did you experience likewise?”

I shook my head. Part in answer to her question and part in shock to learn others like me existed. “I don’t think so.”

“Your gift will protect you more than it puts you at risk,” Valeria said, “so long as you do not fear it.”



AFTER THE MORE SERIOUS MATTERS had been discussed, the Liettes engaged us with their light banter. Mrs. Liette asked a lot of questions, though nothing too personal or too hard to answer. She clung to every word spoken, listening intently, inhaling through her nose with a small smile, her chest rising at the intake of air, as if the very oxygen in the room made her happy. She was breezy, and the moments with her seemed to freeze time.

Mr. Liette, however, was the one who most shared my interests. It happened he was a firm believer in the possibility of the Ankou having a cure for the dual-natured. His wife and Charles shared a look over his ramblings, but I was enthralled as he sustained the possibilities with information that seemed to make sense of it all. I was most charmed when he brought up Nostradamus’ predictions. He believed Nostradamus was an early messenger of the Universe, and any disproven theories were merely evidence that the future wasn’t set in stone.

Charles huffed at his father’s sentiments and implored him to talk about something else. “Anything else,” he said. “Area 51. Elvis is still alive. Aliens. Just please”—he rubbed his hands down the sides of his face—“stop talking about Nostradamus!”

Mr. Liette chuckled and leaned closer to me. “He hates when I talk about this stuff.”

I stole a glance at Charles and smiled. He was smiling back.

After dinner, dessert, and another round of tea/blood, the Liettes gathered their things and said their goodbyes before disappearing into the night.

As it was too early for bed, and Charles and I wanted a reprieve from the lingering energy in the living room, we headed to the basement.

Charles plopped onto the sofa, pulling me into his strong, comforting grasp. “They like you. I can tell.”

“Yeah . . . .”

“Oh no.” Charles frowned. “What now?”

“Your dad thinks someone followed them.”

Charles scratched the back of his neck. “He mentioned that outside.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

He smirked. “My dad thinks everyone’s out to get him.”

Charles switched on a spare television set he’d brought down earlier in the day, and I tried to pay attention to the screen. Some show on the Discovery channel talked about human cloning.

We snuggled under a throw blanket, and Charles wove his fingers through my hair. During one of the commercials, he looked right at me, and my heart jumped with his heavy gaze. He swept his nose slowly across my jaw, bringing his lips to my neck and inhaling.

The glow of the television reflected off his fangs, but, this time, he didn’t pull away. He cupped my face and gently kissed me, his fangs rubbing against my bottom lip. I shivered, partly from nervousness and partly from the desire building within me. He broke the kiss but didn’t move his face away from mine.

“Are you afraid?” he whispered.

“No.”

“You sure?”

My heart beat unsteadily, and I couldn’t infuse my voice with any level of certainty. “Yes?”

His fingers grazed over my thighs, between them. He kissed my neck, then pressed his lips near the curve of my ear. “Ready now?”

I wanted to say yes. He knew my secrets, and I’d accepted we’d take the issue of our ‘future’ one day at a time. There was no reason to resist my intimate desires toward him. Finally, I managed to squeak out a quiet, “I think so.”

He leaned back into the couch, chuckling. “Of course.”

I sat up. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

Faint amusement replaced the fire in his eyes. “No,” he said. “You were too busy thinking.”

I frowned.

Charles wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close. “It’s okay,” he said. “It was a long day—let’s relax.”

I took his advice, but, inwardly, my frown remained. Hoping to get everything off my mind, I forced myself to focus on the television.

The airing had moved on from talk of human cloning to talk of curing hereditary abnormalities through stem cells, reminding me of the talk I’d had with Mrs. Liette about the rules of procreation in their world.

“I’m wondering—” I peeked up. “—about your sister?”

Charles dropped his head into his hands. “My mom brought her up?”

His voice was so tender that a knot formed in my throat.

“She started to,” I said. “If you don’t want to talk about it . . . ”

“I don’t mind—it happened a long time ago, during the war. Warriors from the Maltorim discovered Kate was a dual-breed through a friend she had trusted. They tortured her, trying to get her to reveal our parents, bringing her close to death several times then waiting for her to heal before starting again. She was only fifteen—not yet able to shift.” His voice fell, hoarse now. “It’s my fault they killed her.”

“You aren’t responsible.”

His eyes remained on the floor. “I was there. It was during the war, and at the time, any one known as a Cruor was expected to fight. Fight or die. I did my best to show my allegiances without hurting anyone, but my sister acted more on her honor, and that’s how they eventually discovered her true nature. She never revealed our relation, and I didn’t say anything. I did nothing to stop them.”

“They would have killed you both,” I said, knowing it wouldn’t be any consolation.

“If I’d done something—anything—at least she would have known I cared. When they abandoned her dead body, I snuck her home to my parents for a proper burial. I cannot describe to you the guilt, the grief—” He shook his head as his voice cracked. “I failed her.”

“I’m sure she knew your love for her,” I said gently.

He didn’t respond, and I opted for a shift in conversation. “Your other siblings—they were okay?”

Charles’ eyebrows pulled together. “My other siblings?”

“The twins.”

“What twins?”

I searched his expression for answers, but the only emotion there was confusion. I spun the beads on my bracelet. “A misunderstanding, I guess.”

Charles let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t think my parents wanted to have more kids after what happened to my sister, and I certainly didn’t want more siblings. I’d failed my sister. That can’t be redeemed with new life.”

“We can’t bring her back,” I said, “but you can do something. We can change things.”

He scoffed, but the strain around his eyes revealed he was more hurt than annoyed.

“We’ll fight back, somehow. The war against the dual-breeds can’t go on forever.”

“I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.” His expression softened, along with the edge in his voice. “If I could do it over again, I would have—”

“Done something different? Like with your sister?” I didn’t need clairaudience to evaluate his thinking. He was afraid he might lose me to the darker side of his world, the same way he’d lost his sister.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “We’ll think of something.”

Something, yes, but what?

I didn’t know.

{nineteen}

THE EVENING AFTER the Liettes’ visit, I attempted to use my clairaudience to locate Thalia’s coterie. I’d already tried twice, hoping to zone in on them and see if their thoughts would reveal anything useful, but both my attempts had been unsuccessful.

Charles said not to worry about his father’s fear of being followed, but I wanted to make certain. If anyone would know anything, it would be Thalia and her coterie. Despite what Charles had said, I was certain Thalia wasn’t harmless. He might know more about his world than me, but his intuition sucked.

Soon, however, I’d learn my own intuition was lacking as well.

I turned off my cell phone and the lights. A few lit candles, scattered around the room, released sweet walnut and vanilla into the air, and the red light of the setting sun burned through the basement windows. I sat on the floor in my chalk circle, straightened my posture, and took several deep breaths. I imagined vines growing from the earth, gently embracing me, leaving me connected and comfortable. I fell into the practiced rhythm of breathing until even the sound of my breath dissolved in my ears.

My world grew silent, but the voices blared. I centered my energy on the back of my mind, visualizing a map beside a tray of pushpins. As I descended deeper into my meditation, the tingling sensation in my mind intensified. I focused on the loudest whisper until the others fell away. A single voice remained; it would be Charles. I listened long enough to use his voice as a marker, just as I’d practiced late last night with him and Adrian. I dropped Charles to focus on the next closest voice.

Last time I tip Lucia on the best hunting grounds. I come back here, and what do I find? Nothing. Greedy little—

I tuned out and scanned for another voice, at what I guessed was about a mile further out than the last.

Why should I bother hiding? If anyone said they saw me, they’d get booked to the nearest mental institution.

Another failed attempt.

When I tried a third time, the pain of a young woman shifting for the first time filtered into my mind. The voices were one thing, but sharing the sensations was too much. I quickly tuned out and moved onto a voice that registered about three miles away.

The location was close to Basker Street. My heart sped as I listened.

The chick works at a blood bank for God’s sake. Match made in heaven.

Not Thalia. I couldn’t lock on her—or track her at all for that matter. Ditto for Circe. The rest of the supernatural world surrounding us was vacant of any thoughts regarding the Liettes.

I panned the area for an hour before calling it quits. Releasing a final slow breath, I concentrated on blocking the voices altogether. It wasn’t foolproof. The voice of one elemental or another still occasionally punctured my own thoughts but, overall, I was getting a handle on my abilities.

The trance-working drained all my mental and emotional energy. As Paloma had taught me, I drank the water and ate the cookie I’d set nearby to replenish my energy.

Almost immediately after I flicked the lights on, Charles tapped the wall at the bottom of the basement stairs.

I yawned, though I’d been aiming for a smile. “You still haven’t heard from your parents?”

“They don’t usually call back right away. Come on. Let’s get to bed.”

We headed upstairs. Just as I shut the basement door behind me, a voice swirled through my thoughts.

Close.

Too close.

The next moment happened so fast, I didn’t have a chance to fully process the thoughts of our invader. Where had they come from? I’d just been searching.

They lunged at Charles, and instinct threw me in front of him. Pain stabbed my shoulder. My gaze dropped to the stake, coated in dark fluid, that jutted from my body. A sharp gasp echoed—not just my own, but the attacker’s as well.

Two shapes flashed around the room. Charles fighting another Cruor. As my vision faded, their preternatural movements blurred into meaningless colors. A heavy fog pushed over every synapse in my brain. The attacker’s influence. I couldn’t fight it—couldn’t keep my eyes open.

I fell away, into the dark.



AN OPEN DOOR revealed a simple white bathroom and a hairbrush on the vanity. I was lying in our bed. Light streamed in through the small window to my left, marking the comforter with a long, pale rectangle.

A stringent antiseptic smell burned my nostrils, and I lifted a hand to touch the pain gnawing at my shoulder. My fingertips brushed a rough, damp material. Blood-stained gauze clung to my skin. Images from last night—was it last night?—replayed in my mind. Someone had invaded our home. Someone had tried to kill Charles, and might have succeeded if I hadn’t gotten in the way.

Shit. What if it’d been Marcus? Why hadn’t I heard anyone near the house? It’d been too dark to see anything more than Charles’ shape beside me and a moving darkness in the shadows of the hall.

I parted my lips to speak, but my mouth was too dry to form words.

I licked my lips and tried again. “Charles?”

His name left me like a breath, but no sooner had I rasped those words than he appeared in the doorway and, another moment later, at the bedside.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. Through my groggy vision, the lashes framing his eyes looked darker, his eyes more arcane and intense.

“Not so great.” I winced, pulling the shoulder of my nightgown back into place. “Is it okay?”

“Not as bad as it looks.”

“My clairaudience didn’t pick up anything.” I shook my head. “I was listening, but—”

“Hey,” Charles said softly, “don’t think about that now. Your gift . . . it’s still new.”

“Where’s the attacker?” I asked. Before he could answer, my clairaudience registered their life. Their thoughts sped too fast to tune into. I got a sense of anger, regret, and . . . love? I shot up in bed, alarm pulsing in my chest and throat. “They’re still here?”

“Stay calm.” He touched his palm to my face. “What you did last night—jumping in front of me—I would never have wanted you to do that. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Something wasn’t right. We didn’t have time for platitudes. I tried to break into his thoughts, but he blocked my attempts. I felt each beat of my heart, hard and distinct, slamming against my chest.

I put up one finger to silence him and tapped into my clairaudience. Pain muddled my ability. After a few tries, I barely managed to discern the attacker was female. Thalia? But I’d been searching for her all night. “Why is she still here?”

He gazed toward the hallway. A bruise yellowed his forehead, already fading, and pink scratch lines puffed beneath his left cheekbone. His injuries would be gone soon, leaving behind only the scars of his childhood.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he whispered.

I hopped from bed. Pain shot from my shoulder to my elbow, but I forced myself forward, gritting my teeth as I stormed to the basement door.

Charles darted ahead, grabbing my uninjured arm as I reached for the door handle. “Wait, Sophia. Let’s talk first.”

“Move. Now.”

He let go, and I opened the door and started down the stairs. When I saw my attacker, my heart thudded with a strange pressure, shock coursing through my body. My eyes were lying to me. This had to be some horrible mistake.

Ivory, now chained in our basement, couldn’t have been our attacker.

She kept her gaze down, the fringe of her lashes casting shadows onto her cheeks. Blood splattered to the floor in front of her. More crusted beneath one ear and clotted her hair against her scalp. Chains weighed against the bubbling flesh of her wrists.

I turned toward Charles, dread sinking deeper into my stomach, my gaze pleading for him to correct my assumptions.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he said, his voice full of apology.

Adrenaline wore off and pain took over, but this pain came more from the tightening around my heart than the wound on my shoulder. What was happening?

Ivory’s hoarse, tear-smothered voice broke the silence. “Sophia?”

“No,” I said sharply. I wasn’t doing this. I couldn’t talk to her.

I ran back upstairs to the kitchen, to the one place I sat every morning until the nightmares of my slumber disappeared. Recently, my nightmares had all been of my ancestor, the ghost of her dead body hanging from the gallows, but this nightmare was far worse.

This nightmare was real.

As my trembling hand drew a chair from the table, the chair legs rattled against the linoleum. Charles crossed the floor and filled a kettle with water.

I gazed at my hands, not really seeing them. “I heard her.”

“Of course.” His soft voice soothed the edge of my anxiety.

“But that would mean . . . she is . . . ” The pain had been too severe for me to tap into my ability. I’d assumed our attacker had been Cruor, but that couldn’t be the case. “What is she?”

“You already know,” Charles said, pouring me a cup of chamomile tea. “She’s an earth elemental.”

“I sure as hell didn’t know.” My words sounded accusatory, and part of me wondered if they should. How could she be Cruor? I blew out a deep breath. “Why would I know that?”

“After that night at Club Flesh—” He set my tea on the table and stared out the window. I followed his gaze, but the yard was empty, the trees bare. “She didn’t tell you?” He shook his head. “She said she would tell you everything. You said she told you everything.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” I said. “She told me about the Cruor. Not that she was one.”

Had I been too absorbed in my relationship with Charles to notice what was going on around me? I thought back to all the conversations Charles and I had. None of them had been about her. All of our talks had been about the people I feared, not the people I trusted.

Charles turned toward me. “Haven’t you ever ‘heard’ her before?”

I rubbed slow circles over my temples, trying to think. “I haven’t seen her in months, since before I understood my ability.” I shook my head. “Are you certain?”

Charles nodded.

“Then she’s a dual-breed, like you.”

“Not like me, no,” he said. “She’s protected herself from the sun through Ankou magic.”

“Can they do that?”

He shrugged. “It appears so.”

I stared at the rings of the wooden kitchen table, trying to make sense of everything. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

“I trusted she had.” Charles tucked his hands deep into his pockets and gave me a look that told me he had more to say, but didn’t want to say it. And since he didn’t seem sure he wanted to say it, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear.

“What about her aura?” I asked. “You would’ve noticed something off about her, right?”

“Aura-reading is more complicated than that.”

“Is it?” I asked, eyes brimming with tears and heart overflowing with hurt and skepticism.

Charles swallowed. “You know things are different for me. I am not a pure Strigoi—I cannot use my abilities with the same strength. And I hardly have the training. Auras are complicated. Red might mean life-force, raw passion, or anger. Orange might mean sensuality or lacking reason. Green, healing or envy.”

“She was all of those?”

“Mostly red, though always a bit muted. The Ankou magic may have affected her aura.” His eyes searched mine. “Now do you understand?”

I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes. I needed to rein in my emotions if I was going to make sense of all this.

“I’m sorry, Charles. I just don’t get it. Why was she trying to attack you? What do we do now?” I stood to pace the kitchen but a dizzy spell hit and rooted me at a standstill. Ivory’s name echoed in my thoughts, and I sunk back into the kitchen chair. “Can’t you remove her memory of us—use influence or something?”

Charles knelt beside me and grabbed my shoulders. I knew he wanted me to look at him, both by reading the thoughts in his mind and also from the way his head dipped slightly to bring his face closer to mine.

I couldn’t look.

“That can’t be done to an earth elemental,” he said.

“We need to think about this.” I pushed him away. “I need to think about this.”

My gaze lingered apologetically on his, then I headed for the place I always went when feeling my darkest: the bathroom.

I closed the door behind me and took a long look in the mirror. The woman staring back couldn’t be me. She was a husk of her former self—a lost child or a silhouette of who she might have been. Sobs fought to break through my anger. I splashed cool water on my face and tried to steady my breathing. Leaning back against the wall, I slid to the bathroom floor.

Did Ivory think killing Charles would protect me from his world? If she would just forget about me, Charles and I could be together without worrying about her trying anything like this again. There had to be a way to make her forget.

Paloma came to mind. She’d said I could come to her with anything. ‘Anything’ included what? Certainly not blood-sucking creatures of the night. I hadn’t even told her about the voices. Would it be wrong to subject her to the knowledge of this world, especially given how the Cruor dealt with people who found out about them?

Suddenly I was in the bedroom, phone in hand, the memory of walking there like a dream. My fingers dialed the numbers and the receiver rang in my ears. I willed myself to hang up, but my body would not comply.

Paloma’s voice came over the line. “Sophia?”

Had I said it was me? “Yes,” I managed.

“Sophia, is everything all right?”

“There’s a problem,” I said. “With Ivory.”

I could almost hear her frown through the phone. “I was worried this might happen. I’ll come straight over.”

The line went dead.

{twenty}

THE CHILL OF WINTER leaked through the cracked bedroom window. The backyard fence rotted near the bottom, decaying from the moisture of dirtied snow, and a clammy chill crawled over my skin. Darkness would be a relief from what the day had revealed.

Something crinkled and shuffled outside the door. A clock ticked. All these things overpowered my senses, and yet they didn’t really matter.

I was still sitting on the bed, phone in hand, when Charles brought Paloma into the room. She smelled like roses and fabric softener, not incense and hot ceramic. The hem of her long flowing skirt flickered against the burnt yellow light of the room. I felt drugged.

Charles returned the phone to its cradle and draped a blanket over my shoulders. I’d been shivering, but not from cold.

Paloma kneeled down and cradled my face in her hands. Her eyes looked more tired than usual, her usually vibrant skin faded and grayish. “Charles told me what happened.”

“Ivory is a . . . she’s a . . . ”

“I know.”

“You knew?” Everyone had known but me? Somewhere beneath my barriers, hurt and anger threatened to surface.

“It’s my job to know.” She lowered her hands to her lap, and for the first time ever, I noticed her fingernails. She’d always seemed so put together, so light and worry-free. But her fingernails were so horribly bitten—a lifetime of worry showing from the habit—that scabs formed where her nails had been chewed to the quick.

I pulled the blanket tighter around me, shielding the torn, bloodstained fabric at the shoulder of my waffle-knit sweater. “You run Sparrow’s Grotto, in Cripple Creek. That is your job.”

Paloma trapped her bottom lip with her teeth and cast Charles a pained, watery gaze.

Charles wrapped his arm around me. “Paloma called on her way over. She’s a generational witch, like you. She works to make sure things like this don’t happen.”

Not very good at her job then, is she?

My friends weren’t my friends. My mentor was more than a mentor. This wasn’t the town I’d grown up in, and this house—this house that had once been a library—was nothing more than an empty shell, the walls with little purpose beyond hiding a truth I’d have rather not known.

For a moment, I thought of the world outside, going on without me—a world where elementals did not exist because people didn’t know about them.

My brow tensed, and I turned toward Charles. “Paloma knew about me, too?”

He offered a weak shrug; of course he wouldn’t know. I shouldn’t have directed my question toward him with Paloma standing right there. Talk about rude. I gave her an apologetic look, imploring her with my gaze.

She sighed heavily. “I wasn’t sure. Even if I had known, there would’ve been no way for me to tell you. A witch must come to the realization on her own. I did my best to guide you in that direction. Your recent ritual had been my first key intervention. The rest was up to you.”

I suddenly understood why she’d given me the eyebright instead of agrimony. That one herb was likely the cause of my gift coming to the surface.

“Ivory is a witch, too?” I asked.

“She was intended as a spirit elemental,” Paloma said, “which means she would’ve been pure when she was chosen. Something must have happened, maybe around the time she was turned. Many of her powers are obsolete now. But because she was one of the original witches chosen by the Universe, there was no discovery for her to make. She’s always known. There was no place for me in her life to act as a mentor.”

The room slowly came back into focus: Paloma, with her heavily beaded earrings; Charles, in his jeans and black t-shirt; me, clueless as ever.

“Okay,” I said quietly. “I think I understand.”

“Yes,” Paloma said. “But now we must take action to protect you from her—” Her worried gaze flickered to mine. “—though I fear you won’t like what needs to be done.”



PALOMA INSISTED I eat first, get my energy up, before we talk. Now a bowl of jasmine rice, barely touched, sat on the table.

She had the answers all right, but I sure as hell didn’t like them. She wanted me to erase Ivory’s memories. I hadn’t been bothered by the idea of Charles or Adrian wiping them, but now the whole idea suddenly seemed like stealing—like a complete abandonment of my faith.

Like a mistake I’d made once before and desperately didn’t want to repeat.

I shook my head. “It’s black magic.”

And by that, I meant the bad kind. Not the kind most Wiccans knew as the yin to the yang of White Magic. This kind of magic wouldn’t bring balance. No, this kind of magic was the kind sometimes referred to as Hostile Magic.

“There’s no other way,” Paloma said. “Only a spirit elemental can extract memories from the Cruor. Your gift will help you. Think this over if you must, but this is what needs to be done. If you don’t erase her memories of you, she may seek out you or Charles again. I’m sorry.”

She stroked her hand up and down my back before leaving me alone in the room.

I rested my head in my hands, staring unseeingly at the wooden floor beneath my feet. I’d expected Charles to do the dirty work. My heart sank at the thought: I’d been treating him like his humanity was less valuable than my own. What did that say about me?

Should I follow my faith or my heart? My intentions were pure, which counted for something, right? Killing Ivory would be far worse than stealing her memories, and the only other option wasn’t an option at all—we couldn’t walk away. If I didn’t do as Paloma suggested, Ivory would find us and attack again. There’d be no hiding from someone who knew me so well.

The sound of a chair dragging against the kitchen’s linoleum floor ripped me from my introspection. Charles entered the room and sat beside me on the couch. He was silent at first. Then: “Do you need anything?”

“You wouldn’t like it.”

He swiveled his head toward me, his gaze blank and the whites of his eyes road-mapped with red. “This isn’t about me.”

“My shoulder is killing me. Wouldn’t your blood . . . ?”

His mouth sagged, more of a slacking of his features than a frown, but he gave a resolute nod. When Adrian had given me his blood all those months ago, it’d only been because neither Charles nor Ivory had been ready to tell me about their own true natures. If I was going to have a bond with anyone, though, I wanted that person to be Charles. Waiting for Adrian to arrive and assist us was simply not an option, and I sensed the side effect of experiencing someone’s memories would feel somehow less invasive with Charles than it had with Adrian.

Charles swept hair from my face and grazed my forehead with his lips. He pulled away and tore into his wrist to make a fresh wound from which blood flowed freely. He held his wrist to my mouth, and my stomach churned as the first drops rolled onto my tongue, but I sucked from the wound anyway, drinking until my stomach settled. Charles’ blood wasn’t cold like Adrian’s, but it was just as thick and metallic and sweet.

His emotions rushed through me—anger, devotion, fear, concern. Soon, distinguishing his feelings from my own was nearly impossible. Perhaps my experience with Charles would be different. Would I be burdened with his emotional turmoil, instead of the images of his past? I peered up at him, still drinking, but his expression was blank.

When the high of drinking the blood kicked in, I released his arm. The pain slowly subsided, replaced with a faint, healing tingle. I removed the gauze wrap and bandage, grimacing as the wound healed.

I lifted my gaze to him, wiping my mouth with the sleeve of my sweater. “Are you okay?”

The look of concern in his eyes challenged his smile. “You stopped before it hurt. What about you?”

“I still need time to think.”

Paloma joined us in the living room, setting a book in my lap: Ignisvisum. The literal translation in Latin would have been ‘Fire Vision’, but the subtitle read Scrying with Fire. Paloma had already told me the details, but reading the pages solidified this living nightmare.

How was I supposed to concentrate long enough to write my own ritual? The ignisvisum itself wasn’t wrong, but using it as a method to steal memories was.

The text swam around the pages. I wrote things down, crossed them out, and started over. On my tenth or eleventh attempt, something clicked. The words flew to the page.

Paloma stared out the window, looking over her shoulder every few minutes. Charles stood and took a meaningless trip outside. He wanted to clear his head, too. I dropped my connection with his thoughts and tried to focus on my own.

The decision wasn’t impossible. What choice did I have? Performing black magic was our only hope. Even then, I wasn’t sure the technique would work.

Charles returned as I was finishing my notes. I closed my notebook and stood.

“I have to do this.” The steely edge of my voice felt strange on my tongue.

He sighed, shutting the front door quietly. “I didn’t want to pressure you.”

Paloma turned to me, took both my hands, and gave them a gentle squeeze. A sad smile crossed her face.

Night had fallen. Charles placed a call to Adrian, telling him everything and asking him to come over as soon as possible. We would need him to relocate Ivory after the ritual, back to where she lived before she came to Colorado. Maybe if she was back in Boston, without any memories of me, she would have no reason to return. But wouldn’t she be confused? Would she think she’d gone crazy? I pushed aside the creeping guilt and centered my attention on my only option.

Paloma set up a small altar in the basement while I stood staring at Ivory, my arms crossed. She sat on the floor, chained to the wall and leaning back. Her gaze never left the ground, never rose to mine, but blood streaked down her cheeks from her eyes.

“How could you?” I barely choked the words past the thickness in my throat.

“You don’t understand,” Ivory whispered.

“Then explain it to me.”

Ivory opened her mouth, but then it fell shut, and she shook her head. “I—I can’t.”

I shook my head and turned away. She tried to use her influence—the warm push she sent out was weak and frenzied—and I blocked her attempt.

“No one can protect you like I can,” she said.

“Don’t try that crap with me.”

“I’m sorry, Sophia. I never meant for—”

“Sorry? You’re fucking sorry?” I spun back, blinking away my tears, then stormed across the room, grabbed a roll of duct tape from the supply cabinet, and returned to bind her mouth shut.

Paloma rose and placed a hand on my arm. I was shaking.

“You need to stay calm,” she said.

I pressed my lips together and stared out the thin slit of a basement window, trying to find an inner calm. All I found was cobwebs hanging between the windowpane and crank and paint peeling away from rusted metal casing. Dead flies littered the sill. Outside was a wash of gray—the bark of cedars, the crumbling stone of the birdbath, the leaden sky.

Charles sat in one of the painted wooden chairs and held a closed fist against his lips.

Paloma nodded at him and then took my hand. “Come sit at the altar.”

Tears filmed my eyes, but I managed to detach. I hardened my heart and pushed back as Ivory continued her efforts to influence. None of her thoughts made sense now anyway; they were all panicked, muddled fragments.

I needed her asleep. Paloma handed over a stone mortar bowl filled with skullcap and henbane. My hands numb from adrenaline, I nearly dropped the dish. Shakily, I ground the herbs with the pestle. The mixture in tea could knock a person out, but no way would Ivory willingly drink anything we prepared.

“I’m sorry,” I said, before blowing the powder from my palm into her eyes. It would sting, then seep into her retinas and blood stream.

I leaned away as she fought against the chains. Fresh areas of her skin smoked as the chains shook on her wrists. The bloody flesh pussed, and Ivory’s fangs descended, tearing through the duct tape. Her cheeks puffed out and saliva escaped her mouth as she spat the tape to the floor.

Her movements became weaker, and before she could say anything, her eyelids drooped, then closed. Her body slumped listless in the chains.

I looked back to Charles. “She could have broken the chains?”

He shook his head. “They’re silver.”

That would explain why they burned her flesh. Initially, I’d thought those wounds had been from something else, but now that I understood her true nature, the cause was clear.

My gaze panned the room, anxiety mounting. Bright, cheery decor, with chains attached to the wall. A dark-haired girl’s limp body sagging against restraints, silver eating away at flesh, searing third-degree burns into her wrists.

No, the room wasn’t living up to my intentions. Perhaps I’d put the negative energy here myself.

Paloma handed me a paste made from elderberries to smear over Ivory’s eyes, urging me to move forward with the ritual. This was new territory for me. What if the ignisvisum didn’t work? We had no backup plan.

My confidence ebbed. “Everyone will ask where she went.”

“I doubt anyone will be surprised,” Charles said, “considering the way she’s been acting.”

“Stay with me?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

He nodded.

Paloma joined me in the opening rites to cast the circle and assisted me with a protection spell. A globe of electricity surrounded us as we kneeled in front of the altar. Paloma filled the scrying bowl with chips of driftwood.

“Only you will see the images,” Paloma said, “and only you will be able hear her thoughts.”

I swallowed and nodded, then threw a lit match in my scrying bowl, the wood catching fire and heating my nose and cheeks. I added a cinnamon stick to aid in psychic vision and, using a small cloth, wiped acacia oil across my forehead to strengthen the effect.

Until that moment, reality could have been denied. Now I had to accept what I set out to accomplish.

“Blazing fire as you dance, give me now the secret glance. Call upon my second sight, make me psychic with your light.”

In a quiet murmur, I repeated the words like a mantra, my eyelids growing heavy as I gazed into the fire.

Images from Ivory’s mind displayed like a mirage on the rippling air above the embers, and my clairaudience soaked in all her thoughts and every memory and sense of emotion she’d once experienced.

My heart tightened as the air around our circle filled with black smog and the spirits of the deceased, alive during the imprinting of Ivory’s memories, struggled to break through our protective barrier. How many of them were we pulling from the afterlife? How many were Morts—spirits of elementals that had never passed on?

I focused on my chant, tuning out the crackle of fire and the moans of spirits, watching the flicker of images in the scrying bowl. A dull pain swelled in my chest as millions of words, stretched over hundreds of years, spilled from her thoughts.

There she was. Ivory—though she thought of herself as Sarah. This wasn’t Colorado. This wasn’t the world I’d grown up in. Ivory was searching for dry wood and kindling—anything that might catch fire and warm her small home.

A few feet into the woods, a woman sat leaning against a tree. Long, blonde tendrils of hair hid her face, her white bonnet crumpled and dirty.

This was Ivory’s life before she was turned, not just her memories of me. This wasn’t what I’d called for with my spell, but backing out might mean losing my only chance for answers.

I waited another moment, willing the memories to fast forward, willing the ignisvisum to skip past these moments and arrive at her memories of me—the memories I needed to see.

Despite my efforts, the images continued to scroll. The woman leaning against the tree turned, the moon shining off the tears that soaked her cheeks. She and I could have passed for sisters. I nearly pulled back, determined not to steal memories that had nothing to do with me, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away from this woman. In my heart, I knew who she was before Ivory even spoke her name.

“Elizabeth?” Ivory asked.

I should have looked away, but this was possibly my only chance at discovering what happened to Elizabeth’s body . . . my only chance of gaining complete control over my clairaudience, of finding a way to protect myself and those I loved from the darkness in the elemental world.

It’s often said experiences make a person who they are. But as I stared into the ignisvisum bowl and sent my clairaudience out to Ivory, I soon realized it was the memories of another that would forever reshape who I was to become.

{twenty-one}

IVORY’S MEMORIES

Salem, Massachusetts Colony, 1692

THE SKY DARKENED from indigo and ochre into a deep shade of amethyst. The remaining flecks of sun lent a golden warmth to the sepia-washed clearing. Ivory stumbled to a halt, then stepped closer, but Elizabeth remained seated in front of the tree.

She dropped her face into her hands. “Please go along.”

Ivory placed the maple wood she’d gathered on the forest floor and hurried to Elizabeth. “What troubles you?”

“Go.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Something evil has come.”

The sadness in Elizabeth’s eyes—a beautiful sadness that touched Ivory’s heart—created a flutter in her stomach. Ivory held the betraying emotion at bay.

“Don’t let the town’s talk frighten you,” she said. “They’re just stories.”

Elizabeth rocked slightly. “I can hear things. They will see, and they will kill me.”

Ivory glanced back toward the village.  “We won’t let that happen, now will we? Tell me—”

An energy coursed through her veins. She shot to her feet and looked in every direction for a source, the sky and forest whirring around her. A whispering voice echoed between the trees, as though spoken from many discordant voices: “The heart of the spirit.”

Ivory dropped to her knees in front of Elizabeth and placed a hand on either shoulder. “Did you—”

Elizabeth closed her eyes. “I heard.”

Ivory gripped Elizabeth’s shoulders until her short nails dug against the long sleeves of Elizabeth’s dress. “We’ll leave—travel somewhere safe and make sense of all this.”

“I can’t.” Elizabeth’s voice cracked. “My baby, I can’t leave him.”

“Nonsense. You must.”

Elizabeth stood, shaking dirt loose from her skirts. “I won’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Ivory said, gentling her voice. Unlike Elizabeth, she didn’t have a husband or child. She still lived with her mother, father, and sister. How easy it would be to forget the ties that bound most women to the village. “Then we shall carry on until he has grown.”

The pair soon learned the Universe had chosen them to restore balance to the earth, an idea their minds would have rejected if their hearts were not so touched by the purity of the Universe’s voice.

And so, on some evenings to follow, they stole away into the forest, performing rituals guided by the Universe to conjure peace. Their gifts strengthened over time, and the Universe promised their true purpose would soon be revealed. Elizabeth and Ivory had no common ground otherwise: Elizabeth was married to a tailor, and Ivory was unwed, nearly too old to attract a suitor.

One afternoon, however, Elizabeth told Ivory of a deeper confliction, of the curse of many unknown voices, and not only the voice of the Universe.

They were sitting side-by-side near a dried riverbed, and the fabric of Ivory’s dress rustled against the fabric of Elizabeth’s. Ivory swallowed to steady her own quick, shallow breathing.

“I’m sure sense will come of it in time,” Ivory offered.

Elizabeth turned to her. “Such are these times, Sarah, that I think you are the only soul in the world who understands.”

Ivory searched Elizabeth’s eyes. Her heart leapt forward, and, before she could control her impulse, she pressed her lips against Elizabeth’s. Ivory quickly sat back, heat burning her cheeks and ears, but when she dared steal a glance, she noticed a blush creeping from the neckline of Elizabeth’s dress and the small contented smile that touched Elizabeth’s lips.

In nearby settlements, women were burned alive for such things. But Ivory wasn’t willing to sacrifice the hope she found in Elizabeth’s company.

Early one evening, while most of the townsfolk were still at work, Ivory opened her window and helped Elizabeth climb into her room. They huddled close under blankets, dressed only in their undergarments, facing each other on a small cot.

Ivory tucked one of Elizabeth’s curls behind her ear. “We will leave this place,” she whispered, “I promise you.  When your child is grown, the time will be kind for our departure.”

The floorboards creaked, and Elizabeth’s body went rigid in Ivory’s arms. Ivory clutched the blanket over their bodies. Her mother walked in and gasped, then spun away and shielded her eyes as Elizabeth quickly dressed and fled the house in tears.

“You are no child of mine!” Ivory’s mother said in a voice drenched with disgust. Her hooded grey eyes narrowed, her fists balled on her hips. “They will be talking your death to know what you’ve done. Wipe her from your mind. Hear me, child, for you will find the end of a noose if you continue this path. May God send his mercy upon you and cleanse the blackness in your soul.”

Ivory’s sister, Anne, appeared in the doorway, but just as quickly turned and darted from the house, her fiery hair trailing behind and bleeding against the red, setting sun. Ivory refastened the bodice of her dress and chased after. If Anne said anything about what she’d seen . . .

Ivory couldn’t let that happen. She rushed out to the courtyard and stood to block Elizabeth from Anne’s glare.

A woman across the court dropped her water pail, and a man pulled the reins of a horse to bring his cart to a halt. Even the hammering of a nearby blacksmith stopped, leaving only the scent of fire and hot metal in the sudden silence.

More onlookers gathered by the second, as though drawn by the sudden commotion. Ivory’s gaze swept across the villagers, some standing with mouths agape while others whispered amongst themselves. She looked at her own disheveled appearance, and then over to Elizabeth, who had dressed in such haste that her bonnet was crooked and her apron loose.

Ivory and Elizabeth stood without movement, a stunned tableau in the center of town. Anne tilted up her nose, smirking. Dirt scraped beneath her square-toed shoe as she turned toward the gathering of townsfolk.

“Witch!” She pointed at Elizabeth. “She has stricken my sister! She bids the devil’s work!”

Ivory searched the faces of the crowd, looking for even one kind expression—there must be at least one who doubts this accusation?

But as her gaze landed on one unforgiving face after the other, her hope withered.



AT DAWN the next morning, Ivory fell upon the courthouse, carried by a sea of excited townsfolk. She paused outside the low brick wall surrounding the establishment, but her mother pushed her through, whispering in her ear that seeing this would be a good life lesson.

Once inside and seated, Ivory glared at Elizabeth’s husband, who sat on the worn pew at the front of the courtroom. Beside him, Elizabeth’s fourteen-month-old sat with his arms hugged around his stomach.

Magistrate John Thornhart entered the room, his long gray hair stiff and thinning, his narrow, aquiline nose pointing toward his dimpled chin. The crowd quieted, nothing remaining but the creak of the wooden pews and the rustle of papers.

“Bring forth the accused!” His powerful voice sent shivers down Ivory’s spine.

Two men brought Elizabeth into the courtroom and pushed her into a chair. Ivory’s gaze followed the length of her lover’s body from untamed hair to bare, dirtied feet, anger bubbling in her chest at the way she’d been mistreated.

Thornhart crossed the room, his shiny black buckled shoes clicking evenly on the wood floors. He faced Elizabeth, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Elizabeth, what evil spirits have you familiarity with?”

“None,” she replied.

Thornhart raised one eyebrow and paced away. He looked back over his shoulder to her. “Have you made no contract with the devil?”

“No,” Elizabeth said, her voice harder and more direct.

Thornhart pointed at Ivory, his gaze still leveled at Elizabeth. “Why do you curse this woman?”

Ivory shot to her feet. “I have no grievance! She does not harm me!”

Thornhart jerked his head toward her. “Speak not out of turn, I warn you, Sarah, lest you are attempting to curse us as well.”

As all the eyes in the courtroom shifted to Ivory, her skin prickled with heat. She lowered herself to her seat.

“Elizabeth, what say you?” Thornhart asked.

“I do not curse her.” Elizabeth’s voice remained strong. Still, her eyes pleaded to the court, and Ivory’s heart dropped to her stomach.

“Who, then, do you employ has cursed her?”

“No creature, for I am falsely accused!”

There was an edge of anger in Elizabeth’s voice, and the crowd murmured.

“You bid the work of the devil when you make this woman lay with you as a heathen.”

Was the town so sick with desire for a witch-hunt that they would accuse Elizabeth of witchcraft before considering both women guilty of expressing their love to one another?

“Anne, you identified her as the one who torments your sister.” Thornhart paused briefly from his pacing. “What have you to say in evidence?”

Anne fingered a small pendant on a chain at her neck. “My sister behaves strangely only when in Elizabeth’s presence. The witch is an enemy to all good!”

Ivory kept her arms crossed, hoping her expression was stoic and cold instead of as rigid and fearful as she felt. Already she tasted the tears in the back of her throat.

“See now what you have done, Elizabeth? Redeem yourself and speak the truth, for you have cursed this woman.”

Elizabeth’s hands curled into tight fists. “I do not curse her!”

“Tell us, Elizabeth. How do you curse her?”

Before Elizabeth could declare her innocence once more, her husband stood. His expression was weighted, and he swallowed. When he spoke, his voice was so quiet Ivory had to strain to hear.

“She tells me of voices that speak to her,” he said. “She has been accursed for some time now.” He lifted his apologetic gaze to Elizabeth. “I’m so sorry. Please, let them help you.”

Ivory nearly choked on the air. Elizabeth had told him? The revelation was a sharp knife in Ivory’s heart. How could Elizabeth have been so foolish?

Thornhart’s eyebrows rose. “Tell us of this curse, Elizabeth. Confess of it and the evil things you’ve done as its vessel. It is the only path to redemption.”

Elizabeth shook her head slowly. “There is no evil in me,” she said. “I have harmed none.”

Two girls started screeching and writhing on the ground. One’s body went limp.

Thornhart spoke over the crowd’s loud chattering. “Order!”

“She has afflicted me, too,” one girl cried. “Look at these punctures on my arm. They are the bite marks of her specter!”

Ivory shot the girl a dirty look. The marks on her arm were caused by nothing other than the dig of her own fingernails.

Thornhart whipped his gaze back to Elizabeth. “Why do you torment these children? Why will you not confess, when we can see you clearly for what you are?”

All of the village joined in: “Confess! Confess!”

Though the shrieking of the girls bounced off the room’s wooden walls, Elizabeth would not confess. Thornhart asked the jury of their verdict, and they returned a true bill.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ivory mouthed to her lover, the tears hot on her cheeks. Her nose stuffed up, causing a pressure in her head that throbbed with each fearful thought.

Ivory had been a fool to believe there was any hope. Elizabeth’s guilt had been determined by the very fact she’d been accused.

Thornhart declared Elizabeth’s execution to be carried out immediately. “Let the first witch hanged be an example.”

Anne grabbed Ivory by the arm. “I did this for you, Sarah. It could have been you both meeting an end, had I not accused her.”

Ivory didn’t believe one word. Her sister had always been jealous of Elizabeth, ever since Elizabeth’s family forced her to marry the man Anne loved.

Disgusted, Ivory clenched her fists and pulled away from her sister. “You will burn in hell, Anne, and no prayer will save you.”

Two men escorted Elizabeth to the gallows. The sun beat against the planks of the platform where the crowd huddled near. Some of the townspeople cupped hands by their mouths to holler and condemn her. Others held baskets of rotten vegetables, the scent overpowered only by the pine of the newly constructed gallows and the draft of horse manure from the wagon awaiting her corpse.

The rope binding Elizabeth’s frail wrists pinched and reddened her flesh. One of the men shoved her toward the platform’s steps, but the only sign of fear was the tension along her temples and the slight tremble of her lip.

Elizabeth’s gaze found Ivory’s, eyes soft and forgiving. A man looped the noose around Elizabeth’s neck, and Thornhart’s shoes thudded across the planks, somehow louder than the excited murmurs of the crowd.

Children climbed on barrels and the shoulders of their parents for a better view. Townsfolk spat at Elizabeth and tossed their rotten produce. A man to Ivory’s side lifted a stone from the ground, but as he cocked his arm back, Ivory jabbed her elbow hard into his ribs and ducked away as he keeled over.

“Confess,” Thornhard said, “should you save yourself from the rope.”

Elizabeth defiantly stuck out her chin, but her gaze was already dimming. “I have nothing to confess. I meet my fate with a pure heart.”

The crowd grew eerily silent. Tears lined Ivory’s eyes, but she rigidly held them back. She watched until just moments before they dropped the floor, then turned quickly to leave. She heard the snap of Elizabeth’s neck, the tug and creak of taut rope, the shuffle of fabric. An eruption of cheers followed.

Ivory wove through the crowd, trying to hold it together. Guilt dug like sharp nails into her heart. She should have done something more to save Elizabeth. But what? What could she have done, other than get herself killed, too?

Perhaps that is what a real lover would have done. Died alongside a loved one. Never again did Ivory want to hear her name spoken aloud. Sarah was the woman who would have saved Elizabeth from this town, and she had failed.

Ivory turned back, stealing one last glance at Elizabeth’s empty gaze. Thornhart signaled to the hangman, who sawed through the rope with a large hunting knife. The body thumped into the wagon below.

Ivory broke out of the crowd and stormed off to a quiet spot they’d kept in the woods.

“Speak to me now!” she cried out to the Universe. “Tell me what you want!”

Garnering no response, she fell to her knees and cried. Her fierce sobbing emptied her stomach of what little she’d managed to eat that morning. When her tears subsided, it was dark, but she knew what must be done. The town would kill Ivory if they caught her, but she refused to send Elizabeth from the world this way.

Elizabeth’s body still remained in the open wagon near the platform, crumpled over the loose hay of the wagon’s bed, her hazel eyes as empty as buttons that had lost their luster. Thornhart had left her there, a reminder to the townsfolk of what would become of anyone who dared perform witchcraft.

Ivory shook her head, vomit rising from her stomach in disgust at the people of her town. One day, Ivory hoped to see them suffer.

All the houses in the village were dark and the roads bare. Arms looped under Elizabeth’s shoulders, Ivory dragged her lover’s body into the woods behind a nearby store. She sagged beneath the weight in the same way the weathered roofs of the town drooped from the weight of snow in the winter. Elizabeth’s body was stiff and cold to the touch—not how Ivory wanted to remember her.

Ivory’s resolve, paired with the overwhelming feeling of loss, pushed her, lending her strength as she pulled her lover farther down the path to a barren clearing that offered little more than a rotted apple core festering in maggots.

She piled dead leaves, branches, and debris near a decaying tree stump and laid Elizabeth’s body over the compost. Ivory breathed deeply and spoke to the Universe once more.

“You have made her this way—brought her to this end! Now I return her to you. Take her ashes, so that her spirit may live on.”

She burned the body. The skin melted against bones, and blood bubbled until little remained. Smoking charcoal and sulfur accosted her nostrils.

When the fire exhausted and the remains cooled, Ivory wiped the tears from her cheeks and whispered, “Live on, my love.”

She covered the evidence with dirt and hiked away from town.

What Anne had witnessed was love, not witchcraft. She had been unknowingly correct when she accused Elizabeth of being a witch, but she hadn’t known what being a witch meant. Ivory and Elizabeth had harmed none.

Though more deaths followed, the court’s approach shifted by the next hanging. Thornhart was perhaps spooked by the disappearance of Elizabeth’s body but clearly not enough to put an end to the horror. Ivory returned to town only long enough to steal Elizabeth’s court documents—documents detailing the trial of the only true witch killed during the Salem witch trials—and to murder her sister.



IVORY’S FIRST THOUGHTS upon waking were, as always, of Elizabeth. A sharp pang pierced through her, and she tried to lift her hand to wipe grit from her lips, but instead she found her movement restricted. Her wrists and ankles seared with pain. She could do little more than raise her head and shoulders from the ground. After blinking several times, her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting.

Chains staked into the ground bound her wrists and ankles, the metal burning against her flesh as though heated over a fire before securing her. She glanced around, a stillness where her heart would’ve normally sped.

Dirty sheets of canvas billowed on every side, and, straight ahead, two flaps opened to a wooded area and a small campfire. The air carried the scent of smoke, cold, and earth.

This was someone else’s tent—not her own. A small cot with rumpled sheets and a thin woolen blanket sat to one side of the tent, and to the other side was a wash basin filled with water.

No, not water, she thought. It’s too dark to be water.

There was a brushing sound outside the tent. Boots scuffing over leaves, she realized as a pair of legs came into view. A man bent to stir the fire.

“You have awakened,” he said without looking back.

Ivory tried to speak, but her throat felt cracked and burning. He strode into the tent and crouched beside her.

“There is not much life in these parts. I drained you first”—he pointed to the washbasin—“so that we may eat.”

He doesn’t mean . . . that is my blood?

“Why?” she whispered hoarsely.

“Please see it as a gift. I could have killed you.”

The man turned to face her, his skin an unnatural pallor in the moonlight. His hair was dark, even his eyebrows the darkest she had ever seen, and his nose hooked a little toward the end, dimpled on one side. He sat back and kicked his feet in front of him.

He dribbled something into her mouth—a fluid that soothed her throat. “Drink,” he said. “You will feel better.”

Each suggestion he made reflected in Ivory’s own thoughts. Their minds were as one.

“I must keep you restrained,” he said, “until your urges pass. The silver with which I have bound you will sap your strength, but you will see soon enough the great power you now possess.”

Without a need for words, the man’s knowledge became one with hers. He was her sire—the one who had turned her. She would live eternally. She would never pass to the afterlife where Elizabeth surely awaited her arrival, not unless her life was taken from her, and Ivory already knew she was too much of a coward to allow that, let alone carry out the deed herself.

She would never forgive him for this.

“You have abandoned your former name,” the man said, a trace of amusement in his voice. “I will call you Lenore.”

Dropping her head back, Ivory closed her eyes against a lifetime of memories she wished to forget.

“Do not fear,” her sire soothed. “Your wounds will quickly heal.”

Ivory bristled at his sentiment. He was wrong. There were wounds in her that would never heal.

. . .

Province of Georgia, 1732

THE HUMAN WORLD moved on without Ivory, and she vowed never to allow something so horrible to happen to any of Elizabeth’s descendants. She watched her lover’s son from a distance until he grew to have children of his own: the first, a boy, born in 1709, and two years later, a girl. They called her Mary.

Ivory split her nights between playing silent guard and surviving her new life as a young Cruor, at first needing to hunt weekly but soon able to sustain herself on monthly meals.

Over the decades, however, Ivory worried her ways would forever distance her from the Parsons family. She’d need to show some thread of what she had once been, not just some empty shell with a thirst for blood.

It was with this in mind that Ivory stalked the wildlife in the brambles outside the Parsons’ home, hesitant to strike. The animals seemed more innocent than the lustful men she usually preyed on. The musk of skunk and the woodsy smell of fox caused her stomach to lurch. As she crept around pinecones and beetles that clung to toadstool stems, she picked up on the spoor of a nearby deer.

When the deer paused to sniff a fallen twig of red berries, Ivory pounced. Her fangs sank quickly into the felted flesh, and her mouth filled with a sour fluid—not the sweet essence of a human. Ivory gagged but forced herself to continue. She craved blood to sate her hunger and needed the hope of regaining a semblance of humanity.

That idea shattered when a soughing wind groaned through the tree branches, and the Parsons’ back door swung open. Ivory, frozen in place, rested back on her heels, briars prickling against her calves.

Mary, now close to twenty years and very nearly a replica of Elizabeth, opened the door, sending the smoky scent of their wood-burning stove into the chill night air. She stepped outside and scanned the forest, her hand lingering on the doorknob. After a long moment, she dipped back inside. The click of the door’s lock echoed in Ivory’s ears.

The deer’s blood cooled on Ivory’s chin. Her eyes dropped to her blood-drenched hands. What had she become? Even this—the feeding from live animals—wouldn’t garner the trust of the Parsons family. If there was any hope of entering the lives of her lover’s family, it was in finding a way to walk amongst them while living out her darkness in secret.

And so Ivory continued on, always with the blood of another human on her tongue, neither her nor her sire caring for the Maltorim’s order to stop hunting humans.

On some days, Ivory stayed watching over the Parsons’ just a little longer than she should, the first rays of light scorching her face and arms before she retreated to the underground. This in itself was a rarity, as there were no other known Cruor at the time who could withstand time in the sun. Perhaps this was a gift Ivory had only because of her first calling—the calling bestowed on her by the Universe that she had abandoned for a life of revenge on mankind.

In 1732, Mary, now with three children of her own, moved to the Province of Georgia, away from the revival fires of Massachusetts. Ivory followed, convinced this young woman needed her protection more than the men born into the Parsons’ lineage.

Though Ivory’s sire appeased her desire to relocate, he cautioned her against her obsessions. Ivory, however, resented him. He controlled too much of her time and prevented her too often from watching Elizabeth’s family.

Late one night during the following spring season, Ivory crept upon Mary’s house and stopped behind a tree several yards from the open window of Mary’s sleeping quarters.

Mary sat on a small bench in front of a wooden music stand, dressed in a dark blue, tightly-laced linen dress. Her skirts bunched in elegant tiers behind her, and her hair was pinned up with only a few short, curling wisps escaping near the nape of her neck and at the front of her hairline. In front of her, poised on a small stand, was an unfinished sheet of music.

A shaky breath escaped Mary as she rested a violin between her petite chin and bony shoulder and drew the bow across the strings in a slur. She stopped to adjust a few pegs before beginning again, always following the rule of the down-bow on the first beat of every measure.

Ivory had seen musicians perform this way at the orchestra, one of her sire’s favorite places to scour for humans. He’d taught Ivory all about music . . . but where had Mary learned? Ivory, stung that she was missing Mary’s life, swallowed her hurt and listened to the melody.

The song was slow, sweet, and a little sad. Mary’s body and breathing were steady, only the tears streaming her cheeks a sign of whatever pain she harbored. Ivory could not run to her—could not cradle Mary in her arms, could not allow Mary to collapse there and purge her heartache.

The intensity of the piece increased, and Ivory used the back of her hand to scrub the tears away from her own eyes, the sticky blood smearing over her cheeks and along her jaw.

Though Ivory was on the outside looking in, she and Mary were together in this song. They were listening to the same notes carried on the same night breeze. Every few measures, Mary stopped. She dipped a quill into an inkpot resting on a worn blue table before adding fresh marks to her sheets.

Smooth legatos and high notes empowered the piece, with Mary’s fingers working the strings furthest from the pegs and occasionally moving down the neck to deepen the sound.

After some time, Mary set her violin aside and sat quietly with her tears.

“Lord, please relieve me of this curse,” she prayed. “These voices, these thoughts—they do not belong to me. Even my husband has abandoned me in knowledge of them.”

Ivory covered her gasp. Her fingers went numb, and her breath, cold in her chest, rushed from her lungs. For a moment, she thought even her heart had begun beating again, but it was only a memory of a feeling she’d once known.

Ivory considered going to Mary and telling her everything, telling her all about her grandmother and helping her where she had once failed Elizabeth. But Ivory couldn’t risk exposing her darker nature, so instead she slinked back to the shadows.

. . .

Savannah, Georgia, 1854

BETWEEN 1732 AND 1854, Ivory’s tolerance to the sun grew, though she was still unable to walk outdoors when the sun was at its highest and brightest. A small bronze amulet on a leather cord around her neck—a depiction of Sól, the sun goddess, riding on her chariot—wrapped her in a protective barrier from the sun.

The charm and its magic had been given to her by one of the Ankou in exchange for her turning a young woman—Ophelia—so that she might find a place with the Maltorim.

Though Mary’s husband had soiled the souls of Mary’s children with his surname, the Parsons’ lineage hadn’t ended at Mary’s death. Ivory sought out Mary’s brothers instead.

Ivory’s sire implored her to stop returning to Parsons’ homes. They needed to keep moving; staying in one place for too long would risk their exposure as Cruor. As though she cared. Of course he wouldn’t understand.

But as he’d never been one to make demands of Ivory, she stubbornly kept watch, his suggestions of moving on little more than an annoyance. Soon, she hoped, another Parsons woman would be born. Perhaps she might be like her ancestors, Mary and Elizabeth, and Ivory might finally have her chance at redemption.

In 1834, after three generations of boys, Rachel was born into the Parsons lineage. Now an adult, she was burdened with shopping at the market. One day, on Rachel’s way home, as the setting sun began to purple the sky, she stopped at a bookstore. Ivory followed, watching Rachel through the shop’s window as she traipsed between shelves that sagged beneath the weight of books. Rachel squatted to read titles on a lower shelf but kept sliding book after book back into place.

Rachel reached on her toes and tugged down a book from a higher shelf. The cover read: The Rebellion of the Beasts, by Leigh Hunt. Ivory stared from across the road as Rachel turned one crisp page after another.

Rachel got carried away with her reading until the shop owner cleared her throat—a sound all too audible to Ivory’s supernatural hearing. When Rachel looked up, the shop owner crossed her arms and raised her brows.

“Of course,” Rachel said, tapping a fingernail against the book’s cover. “This really is excellent.”

She dug through a small pouch and placed her coins in the woman’s waiting palm.

When finally Rachel departed, the book sticking out from her basket of goods, there was little light to travel by. A shadowy figure skirted the deadened light of the oil lamps, following Rachel with a knife flashing in his hand.

Ivory rushed up behind him, snapped his neck before so much as a breath could leave him, and whipped him into an alley. She peeked around the corner just as Rachel was taking a final, nervous glance around, her cloak clasped tightly over her trembling body.

Three mornings later, Ivory rested near an embankment a short way into the forest where a stream whispered between the trees. She stared beyond blades of grass, seeded with red poppies that yielded beneath the breeze, waiting for Rachel to take leave from her home. The early morning sun glowed between the oaks with a sweet-tempered light, and shadows fell with an almost kindness to cool Ivory’s skin. Even dawn felt hotter to her than it would to a human, but at least the sun’s rays no longer burned her flesh.

She plucked a spider crawling across the fruit of a gooseberry plant to feed to a nearby praying mantis but dropped it when Rachel stepped outside. Ivory trailed her to the market, where Rachel perused the courtyard as she picked nuts off a muffin top. Not at all on accident, Ivory bumped into her and sent a loaf of bread tumbling from Rachel’s basket to the ground.

“How clumsy of me,” Ivory said. “Please, allow me to buy you a fresh loaf.”

Rachel’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Finally, she said, “If you’re certain it won’t be any inconvenience?”

Ivory, with sallow skin and trapped in the frame of a young woman from the 17th century, must have looked as though she couldn’t afford to replace Rachel’s bread.

She smiled. “My pleasure, Miss. Wait here.”

Ivory returned with a loaf wrapped in a new cloth and a small block of cheese.

Rachel released a breath. “Would you care to join me for lunch? I fear I’ve bought too much food for one day.”

Ivory had been counting on such a kindness. “I’ve had about all I can eat for one day, but I’d enjoy the company.”

Over the years, the two became close friends. Rachel shared her darkest secrets, but there was one Ivory knew she did not share. Perhaps Rachel’s family had warned her not to speak of the voices—warned her of the hurt and betrayal that comes with divulging such an affliction.

Years passed without Ivory aging, and though Rachel never mentioned it, Ivory feared what others might think. For this reason, Ivory only ever visited Rachel in secret. Shortly after Rachel’s forty-fifth year, she fell ill. Ivory did not need to sneak to meet with her then, for no one wanted to expose themselves to her ailments.

Late one afternoon, when the sun had lowered in the sky to a more forgiving light, Ivory stopped by for another visit.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Rachel scolded as always, her voice too weak to carry any authority.

She held a cloth to her mouth and coughed, a spray of blood spattering on the small bit of fabric. Ivory kneeled at her side and tried to soothe her until the coughing fit subsided.

Rachel set her rag down and waved toward her bedroom door. “Back away before you become ill.”

“You have kept a long life,” Ivory said. “But you see me. I have not aged.”

Rachel closed her eyes, and Ivory swept loose tendrils of hair away from a face that had once belonged to Elizabeth. Rachel’s feverish, sweat-soaked skin burned beneath Ivory’s cool hands, but her graying hair was still soft.

“Come with me,” Ivory said, trying to use her influence. “I’ve known your family for centuries, and you can know them with me.”

Rachel’s mind pushed back against Ivory’s influence, shutting down the attempt completely. “Please now, go away. Your words confuse me.”

Ivory softened her voice and tried a second time to influence Rachel. “Please, listen—”

Grasping her moth-eaten quilt between her hands, Rachel shook her head. Ivory was running out of time. Her heart ached more with each glance at Rachel’s withering body, and she clenched her hands at her sides.

“I can give you eternity,” Ivory said. “Give us eternity.”

Rachel whispered, “Let me die quietly, Lenore. It’s—” Her hands softened, releasing the blanket.

“Please don’t leave.” Ivory repeated the silent prayer over and again as she ran to lock the door.

Quickly, she returned to the bedside, extended her fangs, and sank them into Rachel’s neck, releasing the poison that would revive her.

The life returned to Rachel’s eyes. She sputtered another cough and grasped Ivory’s wrists. “No,” she rasped. “Lenore—don’t.”

Rachel’s heart stopped. Her body went lifeless on the cot. Ivory’s efforts had been too late to sustain the change.

At that moment, Ivory came to hate the name her sire had given her. Lenore. This name was the name of her darkness, the name that put a world between her and her lover’s family. The name should have died on Rachel’s lips, but would instead follow Ivory forever.

Ivory stormed out of the house. In the cold night air, she cursed the Universe. She tore chunks of soil from the earth and pounded her fists on the ground and cried blood tears against the dirt and grass until she could cry no more.

. . .

Keota, Colorado, 1942

THIS WAS THE HUNT OF MAN. A useless man, more precisely, because the only men of any use to Ivory were the Parsons men, for they were the only ones who might bring forth a Parsons woman and rekindle Ivory’s hope for redemption.

But Theodore Anderson was not a Parsons man.

No, Theodore Anderson was a man who had married a woman Ivory had never met but felt she had known for hundreds of years: Abigail Parsons.

After Rachel’s death, Ivory had sought out Rachel’s brothers and waited several generations for another girl to be born into the Parsons’ lineage. The year had been 1920. The current generation of Parsons men died in the war, one of them leaving his son to be cared for by his Aunt Abigail, now Abigail Anderson.

Ivory feared the little boy, Abigail’s nephew, might be the last to carry the Parsons’ name. People were beginning to have fewer children, sometimes none at all. And, if that were the case, Abigail might be Ivory’s last chance.

Theodore Anderson could not be allowed to stand in her way.

Spying him from where she crouched in a nearby ditch, Ivory knew her only hope lay in him not returning home. If she killed him now, he’d be an assumed victim of war. Waiting until after the war was not an option; these days, one could not kill a man so easily without drawing attention.

After the murder, Ivory raced back to Keota, needing to reach town before word of Theodore’s death. She made it, much to the misfortune of one of the Army’s messengers, whose body now slumped against the crumbling stone of an old well behind her.

Ivory stood in the prairie and stared out over the town. A coyote stalked behind her and growled.

“Oh, come on, you’re all right with me.” She turned to him, smiling at the eerie glow in his cloudy, pale-blue eyes. “You’re one of them? Poor, filthy thing.”

The coyote stepped tentatively forward, a light breeze carrying his honeysuckle aroma ever quicker to Ivory. Only the Strigoi smelled and tasted as sweet as humans.

“Come ‘ere, boy,” she said, drawing him closer with her gentle lilt. He sidled beside her thigh, and she hummed to him. “That a’boy.”

She stroked his dusty grey and white fur. The pollen coating his fur left a chalk-like residue on her hand, and she wiped the grit on her skirts and looked to the Methodist church across the way.

“She’ll be out soon and heading home.”

Ivory grabbed the coyote’s snout and gave it a playful shake. The coyote tensed and growled again.

“I am not your enemy.” She let out a wistful sigh and turned her gaze back toward the town. “I will return tonight with food and clothes. Yours surely ripped while shifting. But you tell others like you to stay away, understand?”

After a long stare, the coyote took off across the dips and patches of the prairie. Tonight, Ivory would feed.

Hand wrapped around that of a small boy’s, Abigail left the church, and Ivory timed enough distance to follow their scent without being seen.

Things had changed over the last couple of centuries. Dirt roads had given way to pavement. The automobile had grown in popularity.

Straight past the cemetery Ivory strode, past women in black dresses, past the general store and post office, and nearer to the heavy shadow of a water tower. She continued until she reached a lonesome house on a large lot of land. Abigail’s scent stopped here.

For nearly an hour, Ivory paced down the road from the house, trying to gather the nerve to approach. Finally, she headed up the walkway and knocked on the flimsy wooden door. When no one answered, she knocked again, louder this time, the door giving way under each distinct tap.

A few moments later, the door opened a crack, and a pair of honey-colored eyes peered through.

“Mrs. Anderson?” Ivory asked, already preparing to use her influence. Keeping Abigail calm would be a necessity.

Abigail opened the door the rest of the way and wiped her hands on her apron. “Yes?”

Straightening her skirts, Ivory felt suddenly outdated at the sight of Abigail in slacks. “My name is Lenore Kinsbury. I’ve brought news from overseas.”

“News?” A crease formed between Abigail’s eyes, and Ivory got lost in the lines of Abigail’s features—features that so closely mirrored the way Ivory remembered Elizabeth. It took her a moment to return to the conversation.

“Your husband,” Ivory replied.

“That can’t be,” Abigail said. “They would send an official.”

Ivory retrieved a document from her purse. “I know this is unusual, but these are unusual times, are they not?” She handed the letter to Abigail, who slowly scanned the page.

Abigail’s trembling hand covered her mouth, and she stepped back. “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”

Ivory entered the house and gently clicked the door shut. “My deepest sympathies for your loss.”

She helped Abigail to the couch. Abigail didn’t say anything. She only sat on the very edge of her seat, grief rolling off her like a thick fog. Ivory’s stomach twisted, ill over the pain Abigail was suffering, though not at all regretful for Theodore’s death.

“Let me put on some tea,” Ivory said. “Don’t worry about the child. I’ll tend to him when he wakes from his nap.”

“The child?”

“I . . . saw the baby shoes. By the door.”

Abigail sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Of course. The shoes.” She took a deep breath. “He’s my nephew. My brother passed away.”

“My condolences,” Ivory said softly. She sensed Abigail on the verge of breakdown. “Tea, then?”

Without waiting for a response, Ivory continued into the kitchen. She wasn’t yet used to the smells of a human house. The aroma of recently sautéed onions and the char of an extinguished candle made her stomach lurch.

“Do you have any other family?” Ivory asked, using her influence to send waves of comfort toward Abigail.

“I had only my brother and husband.”

“I see,” Ivory said.

Steam piped from the kettle on the stove; Abigail must have already been preparing tea. Ivory poured and sweetened the tea, the spoon clinking in the ceramic cups as she stirred, then brought the tea into the living room.

“Perhaps you ought to hire some help.”

Abigail chewed at her lip. “I’d never be able to afford it without Theodore. I don’t know what I’ll do with him gone.”

Maintaining Abigail’s calm took much of Ivory’s mental energy, but she kept the influence flowing as she spoke.

“Well”—Ivory handed her the tea, choosing her words cautiously—“I could use a place to stay. I would be of help. That is, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Abigail nodded slowly and sipped her tea. Ivory smiled that her effort to influence Abigail had gone even smoother than she’d hoped. Abigail didn’t have the same block Rachel had exhibited.

Abigail swept her arm to indicate Ivory should sit, but in the same instant, a vase on the mantel across the room tipped and shattered on the ground.

“Oh,” Abigail said, jumping to her feet. “You best leave. Please, go now.”

Ivory froze.

“Go!” Picture frames fell from the walls and the front door rattled fiercely.

Ivory ran to Abigail, placed her hands on her shoulders, and used her influence to send her peace of mind. “It’s okay, Mrs. Anderson. It’s okay.”

They sank down into the couch and Ivory held her as she cried.

“I won’t tell a soul,” Ivory promised.



WITH IVORY’S HELP, Abigail learned to harness her energy. Unlike her ancestors before her, Abigail experienced only noise in place of the whispering voices.

As the years passed, Abigail and her nephew aged, their family still without answers. Ivory waited for just the right moment to reveal the source of Abigail’s gift, while Abigail’s nephew tried to find a cure.

That moment never came.

One day, as they were sitting down for dinner, Abigail spoke the words Ivory had always dreaded she might hear.

“There is something wrong with you. You haven’t aged.”

“Strange, I suppose,” was Ivory’s reply, her posture straight and her hands tucked into her lap as she watched Abigail eat.

Abigail paused, lowering a bite of food back to her plate. “And I don’t believe I’ve seen you eat a single morsel of food in all the time I’ve known you.”

Ivory couldn’t tell her the truth, not with how Abigail felt about her own curse. “You know how I like to bring meals on my hikes.”

“Eat with us tonight,” Abigail said firmly. She pushed her own dish across the table, her gaze cutting toward Ivory. “I’ll make myself another plate.”

“Really,” Ivory said. “I couldn’t. Perhaps another time.”

Abigail rubbed her temples. Ivory reached toward her, but dropped her hand back to her lap when Abigail flinched.

From then on, Abigail looked at Ivory only from lowered lids and with wary sighs. Abigail believed herself to be insane. Ivory longed to free her of her false suspicions, but her explanations would not be accepted and, without them, Ivory wouldn’t be welcome to stay.

Not even a fortnight passed before Ivory packed her things and returned to confront her sire. She confessed to him of where she’d been spending her time over the years.

“I want to turn Abigail,” Ivory told him. “I want to separate from you and go out on my own.”

“Lenore,” he began gently.

“Don’t bother trying to talk me out of it. I’ve tried once before, and if it hadn’t been too late, I’d have succeeded. This may be my last chance, and you will not stand in my way.”

“Why would you want this? Isn’t the life I’ve provided you enough?”

“Abigail is so like Elizabeth,” Ivory said fiercely. She thought of their same delicate wrists, the way they swept their hair away from their neck in the same fashion, and the way they both stepped lightly, while still giving a sense of being grounded. Ivory stared into the fire, watching the flames steal away the bark of the wood. “I think they are connected—Elizabeth and her female descendants.”

“You believe Abigail is a forever girl?” he asked, leaning back and raising his thick, dark eyebrows.

“A forever girl?”

“Reincarnation,” he said. “That is what you are asking?”

“Such a thing is possible, then?” Ivory breathed, her eyes widening and her chest filling with hope.

“They say the spirit elementals—oft thought to be women—would be reincarnated if their life was taken prematurely. They were to contain the unfiltered magic of the elements. They were the only ones who would never die an ultimate death, so long as their efforts in life remained pure and their lineage continued.”

“Do you mean that Abigail might be Elizabeth? That Mary and Rachel were as well?”

“No,” he said solemnly. “This was all hearsay. Myths. Fantasies created by those who grieved the losses of their not-quite-human loved ones.” His eyes, dark as gray coals that had burned out long ago, fell on hers. “It was all hope. Nothing more.”

But Ivory’s sire had confirmed what her heart already knew. These women were Elizabeth.

Ivory stopped by one last time to see Abigail. Watched her through the window of her home. Elizabeth was there. It was in Abigail’s eyes, in the tears she cried, in the smallest nuances of expression that could belong only to one person. That her sire could say otherwise made him unworthy of life.

Three nights later, Ivory decapitated her sire in his slumber, for he refused to release her. For the first time in as long as she could remember, Ivory felt free.

In the years to come, she integrated with the general population. She introduced herself as Ivory, glad to be rid of her sire’s name for her just as she’d been glad to purge herself of the name Sarah. She would start fresh. No more Sarah. No more Lenore.

Next time, she would not fail her lover. She would find her young, bind her in friendship, and convince her life would be safer if she didn’t carry the vulnerabilities of a human.

Ivory kept vigil for two more generations—watched the nephew, the last Parsons boy, as he grew to have sons of his own, and his sons grew to have sons as well, until, one day, another girl was born into the lineage.

Sophia.

But, to Ivory’s heart and eyes, the girl was still Elizabeth.

Elizabeth was . . . me.

{twenty-two}

I’D COMPLETELY MISREAD every moment I’d ever spent with my once-friend. That day Ivory had dropped me off back at home, after I’d been attacked at Club Flesh—she hadn’t been angry with me. She’d been torn.

When she’d told me she knew someone who’d heard voices, the hate in her expression hadn’t been a hatred she felt toward me. It’d been her hatred of herself, of her situation, and of the people who had killed my ancestor. Killed me. She couldn’t tell me, though. Not like that.

She’d sped off down the road not because she wanted to get away from me, but because she wanted to escape the hurt she felt sitting beside me, unable to tell me that I was my ancestor—unable to tell me that I had once been her lover and that she’d followed me all these years. She needed me to want to be turned first—to become a Cruor as well—but it was at that moment she realized her plan for this lifetime had failed.

I hated the very thing she wanted me to become.

When the images bled into the darkness, the air grew still. The fire had borrowed Ivory’s memories and, since I did not return them, they died along with the fire’s embers, lost forever. I wished for someone to steal them from me next.

I dissolved the magic of my circle and dropped my face into my hands and wept. Now I understood why I’d been afraid to open up to Charles about the whispering voices. Now I understood there were deeper parts of me—pieces of my soul—trying to protect me from the possibility of betrayal or death. But through Ivory, I’d still found a way to invite those things into my life. It’d been my soul that resisted Charles but my heart that led me to trust him.

Charles rushed to my side, and I pressed my face to his chest, my tears wetting his shirt. Paloma smoothed my hair. My physical and emotional energy were spent.

Once I wasn’t feeling quite so shaky, we headed upstairs to the kitchen where Paloma and Charles listened intently as I conveyed what the ignisvisum had revealed.

The final set of images had been familiar. They were of me—the real me. The me not altered by a New England 17th century diet or a husband dead in the war. Not Elizabeth or Mary or Rachel or Abigail—though we were all the same—but me, the person I remembered being. Sophia.

After three centuries, Ivory walked among the living like any other human. Ivory watched through the window of our small home in Keota as Mother held me shortly after my birth in 1987.

She watched me on the playground at school. Killed my father when I was six.

He’d recognized her from when he was a boy. She’d been a friend of his great aunt Abigail. But now he was an adult, thirty years older while Ivory hadn’t aged a day. He was unnerved to see her every day—she could tell from the way he looked at her, always shielding his daughter from her gaze—and Ivory knew she’d have no hope of friendship with me if she didn’t get rid of him first.

When we moved to Belle Meadow, Ivory followed. She’d been at the movies on my first date, and our meeting in college hadn’t been an accident.

Ivory had killed Mr. Petrenko to save me from being arrested for stealing. It’d been her thoughts tumbling through my mind at the time of the murder. She needed to ensure I’d go off to college, where she planned for us to meet. That couldn’t happen if I was in jail.

She’d planted Elizabeth Parsons’ court document in with my father’s belongings. Everything had been a lie. Even her Boston accent had been faked, the voice of her thoughts and memories old fashioned, archaic . . . nothing like the modern voice in which she spoke to me. No wonder I’d never recognized her thoughts before.

And Marcus’ interest in me had never extended beyond Ivory asking him to arrange a staged attack. She’d forged the note from him, hoping to spook me, hoping I would turn to her so desperate to protect myself that I’d be willing to become a Cruor myself.

She hadn’t counted on my turning to Charles instead. When Ivory’s plan at Club Flesh backfired, she’d risked that Charles might tell me her secret, maybe even hoped he would, to save her the trouble, so I might come to her with acceptance and understanding.

When she realized I’d moved in with Charles, she’d ransacked my house out of anger. And the more time Charles and I spent together, the more anxious she’d become, until eventually she saw him as nothing more than a threat. That was when she tried to kill him—when she accidentally attacked me instead.

Now everything made sense, but I felt more lost than I ever had before. At least I really had only taken memories of myself. The ignisvisum had only shown the times Ivory spent with Elizabeth’s spirit or thinking of her. I struggled to wrap my head around the idea—that Elizabeth’s spirit was mine, too.

It was nearly seven at night by the time I conveyed everything to Paloma and Charles. They tried to comfort me, but I shrugged them off. I was all cried out and too mentally exhausted to languish any longer in the heartache Ivory’s memories had stabbed through every inch of my soul.

“I’m sorry,” Charles said. From the thoughts floating through his mind, he didn’t know what else to say.

Gripping my hand, Paloma offered all the support I needed with the expression on her face.

I managed a smile. “These ‘forever girls’—have you heard of them?”

Paloma stole a glance at Charles. “As far as the Maltorim is concerned, they never existed.”

“And as far as you’re concerned?”

“There is too much evidence to deny their existence. After today, after seeing you obtain the memories of your ancestor—of your own spirit—I can say there is no doubt in my mind that they exist, and that you are one of them. It’s the only thing that would make sense of everything I’ve seen in you.”

“So what does all this mean?”

“Your previous lives are a part of you, even if you don’t remember them. Any abilities you possessed then should be accessible now that you have knowledge of them.”

I let her words sink in, but my mind was still on my once-friend. “I don’t understand why Ivory thought killing Charles would bring her and me together.”

Paloma rose and started another pot of tea. “She was a hurting woman, Sophia. Sometimes people have unhealthy ways of expressing their love. It’s not always easy for someone to be turned while grieving. It can affect them indefinitely.”

I stared as wax dripped down a candle in the center of the table. Visions stolen from Ivory’s memories flashed through my thoughts: flesh wasting away in a fire after Elizabeth’s—after my—hanging. Take her ashes, so that her spirit may live on, Ivory had said.

I blinked, refocusing on Charles. “This is just . . . hard to accept.”

He’d tried several times over the last hour to approach me—to comfort me—but each time, I’d pushed him away. I needed space, and he’d finally resigned. Now he merely listened, nodding whenever I spoke. Thanks to our blood bond, his emotions were pressing hard against my own, and part of me wanted to surrender to the anger there, as though his anger would be somehow easier to bear than my own weighted hurt.

The new revelations made me feel safe enough to expose my other secrets. I turned to Paloma. “The blood bonds I’ve experienced with Adrian and Charles . . . .”

“Yes?” Paloma asked, nodding for me to continue.

“I saw some of Adrian’s memories . . . and I’ve felt Charles’ emotions.” I looked at him apologetically. As if it weren’t intrusive enough to have me in his thoughts, how might he feel about me sensing his emotions as well? He offered a weak-but-understanding smile, and I focused back on Paloma. “Is this because I’m a forever girl?”

“I’m not sure, Sophia.” Her eyebrows pulled together. “Not everything in life can be explained.”

Paloma dropped a tea bag into a cream-colored ceramic mug and poured steaming water from the kettle over the top. She set the tea in front of me. The water darkened at the bottom as the steam rose to warm my chin and nose.

Just as I was about to take a sip, Adrian walked in. He set his laptop on the counter and turned to Paloma.

“Relocate Ivory. Charles, Sophia—we must talk.”

My mind froze at his abrupt tone, then slugged forward. Paloma take Ivory? Adrian was supposed to take her.

Paloma seemed calm in response to what was an exceptionally rude way for Adrian to couch his request. She gave one of her soft smiles. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I’ve already secured her in your car.”

I hadn’t even heard him come in, and already he’d moved Ivory to Paloma’s car?

Paloma looked over at me as she gathered her coat. “Please call if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” I said. “For everything.”

She paused in the doorway, giving me one last gentle smile before leaving.

Once the front door closed, I fixed my glare on Adrian. “What the hell is going on?”

“My apologies for rushing at you with this. Please, let us discuss.” Adrian paced across the linoleum floor, from a tile near the window to a dented one near the kitchen door. Back and forth, from sienna to mustard, each tile separated by dark grout and imprinted with fleur de lis. “I need you both to pay careful attention and stay calm.”

Charles’ eyebrows drew together. “What’s going on?”

“Your parents,” Adrian said, directing his gaze toward Charles. He continued in a sunken tone. “I’m deeply sorry to tell you.”

A sense of dread clenched my stomach.

Charles’ eyes hardened. “Tell me what?”

“They have been apprehended.” Adrian wrung his hands together and began pacing again.

Charles stood, fingertips pressed firmly against the table in front of him. “You’re mistaken.”

“I’m afraid not,” Adrian said, stopping to place a hand on Charles’ shoulder.

The low lighting reflected off the unshed tears in Charles eyes.

My gaze darted between them. “They who? Thalia’s coterie?”

Charles shook his head. “He means the Maltorim.”

I barely registered the words. How did they learn of Charles’ parents? Now, after hundreds of years?

Adrian leveled his gaze at Charles. An intensity saturated his voice and a sheen of purpose glazed his eyes. “We’ll get them back.”

How did Adrian know all this? The emotions rolling off Charles revealed complete trust as an undercurrent to his fear and concern. Maybe he could read Adrian’s aura and saw him as someone trustworthy. But Charles had failed in his judgments of others before, and while I hated to be skeptical of a friend, I focused on Adrian’s thoughts, letting the rest of the noise float into the background.

His subconscious replayed the moment he’d learned the news. After Charles had called, Adrian went to Club Flesh to collect information about Ivory. Instead, he overheard the bar owner speaking with someone in the office. Someone who was looking for Charles and who said his parents were already in the Maltorim’s custody.

Charles sagged into the seat across from me. “Us against the Maltorim? Thalia’s thugs are one thing, but that place is too heavily guarded.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Adrian said. “Thalia’s coterie turned your parents in. They caught them as they were leaving town. Now they are after you, too.”

“Do they know where I am?” Charles asked.

Adrian shook his head. “They haven’t yet discovered your exact location. Last week they tried to track Sophia but lost her scent a few miles from here.”

“I’ll help,” I said. As much as Ivory’s memories weakened my ability to trust, they strengthened my confidence in myself. Somewhere inside of me, a power lurked, waiting to be tapped into.

“No.” Charles said in a tense, clipped voice that forbade any questions. “You won’t.”

Fortunately, I didn’t care much what his tone forbade. “None of us may be strong enough alone, but together we might have a shot.”

Charles ran his hands over his face. “You don’t know the Maltorim.”

“Let her assist,” Adrian said. “We cannot do this alone.”

Charles pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and leaned back in his seat. He could think things over if he liked, but it wouldn’t change anything. I was going to help.

I pulled Adrian into the hallway, and, for once, he didn’t seem like he was about to self-combust while standing near me. There wasn’t enough time to recap everything, but I gave him the run down on the important details.

“One more thing,” I said. “During one of my earlier lives, I exhibited another power, beyond my clairaudience. Telekinesis, I think. Could I channel that somehow?”

Adrian gave a solemn nod and walked to the library room. He indicated the wooden chair at the small desk, and I seated myself and ran my fingers over the scarring of the desktop while he retrieved several books I hadn’t read from a shelf.

He sat beside me and pushed over a large tome. “These are transcripts from times of Olde.”

I raised a brow and opened to the first page. “Should we get Charles?”

“He will join us when he’s ready.”

I scanned the content. A few pages were rough and stuck together, and light-brown water stains smudged some of the writing. The book consisted mostly of odd photographs—creatures, almost human if not for their shark-like teeth; close ups of unraveled rope, screw threads, sawdust; stamps from the Cayman Islands, circa 1904; and black lady bugs eating holes through stalks of browning rhubarb.

“What is this?”

“Someone’s journal,” he said. “I don’t know whose.”

The photographs served only to intensify the growing pit in my stomach. I flipped through, searching for any relevant text. Between a photograph of the cracked, dried mud of a riverbed and a copy of a veined map outlining Europe, I found some potentially useful information.

I pulled the pencil I’d been chewing on, now perforated with bite marks, away from my mouth. “This is it.”



CHARLES JOINED US half an hour later. Our plan hinged on a theory no books had proven: if the power traveled with my spirit, I could tap into five lifetimes of magic, as Paloma had said. This book detailed exactly how achieving this might be possible.

I needed a marker from each life: the court document from Elizabeth’s trial in Salem would work. For markers to represent my other lives, I selected a violin, Leigh Hunt’s The Rebellion of the Beasts, and a pair of baby’s shoes.

Within a couple of hours, Adrian helped me round up the items: the baby shoes and violin were an easy find, but he’d had to exhaust some of his connections to locate a copy of Leigh Hunt’s novel on such short notice. With the items in my possession, I could now channel my previous lives with more ease.

“I’m supposed to do this,” I said, confidence settling over every nerve in my body.

Adrian placed a hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Do not fear, my friend. She would only be helping.”

“We’ll see,” Charles said.

I sensed his uncertainty. Even without dipping into his thoughts—and it was definitely still more natural for me to avoid using my clairaudience—I was pretty sure he knew I wasn’t going to budge on the issue.

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. “If we’re doing this, we’ll need to leave for Damascus immediately.”

Adrian logged onto his laptop. Charles and I sat alongside him as his fingers clacked over the keyboard at an inhuman speed. I studied the computer screen. The format was foreign to me; Adrian was viewing an impossible IP address.

D-connect—that little Internet card thingy he’d brought over to my house all those months ago. The supernatural Internet suddenly seemed more valuable than the first time I’d encountered it.

“This fellow”—Adrian jabbed a finger toward the text on the screen, the name ‘Rhett’ written in plain block letters—“has an exceptional reputation. He’ll fly us out there, no questions asked.”

Adrian scribbled some numbers on a sheet of paper and then furiously crossed them out. “Math is not my strong point. Perhaps one of you might lend a hand? We need to determine the appropriate departure time.”

I lifted the page. “I can figure this out.”

I factored in time differences and Damascus’ hours of darkness for this time of year as well as the plane’s travel speed of up to two thousand kilometers per second—about ten times faster than a normal airway plane, and maybe a bit faster than what the US Air Force used. Because supernatural technology was beyond that of humans, we’d avoid detection.

“If we leave at sunrise tomorrow, we can arrive tomorrow evening. We’ll need a flight time under twelve hours, but that’s nothing his plane can’t handle.”

Adrian booked the flight using something called ICAO codes instead of the KAPA or OSDI codes normally used by airports.

Charles and Adrian discussed the details of travel, while I worked on developing whatever power I might contain. I sank back to the visions I’d stolen from Ivory along with some strange moments I’d had growing up.

In third grade, an eraser I hadn’t even touched had flown off my desk and across the room. I’d gotten detention for that. Another time, when I was sixteen, a door I hadn’t even touched slammed in Mother’s face, almost as if it had a mind of its own. Or, at least, almost like it shared a mind with me.

Even the dishes that had fallen over during my positive energy ritual might have been a result of my gift. At the time, I thought it’d only been the wind. How many of these moments were signs of my powers breaking through?

The only thing those moments had in common was how hurt or angry or frustrated I’d been at the time. How could my powers be good if they came from negative emotions?

It’s all about your intentions, I told myself.

With that in mind, I tried to summon all my hurt and anger, which wasn’t too hard. I’d been suppressing those emotions for hours. Years, if you count the rest of my life leading up to this point.

I focused all that conjured energy on trying to move a pencil from the table. When that didn’t work, I took a break for a cup of apple-vanilla tea and lit a few candles before trying again. Another thirty minutes passed with no success. I lost count of how many times I tried, but I wasn’t giving up. I closed my eyes and centered all my energy inward, trying to build up a store of power, then opened my eyes to try again.

The pencil budged—a small bubble of excitement tickled in my chest—but then the leaden utensil shot across the table and smacked against the wall. The splintered wood and snapped lead crashed to the floor.

I sighed. I had no control over this ‘gift’ and not much time to gain any. I sat on the edge of the bed with the violin Adrian had run out to pick up earlier. I lifted it and tried to imagine what it would’ve been like to be Mary. To be me.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled the bow across the strings. The air in my lungs felt suddenly strange, and my heart fluttered. It didn’t sound as bad as I would’ve thought. It only sounded uncertain. But the more I gave myself to it, the smoother the melody carried. The same melody Mary had played. It was alive in me.

Once I finished, I felt refreshed. Energized. Charles and Adrian were staring.

“What was that?” Charles asked.

“I—I don’t know.”

Adrian nodded his approval. “Perhaps that song had been your calling. Many humans called to become elementals have one. Though I must say it’s strange yours would be the violin.”

“Why?”

Adrian frowned and shook his head. “Let’s not concern ourselves with this right now. It would make no difference to what lies ahead.”

Something felt off about his tone, but I knew trying to push more information from Adrian would be a waste. I shrugged it off. I didn’t know what the song was. I’d never played before—not in this lifetime—but a new passion ignited within me. Now all I needed to do was control the energy.

Thinking it would probably be best to work with something sturdier than a pencil, I grabbed a pen from the kitchen junk drawer and, this time, focused with a destination in mind: moving the pen from the ground to the table. The pen hovered for a moment before falling.

It was Ivory’s words to Abigail that finally helped: Believe in this. With new determination, I tried again. This time the pen floated up from the floor and over to the table, my energy bleeding out as I lowered it to the table’s surface. It dropped the last inch, rolled a tiny bit, and came to a stop.

Excitement drummed inside me. I can do this. It was totally unreal, thrilling, and terrifying all at the same time. I wished I could bask in my amazement, but reality crept back in—the why of my learning to use this skill. The knowing I’d only come to access this power because I’d stolen memories from a friend who tried to kill my boyfriend and that I had to use it because I needed to save my boyfriend’s family from being murdered.

For the next hour, I worked until I was too drained to try any more. It was already ten, the last three hours like a small eternity of their own.

I needed a break. And a chance to say goodbye to Lauren, before it was too late.

{twenty-three}

WHEN I ARRIVED AT LAUREN’S, she was sitting on her front porch beneath the overhang, the porch light revealing her thick black hair tied back in a silken ponytail. We’d sat together on each other’s front porches many times before, but, right now, we might as well have been strangers. There was no place for me in her world, not anymore.

I plopped down beside her, staring at the small apartment complex across the street. Clouds hovered low in the sky above, heavy with unspent rain. Moisture thickened the air, and the pressure weighed on my bones.

Lauren nudged her shoulder into mine. “Everything okay?”

A painful sensation knotted in the back of my throat. “Isn’t it funny how cardinals don’t fly south? Colorado gets pretty cold, and they’re so small.”

“Oh, Sophia,” she said. “I’m sorry. I know you two were friends.”

“Who?”

“Ivory,” she said. “She told me last night she was moving. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“Last night?” Ivory couldn’t have told her last night.

Lauren opened her hands and splayed her fingers. “She left a letter in my mailbox. I just assumed she’d told you.”

Ah. Paloma was covering her bases. “I haven’t checked my mail today. That must be why I didn’t know.”

Way to sound upset, Sophia.

“Things won’t be the same without her,” I added, trying to sound sincere. Unfortunately, the inflection didn’t reach my tone. “Did she say why she left?”

Lauren shrugged. “Said she had a job offer in Boston and that she hated to leave like this, but she had to catch the first plane out and didn’t want to wake me. I’m surprised she even bothered to tell me. She hasn’t been much of a friend.”

I fidgeted with my charm bracelet, focusing on the small violin charm. “Neither have I.”

Lauren smiled. “Of course you have.”

“No,” I said. “I haven’t.”

My voice sounded shakier than I would have liked. How would she react to the news? She didn’t care Ivory had left, but that was only because they’d never gotten along.

The lines in Lauren’s forehead deepened. “What’s wrong?”

“The thing is—” I watched her expression carefully. “—we’re moving.”

Lauren shook her head. “You can’t.”

“We’re helping Charles’ family with renovations.”

Lauren didn’t look at me—just pressed her hands hard against the whitewashed planks of her porch steps. “I thought they lived in Japan?”

“You can visit anytime,” I said, as though a Band-Aid would be enough. “We’ll cover the airfare. Maybe visit your relatives while you’re there?”

“Sounds great,” Lauren said, but her voice said it wasn’t. Then, after a long moment, she lifted her gaze to mine, giving me a dark, silent glare. “To be honest, Sophia, this sucks.”

You have no idea.

Maybe I was imagining the sudden silence. The abrupt cessation of night birds singing, wind rustling in the trees, and small animals scampering about.

Lauren tucked up one knee and started peeling the aglet off one of her shoelaces. “When are you leaving?”

I lowered my voice, as if she might not hear me and we could somehow skip this part of the conversation. “Tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow? Damn it, Sophia. This is almost as bad as what Ivory did.” She sighed heavily, flicking away the torn piece of aglet from her shoe. “What’s wrong with Charles’ parents again?”

“They’re putting a new addition on their house. Charles offered to help.” Not the best lie, but I needed to tell her something. “Earthquake damage, or something, I think.”

“So you’ll only be gone for a little while.”

“It’s a big addition.”

“You aren’t telling me something.”

I frowned, thinking she might believe me if I looked hurt by her assumption. It was low, but I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t tell her the truth. “Why would I keep anything from you?”

“It’s fine. Go. Have a good time.”

“Lauren?”

Her eyes were getting puffy, and she dabbed them with the inside wrist of her shirtsleeve. It only made her eyes redder.

“I’m going to visit,” she said. “I’m just upset, okay?”

She smiled through her tears, and that was what killed me: It was her usual smile, one I’d always thought of as real, and now I wondered how much hurt might have always been hiding beneath it.

Lauren insisted on coming back to Charles’ house to help clear out the things we couldn’t bring with us or leave behind. She even agreed to watch after Red.

Around eleven o’clock, we said our goodbyes. I took a mental snapshot of her standing beneath the porch light outside my front door: Lauren in a tweed, knee-length coat. Lauren in dark blue jeans. Lauren in black rain boots with white polka dots, her skin splotchy and her make-up running.

She turned, cage in hand, and walked away.



ADRIAN WAS ALREADY GONE, probably out tying up his own loose ends. Charles looked up at me from the couch.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly.

“No.” I hung my scarf and jacket on the coat rack, kicked my boots in the corner by the door, and stalked into our room.

Charles followed. I could hear him standing behind me in the doorway, feel the sympathy radiating from his body. I stared out the window. The first drops of rain splattered against the windowpanes and beaded together to trail like small veins over the glass.

Charles walked over and placed his hand on my shoulder. Immediately, I caved, turning toward him, and he folded me into his arms.

I buried my face against his chest. I’d lost a lot of people in my life, but this was my first time saying goodbye. My emotions crashed through me. I’d never gotten to say goodbye to my mom, to my dad.

Charles breathed into my hair, and I sighed heavily. I needed to let go of my past. Really let go.

“I’m terrified of what’s going to happen tomorrow.”

Charles nodded. “You don’t have to do this.”

Didn’t I, though? I needed to set aside my need for acceptance from others and worry about accepting myself, my damned ‘gift’ included. And the only way to do that was to use my abilities for something meaningful. Like standing up to the Maltorim and their prejudices against dual-breeds.

I looked up into Charles’ piercing gaze. “I do have to do this,” I said. “I absolutely do.”

I stepped away from him, determined to focus on something else. I still needed to work on my gift. The stronger I was, the better our chances of rescuing his parents. I sat on the edge of the bed, peeled off my socks, and grounded my feet on the carpet. I centered my energy on a small book resting on the birdcage table near the bedroom door. It thudded immediately to the floor, creating a tent of crushed pages.

I growled under my breath. How was I supposed to be strong enough in time to face the Maltorim if I couldn’t move a stupid book?

Rubbing my hand over my face, I crouched down, but Charles beat me to it, his gaze burning into mine. He set the book on the table, the intensity of his gaze dissolving my barriers.

I walked over to the bedroom window and looked out to the yard. Empty.

Moments later, Charles walked up behind me and wrapped one arm around my waist. He swept the hair from my neck and pressed a kiss against my pulse.

“Take a break. You have all night.” He punctuated his words with a soft nibble.

I tried to tamp down the arousal his lips created as they tickled against the fine hairs on my neck. Useless effort, that.

“I don’t have all night,” I said, my words shielding my desires. “I need to sleep.”

“Sleep on the plane.”

I turned toward him, closing my eyes as his hands massaged my neck, his grip slowly loosening as he moved down the planes of my back. My concerns ebbed at his gentle touch, and I sighed, tilting my face toward his. I wanted his lips pressed against mine—wanted to connect with something other than the pain and fear gripping my heart.

“I’m always here for you,” he whispered, each word relaxing another nerve in my body.

“I want to be there for you, too.”

I kissed his shoulder, and when I lifted my gaze, his lips captured mine. I couldn’t refuse myself this one good feeling—this one escape, these last quiet moments we would spend together.

All this time, I’d battled over whether I should or shouldn’t let myself fall in love with him. As though that were something I could control. I’d worried whether it was ‘smart’ to be in a relationship with an immortal man, knowing we likely had no future together.

Charles, on the other hand, had none of these concerns. For him, it’d always been about my safety. He’d held back in fear of breaking my heart, or perhaps allowing me to break my own. Now I knew we were strong enough to overcome the immortality issue. How, I wasn’t sure, but I would no longer allow that to stand in the way.

Charles’ hands skimmed up my back, dragging my shirt over my head and breaking our kiss. I watched intently as he pulled off his own shirt, revealing his hard, smooth chest. He stepped closer, pressing my back against the wall, the warmth of his chest against mine intoxicating, my want for him flowing through my veins like a drug.

His fingertips traced along my collarbone, his lips trailing behind as he slipped his finger beneath my bra strap and slid it off my shoulder, the heat between my thighs intensifying with each brush of his lips. Slowly, my worries melted away. He dropped my bra to the floor, and I pushed it aside with my toes.

As I unfastened his jeans, one button at a time, a strong mix of love and lust radiated from him, and I eased away from the wall, stepping closer. He was staring at me with an intensity that was new even for him, his gaze sweeping over my bare skin—skin that felt flushed with desire.

He brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. “We’ll make it through this.”

“I hope you’re right.”

I kissed his chest once, then leaned my head there, my breasts pressed against his warm stomach. A sigh escaped with his breath and the evidence of his passion grew harder, pressing against my body, just above my hip.

My skirt pooled with the clothes on the floor, and he eased me onto the bed, tracing his fingers along my hairline and down the side of my face, his eyes filled with a familiar, steady heat. Warmth swirled in my stomach and spread through my body. I tilted my chin closer to his face, the distance between our lips shrinking to nothing more than a breath. His hand seared a path down my abdomen, onto my thigh, and his gentle massage sent fiery currents through my body.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

We’d never taken things this far. I’d always been sure I wanted to give myself to him, but my stomach still twisted with nerves.

“Sophia?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

His lips explored my breasts, the swell of my hips, the insides of my thighs. His tongue traced the edge of the fabric of my underwear, nudging it aside to kiss me there. I curled my fingers in his hair as his hands fanned across my belly and pressed into the dip, then lowered my underwear from my hips.

“I love you, Sophia.” His words mingled with kisses over my body as he slowly returned to capture my lips with his. The taste of his breath, like mint and vanilla, sent new shivers through my body. “And I want you. Forever, always. Whatever it takes.”

Caressing the strong lines of his neck and shoulders, I drew him closer. “I love you, too.”

His body hovered over mine, leaving me eager for connection. Somewhere along the way, his clothing had joined mine on the floor, and as he lowered himself to kiss me again, his bare thighs rubbed against mine, and anticipation robbed me of my breath.

“This is okay?” he asked, his mouth pressed to my ear.

I nodded, my throat too tight to offer a verbal response. I couldn’t deny the throbbing between my thighs, that I wanted him where he was, his body deliciously warm. His breath warmed my neck as he nudged against me, entering slowly, and his gentle kisses on my shoulder relaxed my nerves as he eased in deeper, slowing again at any small gasps that escaped my lips.

His heart thudded against my own as he pressed closer, his body rocked forward, and a soft moan rode my sigh as he moved his mouth to mine and deepened the kiss. The pressure of him inside of me created another kind a pressure—a building need for release. His fangs slowly extended and grazed my lip.

The importance of everything beforehand and everything ahead dissolved. I pushed my bottom lip against one of his fangs and winced as it pricked my flesh. My blood slipped between his lips and slid between our tongues as we kissed.

Charles pulled back, searching my eyes. We both knew even a small amount of my blood would strengthen him. He hadn’t had human blood in years, but he needed this.

“It’s okay,” I whispered, and he kissed me again, sucking gently on my lip.

The kiss tangled me in a web of arousal; my mind became lost, free, uninhibited. Our shallow breaths unified, our bodies bound together, the pressure building, stronger, more intense. Sinful. And yet, in that moment, all my guilt was stripped away.

I’d expect my first time to be awkward. Painful. With Charles, it was anything but. My body surrendered and waves of ecstasy stole away my conscious thoughts. All that remained was blissful nothingness—a sense of oneness with the man I loved and peace over all that lay ahead.

Charles propped on one elbow at my side, his hand drifting over my curves, and I studied his face unhurriedly, feature-by-feature, as if I hadn’t already memorized the lines of his face, his strong jaw line, the greenish hue of his chin stubble. As if I hadn’t already memorized the way his eyelashes crinkled together and the way his chest felt hard but still warm and welcoming beneath my hand.

He stroked the damp curls away from my face and kissed my brow, and I buried my head in the hollow between his neck and shoulders. We fit perfectly together.

I drifted between wisps of sleep for what felt like hours, though the clock indicated only minutes had passed. My heart sank. Time to leave these stolen moments behind. Our intimacy had resolved many of my unwanted emotions, but one still lingered: fear. Fear of losing Charles, of losing the one person I could be myself with completely. I breathed a sigh of resignation and stared up at him.

“Forever, Sophia,” he promised. “We’ll find a way.”

We showered and slipped into some fresh clothes, then dedicated the next few hours to working on my gift. Object manipulation became easier; items floated from one place in the room to another, some with little more than a quiet thought. A pillow. A chair. A table. Some of the larger items required more concentration, however, and the weight, shape, and size of the objects were definitely a factor.

The ultimate test was lifting a human body. Charles lay on the bed, and I focused on his form. Looking at him rekindled the passion inside me, strengthening me enough to lift him a foot from the mattress.

Perhaps my Wiccan training held truth after all: love was strong enough to ignite my powers.

{twenty-four}

CHARLES AND I ARRIVED at the airport—a little gray slip of a building—at four in the morning. The circles under Charles’ eyes were almost purple-black, his eyes bloodshot, his hair unruly. He wore the same clothes as the night before, rumpled and unwashed.

As we passed the two check-in booths, my black dress and heavy makeup garnered a few odd stares. Adrian had suggested darkness would cloak me better outside the Maltorim’s asylum if I dressed in black. Only my full-length Gothic dress I’d worn as part of a Halloween costume several years ago had fit the bill. I’d also straightened my hair and smeared some heavy black make-up over my eyelids to disguise my appearance.

I still looked like me, but the changes might be enough to deter those who had only seen me a handful of times.

Or so I foolishly believed.

We followed a nearby hallway to a blue-framed window. Adrian had instructed us to tap once, wait, and tap again three more times. So I did.

A door opened further down the hall, and an older man with ruddy cheeks and a graying mountain-man beard waved us over. Once we entered the room, he eased the door shut.

“You the ones booking for Damascus?” He threw a narrow glance over his shoulder then turned to shuffle a mess of papers on his desk. “Thought there’d be three of ya.”

“Our friend will be here soon,” Charles said. “He needed to eat before the flight.”

The man huffed. “He ain’t no bloodsucker, is he? Cuz I don’t fly no bloodsuckers, that’s for damn sure.”

“I don’t blame you,” I said.

Maybe if I agreed with him, he’d be more open to hearing what we had to say. Normally I wouldn’t say one word more than I needed, but we didn’t have time to beat around the bush.

“It was Cruor who kidnapped his parents”—I jabbed my thumb toward Charles—“and that is where we are heading now. To save them.”

“That right?” The man sat in his chair and swiveled toward us. He swept his hand to a few spare seats, and we sat.

So much for Adrian’s claim of ‘no questions asked’.

Without any other route to Damascus, our best bet was to gain whatever little compassion this man might have, so I risked laying everything on the table, from the news of the Liettes to our plan to rescue them.

“We wouldn’t have known if our friend hadn’t told us,” I said in closing. “He’s not like other Cruor.”

The man leaned forward. His breath, heavy on my face, reeked of coffee and cigarette smoke. “Listen here, Miss. Clearly you didn’t hear me the first time. I said: I. Don’t. Fly. No. Fucking. Bloodsuckers.”

“Why the hell not?” I demanded.

“I’m a blocker, and ain’t many of us left.” The man’s gaze locked on Charles, one forearm leaning on his knee. “Last thing I need to do is get mixed up with the likes of them.”

A blocker? What did that mean?

“Well,” Charles said. “I’m Strigoi and Cruor. So now you’re mixed up with us. We aren’t all the enemy.”

“I see,” the man said, his expression softer now.

I couldn’t read his thoughts. Whether that was because he was human or because he was a blocker, I didn’t know.

He scratched his beard. “Fine,” he said. “Guess I can’t in good conscious stand back while the dual-natured are targeted. I’ll help, but don’t say nothing about it. Name’s Rhett.”

Just as Charles and I were introducing ourselves, the door creaked on the other side of the room. Adrian let himself in, smiled, and put out his hand.

“I’m Adrian.”

“I know who you are,” Rhett said, ignoring the offer for a handshake. “No funny business. Let’s go.”

Rhett led us outside to a dark-blue plane on the tarmac. I’d never taken a flight before. I’d never even left Colorado. At least I wouldn’t have to see the world outside whipping past the windows—but that’s only because there were no windows, aside from the front windshield.

Funny, since Rhett had acted as though he didn’t fly Cruor.

The passenger area consisted of four navy leather seats with a small table between. Once we settled in, the stairs closed back against the plane.

“This thing safe?” I asked.

Rhett grumbled something unintelligible, followed by, “Course it’s safe. Safer than any of those other planes you been flying in, and faster, too. My plane is better, you’ll see. I’ll have you there in three hours.”

The fabric of Adrian’s seat creaked as he sat forward. “About that . . . ”

Rhett turned back around. “What now, kid?”

I smiled, drawing his attention. “Could you decrease your speed by half? We need to arrive at night.”

He frowned. “See, this shit right here is why I don’t fly you bloodsucker types. I do this, and you don’t ask me for nothing else the rest of this trip. We’ll touch down around eight p.m., their time. Good? Now shut up and let me fly this thing.”

I mouthed the words ‘thank you’ at the back of his head and sunk deeper into my seat as Rhett closed himself into the pilot’s cabin. The plane’s engine sputtered to life and continued in a steady, muffled roar.

Charles switched on an overhead light. The plane rattled down the runway, picking up speed. I gripped the armrests and glanced from Adrian to Charles. Both men relaxed back in their seats. I took this to mean the plane’s shaking was normal.

Now that we were actually on the plane, everything was catching up to me. My friends, my family, the whole situation.

“Do you think we’ll ever come back?” I asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” Charles’ voice deadpanned, his mouth twisting into a grim line. “Thalia’s coterie will be looking for us now that the Maltorim is after us. It wouldn’t be wise to return.”

We were disappearing forever. Just like Ivory. Her name created a pang in my heart. I couldn’t help but miss her, even after what she’d done, and I couldn’t shake my guilt over stealing her memories. When she woke in her Boston summer home with gaps in her memory, would she at least remember she was an earth elemental?

I took a deep breath. I hadn’t stolen all of her memories—she couldn’t have been thinking of ‘me’ during every moment spent with her sire.

Charles’ chest puffed out and his glassy stare settled on my hands. I was picking at my fingernails and my cuticles had started to bleed.

“You’re still upset about Ivory,” he said.

I didn’t reply. Now wasn’t the time. My stomach queasy, my palms sticky with sweat, reality hit me at the core: Charles’ parents were in real danger, and we were flying toward a trap. I needed to get ready for the horrors that lay ahead.

“Why is the Maltorim in Damascus?” I asked in a whisper, hoping the sound of Charles’ voice would soothe my tattered nerves.

Charles allowed the change in subject.

“Damascus is the oldest city,” he said, gently taking my hand. “The Cruor have inhabited the outskirts since about 4000 BC. During the Tel Ramad excavations, the Maltorim was almost discovered. No one has returned to dig at the location since, but the Maltorim have made modifications to accommodate for such an event.”

I leaned against him and inhaled, taking in the hint of sandalwood on his shirt. Already my tension was relaxing away.

“Could you keep talking,” I asked, “even if I fall asleep?”

I knew the request was weird—maybe even rude on the surface—but Charles smiled, his thoughts confirming he understood, and he continued with his stories about the history of his world.



THE FLIGHT LANDED six hours later, shortly after eight p.m., Eastern European Summer Time. We hurried through the airport, and Adrian hailed a cab.

As the driver whisked toward the city, cobblestone roads and Gothic revival buildings blotted out my fear. I stared with wonder at the angles and arches, pondering how daylight might illuminate this new world.

Charles squeezed my hand, looking to Adrian. “Sophia and I should stop for food while you pick up supplies.”

Adrian nodded. The pair seemed resigned to the plan, but I was fighting off surges of hot and cold and a fluttering nausea.

The driver dropped us off in the heart of the old city, close to the Umayyad mosque.  The ferocity of the whispers in my mind confirmed the presence of a large elemental community, but my mind kept going back to the same thought: how did Adrian know so much about the inner workings of the Maltorim? I had tried several times to listen to his thoughts but heard nothing he hadn’t already spoken aloud.

Once Adrian went his way, Charles and I headed to the shops. Hints of jasmine, saffron, cumin, and nutmeg infused the air, each scent lingering on my taste buds and igniting my hunger.

I slowed, taking in the columned architecture and polished marble courtyard of the nearby mosque. People inside chatted amongst themselves—Muslims, Christians, and Jews, all worshipping together on this night, a subdued sense of piety emanating from the courtyard.

Around the mosque’s outer walls lay a marketplace—a series of broken cobblestone paths crisscrossing in what appeared to be no particular order. We passed vendors garbed in red and black threads, some of them packing their spices, nuts, and dried fruits into horse-driven carts.

One booth caught my eye. A young woman with dark hair and a Marilyn Monroe mole was turning tarot cards onto a table.

First, the Fool, inverted—a bad decision. I knew this from when Ivory had done readings at a party in college. She’d taught me all about them, asked me if I wanted to do a reading to channel my past lives. I told her no, that I just wanted to make it through this one.

Now I knew why she’d asked.

When the lady turned the next card, my neck hairs prickled, and a shiver flashed down my spine, causing a small tremble in one of my hands.

Death.

But the death card was not literal.

Not always.

The reader stared right at me, tsking and shaking her head. I quickly looked away. The spread wasn’t for me. She’d been sitting with a customer. Still, I had to stop myself from speculating what the next card would have been.

Charles spoke in Arabic with a man a few tables down while I admired a display of Persian rugs, Russian teapots, and age-blackened Greek tableware. Then he pulled me away by my elbow, telling me the man said there was a small shop around the corner that sold falafel wraps and freshly-squeezed mulberry juice for fifty American cents.

The shop owner—a darkly tanned, older man with friendly eyes—sat in a woven lawn chair, a Bengal cat in his lap, his back to a simple wooden door. He invited us in and offered a sample of the food: hummus, tahini, and pita with a hint of lemon, and a tangy mulberry juice reminiscent of grapefruit. We ordered several falafels and a carton of the juice with some Styrofoam cups.

Aside from the interactions with the vendors, Charles hadn’t said anything, and I didn’t press him for conversation. We arrived back at the main square to meet Adrian, who arrived moments later with a large bag in hand.

“What’s your sign?” Adrian asked.

“Sign?”

“Zodiac. You’re a Sagittarius, right?”

“I am, why?”

“Come with me.” Adrian led us around the corner and into a narrow alley. He crouched down, and Charles and I sat across from him. “You said lifting things was draining, correct?”

“Right.”

“I’m presuming you need fire to fully tap into your gifts. You’ll certainly need to maintain your energy if you’re going to do this.”

“Great. What am I supposed to do, set myself ablaze?”

Adrian reached into the bag and set a copper bowl, similar to the scrying bowl I had at home, on the ground. From his pocket, he pulled a crumbled piece of paper and tossed it inside before striking a match to light a small fire.

“Move the flames,” he said.

I focused intently on lifting them until they hovered over the bowl, then I lowered them back into place.

“No energy drain,” I said. “But we don’t have time for me to practice.”

Adrian packed everything away and sat back. “Trust, Sophia.”

Trust wouldn’t cut it. I had no idea what to expect. Going into things without a solid plan—admittedly, that had me on the verge of panic.

“I sense your uncertainty,” Adrian said.

I shook my head. “It’s silly, really.”

“Best you tell us now.”

Charles dipped his face closer to mine. “Sophia, if something is bothering you, please speak up.”

My shoulders sank, and I gazed at Adrian. “It’s just kind of weird how you know all this stuff. The books you have, knowing where this place is, the passages . . . ” I stared at my wrist, spinning the coils on the bracelet Charles had given me and twisting the beads. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound like I’m accusing you of anything.”

Adrian’s expression was unreadable. “It’s fine.” He pulled a wallet from his jacket, slipped out a picture, and handed it to me. “My parents.”

The photograph was of a middle-aged couple with the same dark skin and kind eyes as Adrian. By the way they clung to one another, each resting a hand on a young boy’s shoulder, it was clear their family was built on love.

I pointed to the boy. “This is you?”

“Before I was turned.”

“How did you get this? Photography wasn’t invented until—”

“Our world has always been far ahead of your own, Sophia.”

I shook my head, my gaze returning to the photograph. “So what happened to them?”

“They were human informants for the Maltorim. I was born inside those walls . . . raised there.”

I returned the photo and slumped back against the alley wall. “I didn’t know.”

“They told me my parents died during the elemental war, back in the 1600s. After that, they took me in and raised me to take my father’s place.” Adrian’s jaw tensed for such a brief moment that I wasn’t sure I’d seen any movement at all. “They decided to turn me.”

His gaze shifted from me to Charles then back again. “I was sent to fight in the war, killing the dual-breeds. I worked alongside Charles, though we weren’t friends at the time. When I noticed he always held back from making a kill, I confronted him, and another Cruor overheard. They thought I was the one allowing the dual-natured to go free, and they tried to kill me. In Charles’ anger, he shifted and killed those men to save me. It was then I realized he himself was dual-natured.

“Since then,” he continued, “I’ve left the Maltorim, though I’m certain they have never truly let me go. Thalia’s clan seems to always be near. When Charles arrived in the area with Blake and Adonis, he joined her clan to try to gain inside information on my behalf, though nothing much came of it.”

I closed my eyes. In my heart, I’d always trusted Adrian. It was my mind I remained in constant battle with. When I opened my eyes, Adrian tilted his head, his expression curious.

“What?” I asked.

“You could have taken that from my thoughts, no?”

“I try not to do that to my friends.”

Adrian cleared his throat.

“You never thought of it while I was listening,” I amended.

“The truth comes out.” Adrian grinned and turned toward Charles. “Are you ready?”

Charles was staring out toward the main road, but at the sound of Adrian’s voice, he glanced at his watch. “It’s time.”

{twenty-five}

ADRIAN LED US through a labyrinth of alleyways where stray dogs scratched at soiled potato peels spilling from overturned garbage bins and nearby shop owners scared them away by banging their alley doors with metal spoons. Though cars, trucks, and taxis clogged the roadways, we trudged by on foot, not wanting to bring anyone else closer to the horrors of the Maltorim.

As we reached the outskirts of the city, I held my breath against the stench of exhaust fumes and sewage and fly-infested fish that must have fallen from a truck earlier in the day. The buzzing of insects was a cruel reminder of my curse, a sound I couldn’t shut out. Whenever I was too stressed to concentrate, there it was—the buzzing in my mind, overwhelming my ability to focus on the voices.

“I don’t think I can do this,” I said.

Charles swiveled toward me. “Then don’t. I never asked you to.”

I didn’t say anything—didn’t let his sharp tone affect my response. I understood his anxieties colored his tone.

He tensed his jaw and swallowed. “That’s not how I meant it,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you to. You know that.”

“I know. But I didn’t mean that I don’t want to. I’m just afraid I won’t be able.” I sucked in a deep breath, trying to push away the hissing in my head, but the noise wouldn’t budge. “I don’t know if I can tap into my gift. The noise won’t stop. I can’t focus on any voices.”

Charles wrapped an arm around me and pulled me against his chest. His breath warmed my scalp as he rested his chin there. “Let’s turn back. We’ll find you a place to stay tonight while Adrian and I go.”

I pulled away, cutting my gaze toward him. “No. I need to at least try.”

“It’s not something you can try, Sophia. If your gift fails now, you’ll have no way to protect yourself.”

Adrian put a hand on Charles’ shoulder and looked to me. “You’ve only recently learned how to tap into your gift. It’s natural the stress of this situation would cause regression. But if you want to get through this, you have to push your worries away. Where we are going, there is no room for hesitation.”

“You think I can do this?”

“Yes.”

“And you?” I asked, turning to Charles.

“I don’t want you to,” he said.

I pressed my teeth together. “Do you think I can?”

He gazed solemnly into my eyes. “I know it.”

With a resolute nod, I started up our path again. I could do this. Adrian believed it, Charles believed it, and now I just needed to believe it, too.

I tucked my head against Charles’ shoulder, the old buildings of the inner city hanging back as we pressed forward. A few abandoned hovels perforated the desolate streets and, beneath the moonlight, patches of grass fought for life among the dusty knolls scattering the fields. Barbed wire fences stretched along the horizon and birds soared overhead, gliding with their saw-edged wings cutting through the air.

Our dirt trail, dry as sawdust, wound toward a cemetery surrounded by towering, decrepit stone walls. A rusty lock grasped the latch of a wrought-iron gate.

We walked past the neglected gate and followed the cemetery wall around the corner. A ways down, Adrian stopped and pointed at one of the stones.

“Here,” he said. “My parents made this entrance before they died. No one else should know of it. If we climb over the walls, we’ll set off the sensors.”

“This place doesn’t look like it would have sensors,” I said.

Adrian gave me a quieting glare, then turned back to study the stones. Several had symbols, and, after tracing one in particular, he dug a large foreign coin from his pocket and lined it up with a small, encircled half moon.

The wall opened like a sliding door, the top still securely in place. The narrow entrance opened enough for us to squeeze through sideways, then Adrian closed the passage behind us, the walls crushing small pieces of debris as the stones settled back into place.

Light pollution from the distant city reflected off the sky, creating a pale luminescence over the burial grounds. Though my eyes had adjusted on the walk over, Adrian and Charles wove through the gravestones in a pattern I found hard to emulate.

Thousands of headstones cluttered in the dirt, their crumbling limestone spreading as far as the horizon. I tried not to breathe through my nose, but I could still taste the rotting, septic odor filling my lungs.

Charles stopped beside me. His eyes were darker than usual, opaque as the ocean’s murkiest waters. “Are you ready?”

There was no being ‘ready’. There was only doing what needed to be done. “We need to get your family back,” I said.

“Our family,” he said. His eyes searched mine. “No matter what, do not come after us. It’s too dangerous.”

I offered a noncommittal, “Mmhmm.”

“I mean it, Sophia.”

“I know.” Something chalky coated my fingers and palm, and I realized I’d leaned on a gravestone. I snapped my hand away and wiped the dust on my pants.

Adrian cleared his throat. “Follow me.”

He ushered us toward a cavernous ossuary. The musk of animals stuck in my nose. Human skeletons surrounded a support column and slumped against the walls near age-bleached skulls stacked on piles of ribs and femurs.

These were the remains of spirits who had not been left to rest—those who had been buried in temporary graves and then excavated, their bones crammed in a hollow room due to a lack of burial plots.

This was no place for performing rituals.

Adrian looked from me to the ossuary and back again. “I know,” he said, “but it’s the only shelter nearby. You can’t sit in the middle of the graveyard.”

“What if they find me?”

Apprehension rolled from Charles and Adrian in waves. Or maybe it was my own apprehension, rising like the tides and threatening to pull me away in the undercurrents. How could anyone cope with this—this vast, open, unknowingness?

I let their thoughts roll into mine, but they were blocking me out. Adrian was mentally reciting Reluctance by Robert Frost, and Charles was thinking about some techie plug-in thing.

“You’re both worried. What’s going on?”

Adrian opened his mouth, but Charles looked at him and shook his head. “Sophia, of course we’re worried,” Charles said, “but we didn’t want to add to your distress.”

“Tell me.”

“We’re not hopeful.”

“Not hopeful of what?”

“I can’t live knowing I didn’t try to save my parents,” Charles said, “but you don’t need to be doing this. You must stay outside.”

Adrian nodded. “We are faster and stronger and far more obligated than you. If anything goes wrong, leave immediately. You’ll be able to escape before they discover your presence.”

“So this—” I waved my hand around the ossuary. “—this is all hopeless.”

Charles shushed me, rubbing his hands gently down my arms. It only made me angrier. “Hopeless, no, but safer. This is the best way for you to help. Trust me.”

“And if I never see you again?” I wiped my cheeks with the inside of my wrist. The anger was turning inward now. Anger at my selfishness. “You want me to live with the guilt you can’t?”

Charles wrapped me in his arms and kissed my hairline and held me close until I calmed. He pulled back and studied my face. “You all right?”

“You better come back.”

“Forever, Sophia. Remember? After this, I promise you, I will seek out the Ankou to become a pure Strigoi and grow old with you.” Charles forced a smile, but his thoughts reflected his worries. “I’ll be fine.”

I would make sure of that, even if I had to go in there and drag him out myself.

“If they do find you,” he said, his expression sinking. “Running or hiding would be pointless by then. You only have one hope: Fight. Whatever you do, fight.”

He dropped the bag of supplies and pulled me hard against him, pressing his lips to mine. My mind held desperately to this moment, wishing he would never let me go, that we could stay suspended in this instant forever, stay here with his hands grasping the dark tiers of my dress, kissing me with a passion that filled me with a sense of life and hope.

All too soon, he let go and stepped back.

“I love you,” he whispered.

My hand moved slowly to my lips, my fingertips tracing over them as though I could feel some lingering imprint of Charles’ lips. I might never see him again. My throat constricted, but I blinked back the tears. The time for panic had passed.

After Charles and Adrian geared up with the earpieces Adrian had bought earlier, they trudged off toward the mausoleum, moving so quickly that they were like mere blurs of color on the air.

As I stepped into the ossuary, the floor creaked. Wood panels peeked out from shifted dirt. Some boards had been broken and tossed aside. I sank to my knees and set the supply bag on a discarded piece of wood.

The ignisvisum would allow me to view the events, and my clairaudience would allow me to hear the thoughts of the elemental beings inside. Of course, in this case, I would immediately return the memories so that the fire would not steal them and leave them lost forever.

Everything the ignisvisum revealed I would then filter to Charles and Adrian through the remote headset. It was a plan that promised nothing.

I ran through my opening rites until a protective barrier was visibly in place. Spirits floated near, some cupping their hands over the bubble of whitish membrane to stare and howl. Their coal-black eyes made my skin crawl, but they were the least of my worries.

I took the tin bowl from my bag and filled it with cedar chips. I fumbled to strike a match. On my fourth attempt, the tip ignited, and I set fire to the wood. I relaxed my stare on the haze above the embers, mouthing the words to conjure the images. The charred cedar, burning beneath the translucent screen, broke up the vision a few times. I waited until I gained my focus to put on the headset.

“I see you,” I said into my mouthpiece.

What I actually saw was Adrian’s vision of Charles and Charles’ vision of Adrian displayed split screen on the ignisvisum projection. Trying to follow both would have drained my energy too quickly, so I focused on Adrian’s vision, hoping to keep my sights on Charles as much as possible.

We’re going in now, Charles thought toward me.

They entered a mausoleum’s austere double doors and squeezed around a makeshift table made of cement blocks and boards of unfinished wood. Partially-melted candles and puddles of stiff wax scattered the workspace.

Charles and Adrian hurried to the back of the darkened room, where Adrian tilted a large plank to the side and stepped through into a small, dirt-packed tunnel supported by wooden beams.

The narrow passage led to another door, but Adrian didn’t try to open this one. He lowered onto one knee and swept away the soil with his hand to reveal a wooden trap door. This particular entrance was never locked as only Maltorim members knew of it. I found it odd the place wasn’t under camera surveillance, but I guess when you’re as powerful as the Maltorim, no one dares break into your premises.

Adrian opened the trap door, placed one hand on either side, and eased down. Charles followed. Stone walls surrounded them, a dark slate floor with water stains beneath their feet as they crept through the underground maze. I could almost feel the dank moisture of the corridors.

The creak and jangle of the cemetery’s front gate, racketed by the surrounding spirits, threatened to distract me from my clairaudience, but I focused until the sounds of the real world muted from my ears.

I opened my mind to all nearby elemental activity. I released the thoughts closest to me—the spirits swirling in the darkness outside my protective barrier. One by one, I zeroed out other connections, using Charles and Adrian as markers to determine the placements of the minds I invaded.

It took some effort, but I targeted the thoughts registering closest to Charles and Adrian. The farther they lurked into the dark passages of the mausoleum, the more the new connections grew in clarity.

About three-quarters of the way down the hall, Charles and Adrian paused, half-crouched, looking at each other. Their lips weren’t moving, but their wordless communication was amazingly accurate. They pressed against opposite walls and slinked to the opening at the end of the hall.

Two guards awaited out of view. Only another Cruor could sneak up on their kind undetected.

“Left guard is half asleep,” I said. “Right guard is preoccupied.”

Charles and Adrian whipped around the corner and snapped the necks of both guards. The crack of vertebrae echoed in my mind, and my stomach churned.

How could they kill as though it was nothing? Had there been no better alternative?

My emotions interfered with my signal, and the image rippled, my instincts wanting to block what I’d seen. Pushing aside my fears, I stared at the large hallway the ignisvisum displayed.

Charles and Adrian reached a set of arched wooden fortress doors, and I located the thought waves of the people on the other side. Based on the thoughts contained there, I imagined the occupants were engaged in light, candid chatter.

“Five inside,” I said.

Adrian and Charles crept past the door, heading down the final corridor that would lead to the Liettes.

I released the people in the other room from my clairaudience and sent my mind out to pick up fresh connections.

Immediately, another presence materialized.

This was the last connection I’d expected to make. This was the last person any of us expected to see here. I tried to find my voice, but Charles and Adrian spun around before I could succeed.

{twenty-six}

THE IGNISVISUM SHARPENED to the point I wasn’t sure if the visions were still in my bowl or playing right in my mind.

I shook my head, but Thalia remained in the vision, her hands poised on her hips, her charcoal sweater contrasting with her glowing violet eyes. My stomach felt pinched—stuck between the gears of a turning clock. If Thalia was here, Circe wasn’t far. But I couldn’t place her, and I couldn’t risk dropping any connections to seek her out. I only hoped she wasn’t on her way to find me.

My connection to Adrian intensified, my own thoughts seeping into the background as Thalia strutted toward them.

She clicked her teeth. “Hello, Charlie.”

The clarity of her spoken words stunned me. It was as though I were there—as though I’d reached beyond my clairaudience. Bitter saliva pooled on my tongue, tasting as I imagined the dank air of the stone passages must.

Thalia’s gaze flicked to Adrian, but he only received her passing attention. She already had her sights back on Charles.

Charles’ jaw clenched. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re smart enough to figure that out, no? You fooled me for so long. Thought you were so clever. So tell me—what do you think I’m doing here?”

“Nothing good.” Rage tightened in his chest, the rasp of a beast rattling inside and waiting to break free. All these things were alive in me, too, because of our blood bond and the mental connection we now shared.

Thalia took him in with a smile. “Tsk, tsk, Charlie. I’ve broken no laws. You, on the other hand . . . ”

His gaze panned the dimly lit halls. They’d been empty—a route for escape—but now other Cruor lurked in the shadows where only the edges of light from the wall sconces gave away their movement.

With a snap of Thalia’s fingers, four guards approached, dressed as Continental Artillery: dark blue jackets faced with scarlet, tan trousers tucked into white socks, and black-buckled, square-toed shoes. But their build was much too large for the late 17th century. Thalia mused at their being dressed in these replica uniforms, all to appease the Maltorim’s Queen—Callista.

At the lapse in Thalia’s attention, Charles lunged for her. Two guards yanked him back, restraining him before he made contact. The other two secured Adrian, who resigned immediately, though Charles tried to pull away. The tallest guard kicked him behind the knee, the force dropping him to the ground.

Thalia, seemingly unaffected, waved her hand, and the guards lifted Charles back to his feet.

He lowered his chin to his chest. Leave, Sophia.

Thalia’s face hovered right beside his, and she flicked her tongue against his cheek. “You do taste funny.”

I wiped away the moisture above my lip, but my body was still damp, sweat trickling down my back like tiny bugs fleeing from Thalia’s scathing tone.

Charles recoiled from her touch. “What they are doing here is wrong. Why would you get involved?”

“Wrong, Charlie?” She laughed, snatching the earpiece from his and Adrian’s ears. She plunked them into the open hand of one of the guards. “Little hypocrite. All these years with your ‘We can’t hunt humans, it’s the law’ bullshit. Now here I am, abiding these precious laws, and you condemn me?” She arched an eyebrow, her face frozen as if stapled into place.

Charles gritted his teeth. “The law against dual-breeds is centuries old.”

“Boo hoo. The laws are not there for your convenience, Charlie. You don’t get to pick and choose.” Thalia snapped her gaze toward Adrian. “And you, foolish child—you risk your life for this? He is nothing!”

Adrian’s fangs crunched down and his face contorted with a snarl. “You’re no more than a deadbeat tracker who didn’t meet the mark to join the Maltorim.”

Thalia’s eerie smile slipped for a fraction of a second as she cracked Adrian across the jaw. My own face stung slightly from the phantom impact, and I lifted a hand to my cheek.

“We’ll see who makes the Maltorim.”

She spun on her heel and began to walk away. After a few steps, she stopped and called over her shoulder to the guards. “

Take them to holding. I’m off to have a little chat with the Queen.”

She threw her hand up in dismissal, not bothering to so much as glance back as she strode down the corridor. Her thoughts raced too quickly for me to make sense of them.

I used Adrian as a marker and catalyst into her visions. The ignisvisum scratched her sights through Adrian’s. I tried splitting the views, but without success.

I had to choose.



THALIA’S HEELS CLICKED down the corridor. The dying torchlight flickered, tossing odd shadows along the floor. The passage reminded me of the entrance to Club Flesh, but the water leaking through the stone walls gave the asylum a more ominous vibe.

Murmurs bled through the archaic doors as Thalia dolefully smoothed her slacks. She knocked. As she lifted her hand to knock again, the door creaked opened and the shadow of a small woman appeared in the doorway.

“Queen Callista,” Thalia said with a small bow.

The Queen stepped forward, and Thalia worked through her discomfort to hold eye contact. Sure, Callista could kill her for any small infraction, but she needed to be regarded as an equal—as one worthy of the Maltorim.

Callista’s bone-thin figure jutted from the dark room, and she hummed a quiet, offbeat tune under her breath. My heart, affected by her eerie lullaby, stuttered. She tilted her head up, her nose a delicate slope, her robes clinging to her small breasts, her alabaster skin glinting beneath the hall light.

She was only a girl, stuck somewhere between youth and womanhood. Fifteen, perhaps, but an ageless fifteen, and with eyes that seemed much older. Eyes that haunted me, staring so intently into Thalia’s that I felt as though she were looking right through her to me.

“Thalia.” The name dripped from the Queen’s tongue like venom from a serpent’s fang.

Black opium incense burned Thalia’s nostrils, and she struggled not to wrinkle her nose. “I’ve apprehended Charles Liette and his companion . . . Adrian.”

“I am aware.” Callista swept her almost-white hair in front of her shoulder and began loosely braiding. She stared at the ends of her braid, fanning the hair out. When she looked back up to see Thalia still standing there, she released a bored sigh and folded her arms across her chest. “Well?”

Thalia expected an invitation into the room. A long moment passed, Thalia’s smile faltering under Callista’s glare. “I had come to inform you of their arrival and capture, my Queen.”

Callista tapped her foot, and she huffed. “Did you believe we were unaware of their presence?”

“Not at all. I mean . . . ” Thalia’s weight shifted from one foot to the other. Of course the Queen had been unaware. If she’d been aware, she would have sent out her guards to capture Adrian and Charles. “I only meant—they were alone. In the hall near the holding cells. I tracked them.”

“I would hardly call what you do tracking. Now, if you please”—Callista began to shut the door—“I must return to more pressing matters.”

Thalia shot out a hand to stop the door from closing. Her cheeks and forehead cooled, a stony mask of dignity freezing her face. Callista was going to listen.

“There is someone else, too,” Thalia said. “A spirit elemental.”

My heartbeat roared in my ears. How could Thalia possibly know? I inhaled slowly through my nose, trying to slow my vitals as to not drown out the thoughts I invaded. I needed to hear their plan if I was to take action wisely.

Callista stepped aside, sweeping her arm in invitation. “Fine,” she said in a measured tone.  “Come in.”

The lights brightened, and Thalia’s eyes widened at the polished marble flooring. Golden light reflected off the floors and highlighted the papered walls: sanguine panels with gold-leaf designs. A grandiose crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. Parlor chairs with scrolled legs and deep-buttoned chaise lounges upholstered with deep red and royal blue velvet adorned the room, barely clad men and women sprawled on their cushions.

Thalia made a contrived effort to conceal her amazement—oh, how she coveted each item, how she envied the very air the Queen breathed. She returned her gaze to Callista, but the Queen quickly turned and glided over to four young men who stood at attention.

They were the elders of the Maltorim, each in their early teens, some appearing even younger than the Queen. All shared the same pallid skin and coal black eyes and dressed in the same draping black robes with wide sleeves. Callista indicated a parlor chair, but Thalia remained standing.

“Tell me,” Callista said, still facing the other Maltorim members. Her body stilled, not even a twitch of a muscle or a sway of her stance. “How do you know this witch you speak of?”

“She found my coterie. She’s been with Charles since at least October.”

“Here it is March,” Callista chided, “and you hadn’t alerted us sooner?”

Thalia rummaged for an excuse—something to cover her selfish ploy to gain a place on the Maltorim, an excuse that would cover how she’d wasted time trying to find a way to personally deliver us to the Queen.

“We didn’t learn until recently,” she finally offered.

Callista growled and spun toward Thalia. “You just told me they have been together since autumn! Why had you not told me when I visited the States?”

Thalia bowed slightly in effort to soothe Callista. “My Queen, we only recently learned of their true natures. When you visited—in September—we weren’t aware of her then. Once we were, it would have taken too long to wait for one of your trackers to be sent.” The first statement was said in truth, but Thalia was uncertain of her final remark. She hoped to draw attention to herself as a suitable tracker for the Maltorim.

Callista sneered. “So it is then. Where is this girl now?”

“Here, I believe.”

“You believe, or you know? Can you not track her, Thalia?”

“She doesn’t have a real scent, she—”

“What?”

“She has a scent. What I mean is, it’s weak.”

“Everyone’s scent is weak to you,” Callista replied, rolling her eyes.

“No,” Thalia said sharply. “Hers is distinct. Just mild.”

“Distinct?” Callista’s eyebrow rose pointedly.

Thalia steeled herself against the Queen’s words. “Yes, distinct. You know, the way the forever girls are said to smell. Not human, and yet, not immortal, either.”

Had she really been able to tell that much that night in the alley? That would mean she’d known before Charles or me. No wonder she’d said I would be valuable.

“You cannot just toss that around, Thalia. A forever girl.” Callista scoffed. She stared into the distance a moment, then her eyebrows pulled together and she lifted her gaze. “Truly?”

“I am certain,” Thalia said. “I will bring her to you to see for yourself.”

“See that you do not return without her.” She started to pace away, but turned around once more. “Alive, mind you,” she said with a sickly-sweet smile. “I want to meet this . . . witch.”

Thalia bowed briefly. “One more thing, my Queen . . . .”

“Say it.”

“If I bring you this girl, Charles’ fate is mine to decide.”

Callista narrowed her eyes. “Fine. Though you must wait until we have extracted the information necessary to unlock the key.”

Using my clairaudience, I picked up that ‘key’ had meant a person . . . or people. But a fog hung over Callista’s thoughts, and all I could discern were general ideas and fragments of thoughts. Something protected her mind.

Thalia slipped out of the room and closed the door. Her vision panned across the passageways.

Where are you? she thought, and she started down the hall.

{twenty-seven}

I TUCKED THE MATCHBOX in my pocket. My leg muscles stiffened as I ran, the weight of my legs reminding me of my childhood nightmares. I didn’t slow until I reached the mausoleum and crept through the entrance Charles and Adrian had taken earlier.

There was no plan—there was only knowing I couldn’t turn away, that I had to go in.

The passages were colder, bigger, and darker than I expected. I’d seen them through Adrian’s eyes before, his night vision far superior to my own.

Each step grated in my ears, surely as loud as thunder to the Cruor. My breath came short, my pulse hammered in my throat. Would they sense my approach? Thalia was searching for me, and here I was, padding deeper into the asylum, closer to my capture.

The corridors stretched in every direction, the doors sometimes erratic and far apart and other times evenly spaced and cramped together, all of them eroded at the bottom, revealing rust beneath gray paint.

Charles’ voice rang in my head. Go home, Sophia. Please.

The deeper into the passages I traveled, the stronger the voice of his thoughts became. A few feet later, I was too close to determine whether I was moving closer or farther away.

I strode through the stone corridors, holding my breath against the damp air and stench of mold as I followed the path Charles and Adrian had begun. Where had they planned to go from here?

The thoughts of three guards rushed into my mind. My adrenaline throttled and power surged through me, boiling beneath my skin. Reaching in the deep pockets of my black tiered dress, I wrapped my fingers around the matchbox. I stood still, my breathing fast and shallow as I scanned the area for a place to hide.

It was too late. They were marching toward me. Cool breath prickled the flesh on the back of my neck, and I spun around. The speed of my movement surprised not only me but also the Cruor who had crept up behind me.

His eyebrows pulled together, first in confusion, then the lines deepening into fury. Another Cruor approached from the other direction. Placing the distance of each elemental was becoming easier.

I lit a match, and the first Cruor laughed.

A match? he thought. How pathetic. “What’s that for?”

“This?” My heart was thumping in my stomach, but now was not the time to show fear. “This is for you.”

I tossed the match and reached out with my hand to hold the flame in the air. No depletion of energy, but the Cruor had me outnumbered.

“What . . . ” His eyes widened.

The match distracted him, but the other Cruor rushed toward me. I stepped aside and spread my hands apart. The fire grew, creating a web between them, catching them both on fire. They screamed, but the crackle of fire soon overtook their cries. Smoke burned my nostrils, and, with surprising speed, their bodies reduced to ashes.

I’d killed two men.

I’d killed them, and I didn’t feel bad. I didn’t feel anything. No gut reaction, no moment of guilt. I was responsible for these deaths, and all I could do was stand there, frozen for a moment, hoping I wasn’t such an empty shell of a person that my actions meant nothing.

The third Cruor wasn’t dressed like the others. His hair was slicked back and he wore a plain black suit with a black dress shirt underneath. He clapped his hands slowly as he circled the scene.

“Quite a show,” he said. Clap. Clap. Clap. “I especially love the costume. This dark look works well for you. Have you considered Broadway?”

I pushed into his thoughts. Nothing. My breaths burst in and out.

“Yes, that’s a neat trick, too.” His face was an unreadable mask—blank, empty, callous. He took another step closer and crossed his arms. “Now that I know your gifts, they will be of no use to you.”

I recognized him then. He’d sent the Cruor after me at Club Flesh; he’d been the one Ivory had asked to stage my attack. Marcus. I hadn’t seen him up close before, but I was certain. And, clearly, he recognized me as well. My new hairstyle and dark make-up had been enough to disguise me in a crowd, but perhaps it’d been too much to expect it would help me here.

“What are you?” I asked. Being able to prevent me from using my powers went beyond the abilities of the Cruor.

Marcus tilted his head back and scoffed. “Your question—it offends me. Let us skip the formalities, shall we?”

In an instant, he was standing a hair’s breadth away. He glared over my shoulder. “Seems you’ve killed my brothers.” His gaze lowered, burning into my eyes. I went to strike another match, but he knocked my arm away and gritted his teeth. “Enough games.”

He grabbed my arm just as Thalia strode around the corner. I couldn’t read her at all now.

Her heels clicked along the slate floor as she approached. “Oh, how wonderful, Marcus. Goody me. You’ve found her.”

Marcus turned his glare to her. “She found us.” He ended his sentence with a sound of disgust and thrust me toward Thalia. “Just take her.”

He turned and headed down the hall, a ring of keys jangling at his side.

“Confiscate her matches,” he called behind him as he disappeared into the shadows.

Thalia grabbed hold of my elbow, and I yanked fruitlessly against her grasp.

“I see you’ve met our disabler,” she said. Her hair smelled like lemons and soil. My stomach lurched. She tightened her grip, laughing, and reached in my pocket to retrieve the box of matches. “Guess you don’t need these.”

As she pushed me forward, I leaned back, refusing to walk the direction she urged. Another Cruor approached. Something pricked my neck.

Everything blurred.

No.

I fought to hold onto consciousness, but my muscles weakened. I sank to the floor, Thalia’s elbows hooked under my armpits.

Her voice was there, somewhere, woolen and dreamlike.

“Take her.”



I BLINKED MY EYES OPEN. No iron bars. A steel door. A caged light flickered overhead. Mildew spores branched across the bottom of the walls like varicose veins. I heard a distant coughing—a Strigoi being held prisoner. Not Charles. I tried to rub my forehead, but my hands wouldn’t move. Someone had roped me to a chair.

The doorknob rattled, then stilled.

An unfamiliar voice echoed through the door. “Turning her would be of use.”

“You don’t know her.” This time, the voice was Thalia’s.

“I’ll send Marcus.”

The door opened. As Thalia entered, her black robes brushed the floor. Her hair was tamer than usual, her expression colder and her violet eyes brighter.

“I would just as soon have you killed,” she said, “but I suppose it will still happen. Only more painfully.”

This was all she said before leaving.



MY CLAIRAUDIENCE came and went in waves. Marcus was disabling me, though perhaps sometimes he was too far away to do so effectively.

When I had a new surge, I sent my clairaudience out to the Maltorim’s main room. Thoughts echoed inside my head—Thalia and Callista I recognized, but no one else. They had with them a human girl, one who would not make it through the night. I pushed my fear for her aside. I couldn’t help, only listen.

“If any of you object, you are free to leave,” Callista said. Her words were a lie. No one was free to go anywhere if they didn’t agree with her, and they knew as much.

“You have my utter and complete loyalty,” Thalia replied.

“Give it a rest, Thalia. I knew of Charles long before you came to me.”

“Oh?” Thalia sounded hurt to the ears of a quiet Cruor whose mind I had tapped into. “How is that?”

“You know my source.”

“Ivory?”

“She contacted me a month back and told me of his nature. Along with the location of the Liettes.”

Thalia didn’t believe her but dared not accuse the Queen of lying. “She’s gone now,” she said instead, barely-suppressed anger coloring her voice. “I’m here. And I am the one who told you of the girl. Ivory was keeping her from you.”

“It’s of no consequence,” Callista retorted. “We have but one goal. Ultimately, we protect ourselves and therefore the human race as a whole.”

I couldn’t believe Ivory had involved the Maltorim. I was only thankful she hadn’t told them where Charles lived, but that was likely only because she didn’t want them to find me.

As Callista spoke, conflicting thoughts echoed from those around her. Most were completely loyal while others knew her for the hypocrite she was. Save the humans—but kill them when she wanted to feed on their blood? Over the years, Callista had done her part to ensure a Maltorim comprised entirely of Cruor. Her loyalties lay with protecting her own kind, and she believed the longer they waited, the faster the dual-breeds would grow in number.

“We have the upper hand now,” Callista continued, “and we must extinguish the remaining dual-breeds at once if we want to send a message of zero tolerance. They will only replenish in number, and I don’t think I need to tell you all the dangers that would pose.”

Almost everyone in the room agreed with her final sentiment.

I allowed more thoughts to filter in. One member carefully watched everyone’s actions, and I included her thoughts in my focus. She thought differently—mostly in patterns and pictures—but her mind seemed blank of emotion or reaction. She was mentally filing every spoken word and every Cruor’s move.

Callista’s very own stenographer.

I closed my eyes, and the stenographer’s vision played on the insides of my eyelids.

“I hate to be contrary, my Queen,” a young male Cruor said, “but the Universe—”

“Oh, please. Surely you jest?”

“It’s only that—”

“It’s nothing! The Universe is nothing—they have failed time and again. This is our chance.”

No one dared interrupt.

“The Universe has no answers. I have the answers. Cloning has brought forth new opportunities, and we are decades further in our advancements than even the top scientists in the world. We will come forth with our cures for disease, and the humans will welcome us with open arms. No longer will we need to live in the shadows. Humans will sacrifice their blood to us in thanks.”

“But the witches—”

Callista whipped around. In one movement, she broke a leg off a chair and dove across the room, plunging the wood into the young Cruor’s heart. To me, her movements were all a blur, pausing at the final result: her body hovering over his as his veins turned visibly black, his body crumbling to dust, a broken chair toppling behind her. Callista’s eyes held a murderous glint, and her mouth twisted in a cruel smile. But all that quickly melted away, a resolute calm reclaiming her features.

She stood, the stake in her hand hanging limply at her side. Blood dripped in small splatters to the floor, turning to ash like a flicked cigarette. “Does anyone else object?”

Everyone looked away except the stenographer.

“As for these witches—do not doubt me. We will find them and they will join us,” Callista said. “Starting with Sophia. We will guide her into fully realizing her gifts and using them to protect our kind.” She gave each Cruor in the room a long stare. None of them made eye contact, though most were devoted to the cause. “She will come around.”

I shook my head. In the human world, genocide wasn’t acceptable. In the world I knew, people at least felt bad for hurting others or feared repercussions.

But not here.



SOMEONE LAUGHED outside my cell door, and I shuddered. Marcus. I’d spent the last few hours sinking into the recesses of my mind. Already dead. With him near, the elemental thoughts quieted, no longer accessible. Damn disabler. There had to be some way around his gift-thwarting ability.

He unlocked the chamber and strolled in. “I sensed something about you that night at Club Flesh,” he said casually. “Not quite human . . . and yet, not quite one of us.”

I flinched one shoulder in a defensive shrug.

“Now I know what it is. Your soul doesn’t belong to you. You’ve merely inherited it. How easy then to sacrifice it for something more.” He paused a moment, then added in awe, “A forever girl. Yes, the Queen has told us all about you. I’m always telling her what a shame it is we don’t keep more Strigoi with us, if for nothing other than reading auras on our behalf. We would have invited you here sooner, had we known.”

When I didn’t respond, he pulled from his pocket the matchbox Thalia had taken from me earlier. “You like fire?”

I pressed my lips together.

“That’s okay. I don’t mind doing the talking.” He flipped my box of matches in his hand. “Did you know, in some parts of the world, they used to burn witches?”

He looked at me, as if expecting a response. Or maybe my silence was all he expected.

“Yep, burned them.” He drew his eyebrows together, glanced up, and tapped his index finger against his cheek. The gesture looked rehearsed, as though all this was a game to him. My stomach churned.

“Canada. That’s it,” he said, nodding. “They definitely burned witches in Canada.”

“Idiot,” I rasped.

Suddenly, he was crouched at my side, lifting a cup of water to my mouth and helping me take a sip. “There she is.” He patted my cheek a couple times before standing up again. “Denmark.”

I swallowed. Why was he telling me all this?

“I was there,” he said, his interest returning to the matches in hand. “In Denmark, I mean. I was there when they burned the witches. Have you ever smelled the burning flesh of a human?” He laughed. “They thought they were burning witches, anyway. Thought they were burning the Strigoi and Cruor and all other elemental beings. But here we are. It was only the innocent who died. This is why we need our wars. This is why Callista needs you. You wouldn’t want any more innocents to die, would you?”

“Innocents are dying.” Did he really not get this? “Your Maltorim is the one killing them.”

He set the box of matches on the floor. I didn’t need to read his mind to know he was mocking me.

“See you soon, Sophia,” he sang as he left the room.



MARCUS RETURNED what might have been days later. The ropes were digging valleys into my chest, arms, wrists, shins, and ankles. I gritted my teeth against the dull, never-ending ache around the edges of the rope where my skin had swelled. My dried tears stiffened on my face, and snot ran down to my lips. I hated how pathetic I must have looked.

He pulled a table and chair into the room and sat with a plate of food. He cut a piece of steak and bit it off the fork.

“You like steak?” he asked, chewing.

I didn’t reply.

He spit out the steak and jumped to his feet, toppling the table over. The plate shattered by my feet, startling me. “Do. You. Like. Steak?”

My heart rate ratcheted up, and I couldn’t stop shaking.

Immediately, he calmed. “Forget it. I used to like steak.” He clasped his hands behind his back and paced the room. Then he was kneeling in front of me again, shards of the broken plate cutting into his knees. “Life as a Cruor is not so bad.” He grinned. “Kind of fun.”

I tried to appear unaffected but likely failed to grand proportions. “These killings won’t help your cause.”

“Won’t it, though? Tell me: would you give up America?”

“I don’t see what—”

“Do you know nothing of history?” He was up, pacing again. “Your kind killed the Indians so you could have your country. Your freedom. We kill the dual-natured so we can have our lives. You are asking us to give up our very existence.” He stopped, snapping his glare toward me. “You think we haven’t tried another way? What do you suggest?”

He didn’t wait for me to respond—just resumed pacing. “Do you not realize that many of the humans killed over the years were killed because of the dual-breeds? Should we allow them to expose our kind—destroy the perfect balance and risk the lives of humans and Earth itself?”

“This has nothing to do with Earth,” I said.

These people were all brainwashed. Humans hadn’t been killed because of the dual-breeds. How could the Maltorim know so much about science, and still be blind to basic scientific truths? Had no one told them correlation doesn’t equal causation? Had they not been able to figure that out for themselves?

“You may not see now,” Marcus said, “but this is an absolute truth. It’s everywhere, all the time. Your ability to understand is irrelevant.”

“Steven Robiner,” I whispered. I was fairly certain this wasn’t what Mr. Robiner had in mind when he was discussing his philosophy.

“So you are familiar?”

“Hardly with your understanding.”

Marcus smirked. “Given your situation, we will have to agree to disagree.” He turned to stare at the wall.

Desperately, I pushed for access to his mind, but he’d completely disabled my ability.

“I was trying to . . . what’s the word? Relate?” He walked up beside me and caressed my cheek with the crook of his finger, his skin cold and abrasive. From someone else, the gesture might have been soothing, but from him it was repulsive. “Callista wants to turn you. This will be much easier if you agree.”

“No.”

“I figured you’d say that. I might be able to help you, though.” He lit a match and grasped my wrist. “If you want to be turned, I can give you some anesthetics for this part.”

This couldn’t be happening.

“Since you’ll no longer age, it helps to remove fingerprints first.” Still holding the match between his forefinger and thumb, he fanned three of his fingers—no prints. “See? Smooth as silk. Humans cannot track us.”

Maybe I could distract him. “Oh?” My voice cracked. “I didn’t know that.”

He smiled. “Stumbled on the idea by accident. Two birds, one stone.”

“Why don’t you tell me more about it?”

“Sure.”

I breathed out a slow, heavy breath as the match burned down to his fingers. He tossed it to the ground. Sulfur rose from the concrete in a meandering stream of smoke.

He lit another. “I’ll tell you while we finish up here.”

His words sucked away my hope, and I gasped, the air in the room sharp at the bottom of my lungs. The fire seared my fingertips, and I screamed. I screamed and I heard myself screaming, but there was only blinding pain. I tried to summon my power, tried to focus my energy on reversing the fire, to use it against him. But I had nothing left.

{twenty-eight}

MY BURNT FINGERTIPS still seared with pain, but I had no tears left to cry. A chalky, sour film coated my lips and tongue, and vomit drenched the front of my shirt. Marcus had set the rope on fire earlier, letting it burn my flesh before dousing and retying me, but now I needed to summon my strength.

Maybe if I accepted their offer—if I joined them—I would be close enough to show them another way, show them they didn’t need these genocides.

How many of my thoughts were born from logic and how many from fear? Where did my beliefs lay? Was I just as bad as the Maltorim—just as bad as everything I’d ever hated?

Whatever you do, fight.

How I hated that sentiment right now. I didn’t feel like fighting, but I didn’t feel like dying, either.

With a deep breath to steel myself against the pain, I fought against the rope. I whimpered through my teeth as I wriggled one of my hands free.

Marcus would be returning to burn an answer out of me. Quickly I worked to free my other hand, certain I couldn’t take any more. I had to at least fight back, at least try to stop him.

As the rope fell away, I eased to my feet. Clothing, seared straight through in parts and stuck to the pus of my wounds in others, pulled away from my skin as I moved. I gritted my teeth to keep silent, but a pained hiss still escaped.

Damn it.

I tried the door first, not that I was expecting it to fly right open for me. And it didn’t. I turned around and surveyed the room. The word ‘disgusting’ summed up the cell pretty well. I began feeling around the walls for some kind of special stone like what Ivory had used at Club Flesh or what Adrian had used outside the Maltorim’s walls. No luck there.

I leaned against the back wall, pulling in some slow breaths as I attempted to slow my heart rate and clear my mind. That didn’t work out so great either.

As I pushed away from the wall, something shifted, and I nearly lost my balance. I looked back at the wall only to see a small crack between the stones. It’d slid open.

I pushed again, but it budged only enough to show some kind of latch holding the passageway shut. I didn’t have time for this. I grabbed the chair I’d been bound to only moments before and jammed one of the legs in the opening, then thrust the chair sideways. The sliding door budged a little more. The latch had ripped out of the crumbling concrete, but the top portion still held fast.

When I rammed the chair again, the latch broke off completely and the door slid open enough for me to squeeze my way out. I had limped halfway down the hall when a hand clasped over my mouth. My eyes went wide.

“Quiet, now,” said a female voice. Though her voice was soft and warm, I remained guarded and unsure. “We don’t have time for your efforts. Ye must get out of ‘ere immediately, and I’ll see to it. But please, keep quiet.”

Everything about this woman was petite except for her large, ice-blue eyes. Black hair swept down to the middle of her back, and she smelled of rain and strawberries. She looked no older than sixteen, freckles spotted over the bridge of her nose and fronts of her cheekbones. But her voice sounded older, matured, and from another time and place entirely.

“We’ve little time. Can ye walk?”

“I . . . think so.” The words scraped my throat.

The young woman draped my arm over her shoulder and led me to a dark closet down the hall. She bit into her wrist and held it to my mouth.

“Drink.”

The warmth of her blood surprised me. She didn’t seem to be in any pain as I fed from her, but she must have been a Cruor, because my pain quickly ebbed. There was some kind of marking on her neck, peeking out from the collar of her dress top. A tattoo?

“We’ve been waiting for ye,” she said. She handed me clothes. “Change quickly.”

I peeled the old clothes off the rapidly healing burn wounds and hurriedly dressed. “Why are you helping me?”

“The children will explain,” she said, already pushing me back into the hall. “Now, please, ‘urry.”

The children?

Blood and mucus seeped from the thick, rope-shaped valleys on my arms, chest, and shins, sticking against the otherwise soothing clean clothes. With each step, the wounds contracted.

“What about—”

“Shhh. Listen carefully. My name is Ophelia. Things are not as they seem; I am not truly aligned with the Maltorim. I was sent ‘ere for ye, many, many years ago. Things are amiss. Ye will fix that, but not today. For now, we must get ye away.”

Ophelia? Hadn’t that been the name of the young woman Ivory had turned in exchange for the Ankou magic that would protect her from the sun?

“You know Ivory?” I asked, though I was almost certain.

Her brow furrowed. “Who?”

“Lenore—her name was Lenore when you knew her,” I said, thinking to the memories I’d stolen from my once-friend.

Ophelia nodded. “Now, please, we must move along.”

She stopped short and slid open another section of wall, revealing Charles and Adrian. My heart fell, and I started to run toward Charles, but Ophelia grasped my shoulder, holding me back until the men stepped into the hallway.

“You’re alive,” Charles said, his voice barely a whisper.

Adrian closed the cell’s back entrance. When Ophelia released me, I ran to Charles and hugged him, sinking into his arms.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he murmured against my hair. “Are you all right?”

I nodded, but I didn’t know if or when I’d be right again. I just wanted to go home.

He held me at arm’s length, his dark eyes brimming with regret. “We need to leave.”

I followed his gaze to the end of the passage, where Ophelia stood between two children, waving for us to follow.

The children were almost identical, save for their opposing genders. Both were no older than six or seven, with the same black hair—the girl’s long, and the boy’s short—and the same pale skin. Their black button eyes fixated on me. I tried not to stare as we hurried to the Liettes’ cell.

“Go without us,” Charles’ mom said when we arrived. “Protect the children.”

Charles shook his head. “We didn’t go through all this to leave you two behind.”

Henry dipped his head forward to look past his wife. “Son, listen to your mother. We’ll never make it—not now.”

Charles stormed into the room and lifted Valeria. She looked even younger tonight, a tiny slip of a woman draped over her son’s arms. He glared at Adrian. “Are you going to help, or not?”

Henry waved his hand, as if to ward off any help, and wobbled to his feet.

Valeria’s darkly-tanned skin had paled, and her auburn hair had lost all its bounce and luster. Henry’s skin had turned sallow. Almost translucent.

We wove through the passage until we reached a stairway leading up to a set of double doors.

“I can guide ye no further,” Ophelia said. “There’ll be a car waiting outside the cemetery walls.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Her ice-blue eyes locked on mine, a hopeful but uncertain smile touching her lips. “Your battle will not end ‘ere. Now, go on. Up the stairs wit’ ye.”

She disappeared down another passage. Adrian and Henry opened the doors and Charles started up the stairs, his mom still in his arms.

Each child took one of my hands. “It’s okay, Sophia,” they said.

I wanted to shrink back at the sound of their voices, at the way they spoke together. How did they know my name? I couldn’t hear their thoughts—were they human? What were they doing here?

Shoving my questions aside, I followed Charles up the stairs. No one knew which way to go once we stepped through those doors. Light from the passages faded behind us. The open doors at the top of the steps were an aperture for moonlight, and we stepped outside. Every direction looked the same, the cemetery’s borders nowhere in sight.

Adrian turned to the group. “Follow me and be prepared. If Marcus shows, take him out first. He’ll disable Sophia otherwise.”

Charles set Valeria down. Dead leaves crunched underfoot, the sound unrealistically loud in my ears. Thoughts from different members of the Maltorim mingled with my own. They were close. Watching us. Marcus must have been too far away to overpower my abilities.

I scanned the area for a weapon—something to use other than my mind. A thick branch rested against a headstone a few feet away. Lifting my arm, I visualized the branch floating toward me. It flew from the ground into my grasp.

Circe stepped from the shadows with another young, lanky Cruor at her side. I could just make him out in the limited light: Charles’ friend, Adonis. We’d met on Samhain. He and Circe stood at the forefront of the rest of their group.

My adrenaline kicked into high gear, and the branch shook in my grasp. Charles, his back to mine, reached behind himself and touched my wrist, stilling my trembles. The Liettes took a protective stance in front of the children, and Adrian stood to the side.

Circe laughed. “A stick?”

As she spoke, her mind pushed on mine, sending the usual tingle, but I was already in her thoughts, blocking her effort. I picked up on enough to know we wouldn’t get far if we ran. Circe and her cronies weren’t the only Cruor after us. We had to face them.

Charles eyed Adonis warily. “You’re part of this?”

Charles’ mind sped through thoughts so quickly I couldn’t keep up. I severed the connection and focused on Adonis.

What if they’re wrong? Charles can’t be a . . . I can’t kill him. What do I do? The girl—his gaze snapped to me—this is all her fault.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said to him.

Adonis growled. “Don’t talk to me.”

“Charles saved you, didn’t he?” I asked. “Your maker left you—he turned you and left you with no idea what to do. Charles took you in.”

“Shut up!”

Circe stepped forward. “Enough! Adonis, the Maltorim will kill us if we don’t return them. That is all you need to know.” She softened her expression and locked her eyes on me. Realizing her efforts to influence me had no effect, she grinned. “And you—special, special. They promised you to me.”

More Cruor swarmed near. My grip tightened around the branch. They didn’t want to kill us—we were worth more alive—but they would if they had to. As far as they were concerned, we were better off dead than out in the world.

Adonis remained a few steps back. “I’m sorry, Charles. This is law.”

I snapped the branch in half. The ends were jagged and the branch strong enough to impale the undead. Though I never took my eyes off Circe, I turned my head to Charles and whispered, “You need to shift.”

“Be careful, Sophia.” He took half of the broken branch from my hand. His body trembled, and I bolted to Adrian’s side. The ground shook. Circe and Adonis paused, unable to pull their gazes from the transformation. Charles’ skin grayed and his form grew.

Circe lunged forward, casting me a hot, fevered stare. Hatred emanated from her mind and sent a jolt of anger through me, singeing the corners of my control.

“Back off!” I threw my arms out, sending Adonis and Circe stumbling back.

She tumbled to the ground, but before I could repeat my defense, she was standing again. An unnatural grin stretched her face. “Nice try.”

Charles’ tremors turned into loud pops, his transformation nearly complete. I struggled to hold Adonis back by pushing with my mind but only succeeded in slowing his pace.

Circe’s fangs snapped down, and I staked the branch through her heart. It sunk into her chest cavity as though I had plunged into loose clay. I tugged the branch out, and she staggered back. She coughed up thick, black blood. Black veins branched across her skin.

She bit her own wrist and frantically smeared her blood over the wound to no avail. Circe crumbled to the ground, gasping for breath and digging her nails into the soil, until finally her breath sputtered and she fell forward. Her body slowly decomposed. No burst of ash. She’d been a newborn—less than a century old. No wonder she’d been Thalia’s pet.

Through the spaces in the crowd, I made out Thalia and Callista as they emerged from the steps leading out from beneath the mausoleum. They prowled away from the building, closer to the action. Thalia, wanting to appear strong to the Queen, suppressed the hurt of losing one of her own. Callista pointed and yelled to other Cruor, commanding them to assist the attack.

The sudden chaos threw Adonis off. He strode forward, radiating anguish.

“Away! Away!” I said, holding my hands toward him. Nothing happened. My body trembled and a wave of nausea washed over me. Marcus was near. He was disabling my abilities.

Adrian blocked Adonis’ path. Before Adonis could reach us, something slammed into him. The force of the impact jolted his body forward, his neck snapping instantly. A wooden horn impaled his heart, the tip protruding from his chest and shoving his ribs apart.

I wobbled back, staring at Adonis’ dangling boots. Charles had taken the form of a rhinoceros. He’d infused with the branch when he was shifting. Was that another skill the dual-breeds possessed, or were all Strigoi capable of such things?

He lowered the body to the ground and pressed his hoof on Adonis’ leg, crushing the kid into place while he pulled his horn free. Adonis’ torso ripped in half and his body rapidly decayed.

Taking in deep gulps of air, I looked up to see Charles: a powerful rhinoceros with a wooden horn, emerald green eyes, and silver-brown, leather-like skin covered in blood. Instinctively, I leaned back, but guilt dug at my heart when I saw the hurt in Charles’ eyes.

“Silly, silly girl.” Thalia stepped out from the pack, her pale skin glowing in the moonlight. Behind her stood two men, nearly seven foot tall each, their skin hinting at sheens of gold in the moonlight and large, translucent, veined wings stretching out behind them, almost as tall as the men themselves.

The Ankou, I presumed, though somehow I hadn’t expected them to appear as abnormally large fae. I’d only seen them blur by when they killed the Morts outside Charles’ house. They were unnaturally beautiful.

Callista strode past Thalia, leaving her behind like an afterthought. “This has gone far enough,” she said, her face unreadable. “Join us or die. We are done playing games.”

No sooner had she spoke then the Ankou were at my side, towering over me, seeming as though they would need no supernatural ability at all to squash me. Their size alone would suffice. Yet I was too stunned by their perfection to see them as a real threat. Instead, my fear remained with what Callista might do next.

Swallowing hard, I lifted my chin and boldly met her gaze, gathering as much energy as possible from the electric current that ran beneath the earth’s surface. “I’d have to be dead to join you, idiot.”

“Guess she’d rather be dinner,” Thalia said, her voice emotionless and chilling.

I ducked away from the Ankou as Adrian and Henry sprung forward, tackling Thalia. I motioned for Valeria to run with the children, but she calmly stood her ground. Chills burrowed into my pores, prickling each hair follicle on my arms and the fine hairs of my neck and back.

Deep lines creased Callista’s forehead, distorting her expression into something nearly inhuman. Animalistic.

The transformation, a fleeting glimpse of cat-like features that half-deformed her face, faded as quickly as it occurred. Could it be . . . was she one of the cloaked figures I’d seen outside my window after my positive energy ritual?

I shook the thought away and said nothing. Her comrades would not believe any accusation that their leader was a dual-breed, nor would it be right to encourage the execution of anyone based on those merits. Not even Callista.

Callista’s hatred thrummed through her—hatred for the dual-breeds, herself included, and hatred for me that I’d given them my acceptance. An acceptance her father hadn’t shown when his wife’s true nature was revealed through her pregnancy with Callista. He never would have knowingly procreated with a dual-breed, especially not one who was part Strigoi.

My twinge of sadness passed as more Cruor encircled us, Marcus at their lead. He was trying to disable me—I could sense it—but my blood was rushing through my veins, washing his efforts away. Had I somehow overcome his gift, or was he too preoccupied to focus on me?

Charles, in his animal form, barreled at him. In the same instant, Callista knocked me to the ground. Wind rushed from my lungs, and I gasped for air.

I drove my knee hard into Callista’s stomach, surprising us both with my strength. Callista howled and yanked my hair, struggling to get her face close enough to bite me. She didn’t have any intention of turning me—as a dual-breed, she’d never be able to turn me herself. She merely hoped to drain me to my death.

With one foot, I rammed at her chest. I gained the advantage long enough to kick her several times in the face. Pain shot through my ankle, but I kept kicking. Black blood oozed from her nose, and she tripped backward.

I stared in disbelief. Was this part of being an elemental? Were even the mortal elementals capable of advanced strength and speed?

I scrambled across the cemetery ground, my body heavy with exhaustion. I stumbled, and my jaw crashed into the soil. Dirt pressed against my lips, gritty on my tongue and teeth. I spat and lifted a wrist to wipe my mouth.

It wasn’t long before I saw why the Ankou were present. They weren’t concerned with me. They were here for the aftermath. As each body fell to an ultimate demise, so there were the Ankou to collect the spirits, digging long, pointed fingernails into their skulls until the entities exploded into black particles.

Or, perhaps, the Ankou were intended as a distraction. As I spaced out, wondering how the Ankou could be so flawless, one of the Cruor grabbed me. I clung to a gravestone, trying to kick him away, all the while making a mental note not to look at the Ankou ever again.

Charles, now in human form and dressed only in someone else’s pants, appeared behind my captor. Though bleeding at the shoulder, he drove a stake through my attacker’s back, into the heart. The body of the ancient Cruor fell on top of me before shattering into a pile of dust. Vomit lurched up my esophagus, burning and bitter.

Charles tossed me the stake. He didn’t say anything, just gave me an empty look. As another Cruor charged at him, he spun around to engage in combat.

I stood and glanced around, nearly dizzy with confusion over where to look first. Behind me probably would have been my best bet. Something pushed against the back of my skull. A chill pressed into my neck, my back, my thighs, and my  stomach lurched. I tried to turn, but my mind and body were shutting down. My vision went black.

My heart went cold next. Another consciousness pressed against mine, but this was not the same as the voices I’d experienced before. These thoughts that weren’t my own wanted to drown my own.

A sudden snap shook me at my core, and I tumbled forward. I spun around, and reality crashed into my core when I realized what had just been happening.

Standing there was a Mort. A Mort that had been trying to take over my body—and had been making good progress until an Ankou had come along. This elemental grim reaper had his long fingernails so deep into what would’ve been the skull of the Mort that they were cutting through the Morts ghostly eyelids.

The two forms blurred, vibrating unnaturally fast as the Ankou fought to bring a final end to the spirit’s life. I didn’t get to see the result, because a sudden kick cracked into my ribs.

Callista.

As I lay sprawled across the ground, a second blow struck my cheek, and the side of my face numbed on impact. Something wet trickled past my temple. Pain crippled me momentarily, but before Callista could kick again, a sudden energy burst from me, sending her flying over several graves and crashing into a large headstone. She rose to her feet and shook it off, shock siphoning the color from her face.

Marcus’ head flew past me, exploding into a small cloud of ashes. He wasn’t disabling me anymore.

He wasn’t doing anything anymore.

The cemetery filled with cries of agony, anguish, and defeat. The movement of those in battle was a blur, but the images streamed clearly in my mind. An electric field domed around me, and I lay there, unmoving.

No one approached.

The world bled away and sound evaporated. Each cry of pain and effort became a dying gasp, as though muffled beneath a pillow. I tilted my head to the side. Charles and Adrian battled three Cruor. The earth elementals seemed to materialize from nowhere. Thalia fought the Liettes, and the children watched, everyone at war around them as if they weren’t even there.

Pain came to my body in sharp stabs, and the electric dome around me quivered and then disappeared. A Cruor to my right started to pull her way across the soil. Blood dampened her pale blonde hair. Half of her left leg was missing. She crawled over to me, a mindless minion to the very end, and I staked her though her back, into her heart. The dome flickered on again, but just as quickly, it was gone, and I couldn’t recreate it. My powers were on autopilot, and I still had no idea how to control them.

As Callista stalked toward me again, my vision funneled onto her. The power I emitted slowed her, but my energy was fading. I hefted myself up on a nearby gravestone, pain shuddering through my left ankle. My swollen eye threw off my depth perception.

I limped toward a heap of sooty clothes I’d seen Marcus wearing earlier. The scent of burnt Cruor flesh hit my nose, and I gagged as I sifted through the items with trembling hands. The matches had to be in one of his pockets.

Ice spread in my stomach. Something was wrong.

Thalia approached. Blood soaked her face and streaked her hair. Ashes clung to her clothing and dusted her cheeks and chest. Her eyes sparkled in a way that sent chills up my spine. Behind her, beside Henry’s remains, lay Valeria’s dead body. Her neck was severed three-quarters through.

A scream roared in my mind. Rage engulfed me, filling me with an unfamiliar darkness. I couldn’t allow the pain to surface, couldn’t accept what I’d seen.

Fumbling through another one of Marcus’ pockets, I found the box of matches.

Callista closed in, but my intentions remained fastened on Thalia. I struck a match, tossed it toward her, and held the fire suspended in the air between us. Thalia’s lips curled into a smile as she continued her approach. I encouraged the fire’s growth, the oxygen around us feeding the flame like gasoline to create a fiery sheet.

A strange sensation gripped me, as though I was an echo of myself, trapped in a tunnel of mirrors, reflecting my image back and forth for eternity. On my command, the sheet of fire swept forward, leaving piles of ash in its wake.

My strength gathered, and I tossed my hands upward. The flames extinguished into a mist.

When I turned to scour for more Cruor, Thalia and Callista were headed toward the mausoleum.

Shit. I’d missed.

Thalia tossed back a cursory glance, a shadow of alarm on her face.

Our location had shifted throughout the course of the fight, and a cemetery wall had come into view. The pressure of battle suppressed my ability to orient myself.

Get away. That was the only thing that mattered. No one from the Maltorim would risk exposure by following us to the city. Not now. Not like this.

I spotted Charles and bolted toward him. “We need to go.”

Hurt etched his features—not a wincing pain, but the weighted expression of loss.

“I’m sorry,” I barely managed to whisper, so quiet I wasn’t sure I’d really said anything at all. My heart longed to console him, but there was no time.

I grabbed the hands of the children and ran. Charles hastened after, helping Adrian limp away, their injuries slowing them to a human pace. We reached the cemetery’s wall with a new team of Cruor not far behind.

“Go, Sophia,” Charles implored.

Blood flowed from a wound on his shoulder, beaded on his chest hair, and dripped down his stomach. More blood drenched his pants. So much blood—it couldn’t all be his. Please don’t let all this blood be his.

“I’m not going without you,” I said. No way was he going to underestimate how stubborn I was right now.

“I can’t—” He leaned against the wall and slid to the ground, pressing his hand over the gash on his shoulder. “Go!”

I dropped to my knees beside him. He and Adrian were slipping. I scanned the ground. Something sharp, something sharp. Anything. A broken bottle someone must have tossed over the cemetery wall in passing caught my eye, and I used it to cut my forearms. As much as I wanted to save Adrian, I wasn’t about to let him bite me and turn me into a Cruor. Having him feed this way would be safer for both of us.

Positioning myself between them, I held the wounds to their mouths. “Drink.”

Blood trickled onto their lips, but they made no movement.

“Drink, damn it!”

Thin red rivers trickled down my arms and dripped from my elbows.

The Cruor behind us were closing in, trapping us against the stone wall.

The children placed their hands on my shoulders and began chanting. “Lumen Solis Invicti. Lumen Solis Invicti. Lumen Solis . . . ”

I looked over my shoulder. As they chanted, a light grew in front of them. No, not in front of them. The light emitted from their bodies. The Cruor started to retreat. Charles, Adrian, and I remained wrapped in shadows as the front of the children’s bodies grew brighter with each spoken word.

I knew those words. Not in my mind, not from this life—but in my spirit, I knew them.

“Lumen Solis Invicti,” they continued.

Light of the unconquered sun.

Their efforts were not enough. They needed me, needed whatever power I stored within me to put their magic into full effect. I knew this in the same way I knew to breathe. It was just a part of me.

I closed my eyes, focusing all my energy into their small bodies, and joined their chant. The light became blinding. I turned away, shielding my face with the crook of my arm, but Charles, Adrian, and I were wrapped in the children’s shadow, untouched by their implacable light. A few moments later, the air went cold. Darkness reclaimed the cemetery.

Only the tombstones had survived. The newly silent air—now empty of the cries of battle—filled with shuddering breaths and the winces and moans of Charles and Adrian.

The children turned to me, their skin bright red. I shrieked at their unexpected appearance and swayed back against Charles.

“It’s okay, Sophia,” they said, reaching toward me.

Their skin lightened more by the moment, returning to their previous pallor. I reached out to touch them, but my hand twitched. What were they?

As their hands touched mine, palm-to-palm, they effused a relaxing stream of electricity that entered through my fingertips. They knelt in front of Charles and Adrian.

“What was that?” Charles asked.

“We’ll explain later,” the girl said, her voice oddly mature. “We must relocate immediately.”

The girl touched Adrian’s and Charles’ wounds, her fingertips glowing red. The touch cauterized the skin, stopping the flow of blood. The boy placed his palm to each man’s forehead, and a soft hum carried on the night’s chill wind. Both Charles and Adrian’s countenances improved.

“Now, Sophia,” the boy said.

I couldn’t read his thoughts, but there was a knowing. The men still needed my blood. This time they had the strength to feed. They drank just enough to gain the strength to get away, then we scaled the cemetery walls to our escape.

As I heaved myself over, I saw Ophelia standing at a nearby grave, watching. A small smile touched her lips, then she disappeared into the shadows.

{twenty-nine}

THE CAR OPHELIA HAD WAITING for us was old, the gray seats upholstered with perforated leather, each tiny hole an inch apart. The heating vents blew around a mothball odor that reminded me of Mother’s coat and vacuum closet back in Keota. My clothes, wet with blood and dusted in ash, squished against the seat, and my stomach sent acrid bile into the back of my mouth.

At first, I half-expected Cruor to chase us down the road, but the further we distanced ourselves from the cemetery, and the faster the night sky lightened, the safer I felt. But we still needed to get Adrian indoors before sunrise.

I wished for the nausea and shaking to subside. A headache settled in. I was neither able to block nor focus on the elemental noise. All that remained was the pulsing hum of whispered thoughts.

A fog lifted from my mind as we pulled away. Not a fog caused by magic or Cruor influence, but the fog of what had happened. Reality crashed into my chest, arresting my lungs and heart with the realization of what I’d done.

As Adrian drove, the children, sitting on either side of me, tended to my wounds with their magic, but because I was mortal, the scars would remain—the thin pink rivers on my arms as well as the burn scars on my shoulders, chest, stomach, and shins that Ophelia had healed. Charles and Adrian had already fully regenerated. No visible evidence of the war marked their bodies.

With my immediate wounds cared for, the children turned and stared out the windows. I leaned between the front seats to check on Charles, who was sleeping in the passenger seat. His chest rose and fell in slow breaths. I touched his cheek with the back of my hand. His skin was feverish and damp.

“Is he going to be okay?” I asked Adrian.

“Quite.” He reached to turn on the car radio, hand trembling. “A big shift, is all.”

I rubbed my temples to alleviate the pressure. In the rear-view mirror, I saw the creases in Adrian’s forehead deepen. Where did we go from here—where would we be safe?

“They could’ve killed me,” I said, more to myself than anyone else.

Adrian heaved a sigh. “I cannot thank you enough.”

“Thank me?”

“We’d all be dead if it weren’t for you.”

I wasn’t so sure. Perhaps they wouldn’t have escaped without me, but I wouldn’t have escaped without them, either. Or Ophelia for that matter.

We passed barren fields as Adrian placed a call to Rhett, his voice a backdrop to my thoughts. “Fifteen minutes . . . immediate departure . . . ”

As we turned the car onto the private runway, Charles woke. Rhett had the plane running. We rushed over, his gaze scrutinizing us more harshly the closer we came.

“No, no, no. Not getting in my plane like that, dirty as field rats and smelling of rot.” He shook his head. “No way. Ain’t gonna happen.”

I glared at him. “We paid you.”

“Fine,” he said, huffing through his nose. “Fine! I don’t get paid enough, tell you that. Grab the towels in the back. Don’t touch nothing, don’t get nothing dirty, or you pay for that, too.”

“Go on,” I said to the children, shooing them to follow Rhett onto the plane. I turned to Charles and Adrian. “What are we going to do with them?”

A muscle twitched in Charles’ jaw. “I couldn’t care less.”

I frowned. “Are you okay?”

“My parents are dead. What do you think?”

I stared at him with searching gravity. The pain of losing his parents was one we shared, but I wasn’t ready to deal with those emotions right now, and there was nothing I could say to make him feel better.

Once we boarded, Charles told Rhett to take us to a location in the Japanese mountains. The Liettes’ home, I guessed. Rhett’s only reply was a flippant quip that we should do nothing and let him take care of everything, since that’s what we were doing anyway.

Adrian lay on a small bunk in the back cabin. I should’ve been exhausted, but my mind stirred with too many unanswered questions. I grabbed the ragged brown towels from the compartment near the bathroom and tossed them over all the seats. Charles and I sat opposite the children, a small dish on the table between us, empty except for some dusty peanut residue.

“Sorry,” I said to the children, “I haven’t even caught your names.”

The boy introduced himself as Aspen and the girl as his sister, Autumn. “Valeria took us in several years ago—” the boy began.

“Bullshit,” Charles said.

The boy blinked. “Did Valeria not tell you of us?”

“My mother,” Charles said, turning to me, “would never take in one of the Chibold.”

So they were fire elementals? I covered his hand with my own. “Please, let them talk.”

Charles was suspicious, and, admittedly, I didn’t like the way they kept staring, unblinking, an inky blackness to their eyes. But if what they said was true, they were family.

As I delved more deeply into Charles’ thoughts, I read he was only remotely thankful the twins had saved me; mostly, he blamed them that I’d been in danger in the first place. The children clearly had the power to rescue his parents but had allowed them to die and nearly gotten us killed in the process. Why hadn’t they acted sooner?

“Tonight’s events had to happen this way,” Aspen said.

The usual blue vibrancy of Charles’ eyes faded to a stony gray, and he clenched his fist over the armrest of his seat. I placed my hand on his arm, hoping to soothe him. We all dealt with grief in our own way. Detachment was the only way I knew. For Charles, grief was handled through anger and a need to place blame.

He slumped in his chair, pressing his lips together.

I asked the children—these Chibold—about their capture, about how they had survived so long. The Maltorim had been waiting for us, but not entirely for the reason we had thought. They didn’t know how to destroy these children, and the Liettes provided no answer. They’d hoped Charles would help them solve the riddle, that somehow bringing the family together would be the key to solving this small mystery.

“Though our kind are nearly extinct due to the lack of host families, some of us have found a way to survive by helping dual-breeds in exchange for their hosting,” Aspen said. “The Maltorim does not take kindly to this, but there is not much they can do. Their only option is to kill our host families, but we protect them. Even once they’ve ended the lives of the host family, we’d still live for centuries more. The Liettes being alive was the only thing that kept us in holding, and the Maltorim was aware of that. We could have left at any time. They thought Charles might be able to reveal more—reveal another way to end our lives.”

“You were trying to help the Liettes, then?” I asked.

“They wanted us to escort Charles once he was ready to approach the Ankou and purge his Cruor side. We were to be introduced to him at that time.”

“So what happened?” I asked.

Aspen settled his gaze on me. “You were involved.”

“Of course I was involved.”

“No, you don’t understand. Not you, the woman Charles wanted to grow old with. You—as in the very reason we were originally sent here.”

What the hell was he talking about? “Who sent you here? Why?”

Autumn smiled warmly. “Sophia—this has been hundreds of years in the making. The first attempt had been in the late 1600s, but unexpected events derailed the Universe’s plans. As things changed, they had to take additional measures to prepare. Even Ophelia’s life has been devoted to awaiting your arrival.

“They brought you back time and again, but the path was not an easy one to resume, to line up as had originally been intended.”

She spoke as if the details carried no weight. Perhaps they didn’t. Perhaps the night’s events rendered everything meaningless.

The Chibold, Charles thought toward me. My parents would not get tangled up with such tricksters. Don’t believe anything they say.

I disregarded his thoughts. Much as I loved him, he was a horrible judge of character. His perceptions of Thalia and her coterie had been way off. Then again, perhaps I was no better. I’d trusted Ivory for years.

“You could have prevented the deaths of your host family,” I said. “I hope you can see why we’re hesitant.”

Charles crossed his arms, his mouth dipping into an even deeper frown. The shadows under his eyes deepened with each passing moment.

“The Liettes were like parents to us,” Autumn said, her voice lullaby-sweet, “but we are here to save something bigger. We needed to meet you, Sophia.”

Charles scoffed. “You could have saved my parents and found her later. Or joined them on their visit to the States.”

“Brother,” Aspen said, his voice darker than his sister’s, “we couldn’t come forward until now—we simply were not able. Sophia had to act first.”

The idea was hard to accept, but I’d gone years without even knowing about my gifts. Perhaps things were the same for them.

“We would not willingly sacrifice our host family,” Aspen pressed. “That would mean risking our own lives. Host families are hard to find these days, and even centuries might not be enough to find one to hide our true identities. Surely you understand that?”

“Why is this happening now?” I asked.

“Because you willed it,” Autumn said in her musical voice. “Your ritual set these events into motion.”

My ritual? My ritual hadn’t willed this to happen. I’d never want the Liettes sacrificed because of me.

“That ritual was months and months ago,” I said. “Couldn’t you have come to me sooner?”

Aspen shook his head. “The ritual was only the first step. The herbs you used welcomed not only your purpose but your gifts as well. But you still had to learn, on your own, who you were. To accept yourself for who you were—who you are—and prove your strength and loyalty as you did tonight.”

Autumn leaned back in her chair, resting her hands in her lap. “By not caving in to the Maltorim’s request, you triggered our powers and allowed us to progress on our path. Just as in your first life, you did not cave—you remained true to yourself until the end. That was the moment the Universe was waiting for.”

The tension did not leave Charles’ neck or shoulders, but some of the anger dissipated from his expression. “What business are we of yours, then?”

“We are your messengers,” Autumn said.

“Messengers?” I said, disbelieving. “You’re children.”

“We are, in that we carry a child’s appearance. However, we have greater knowledge—one bestowed upon us by the Universe that we are to share with you. We are your guides. The Maltorim remains strong and their plans for the future nefarious. You will need our help.”

Guides? Messengers?

Nefarious?

The concept muddied my thoughts, and Charles was still skeptical. I stared blankly at the children.

“At one time, the Universe thrived alone,” Aspen elaborated, “but in time it became weak. It spawned humans to recycle the energy. The Universe fed from the positive energy of people at night, pulling them into sleep. The energy allows the Universe to create and put new life into the earth. If the humans die, the Universe dies . . . and vice versa.”

“Negative energy poisons the Universe,” Autumn continued in place of her brother. “The original immortals were here to clean up the mortal world, but some veered from the path the Universe had set for them. Though the source of the original evil is unknown, we imagine that sometimes the Universe accidentally feeds from the energy of corrupt human life and, in creating elementals, some of that dark energy is unintentionally imprinted.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“This will never be a perfect world,” Aspen said, “but it could be better. You will play a role in making that happen. The evil will continue to propagate.”

“You could have ended it today,” Charles said sharply.

Autumn lowered her lashes, her gaze dipping to her hands. “You cannot comprehend the extent of the Maltorim’s progress. Callista has sanctioned others. Damascus is no longer the only home of the Maltorim. Tonight’s events were bad enough, but had a dual-breed been responsible for the death of the Queen, the retaliation would’ve been far worse than what we expect now.”

I sighed, defeat sinking further into my core. Did I want to help the Universe? Its track record was shoddy, at best. “What do you need me for?”

“To gather others like you, one for each remaining element.” Autumn breathed in deeply, fixing her gaze heavily on my own. “Then, you will fight in the Great War. If you do not, the Maltorim will spiral out of control. First, only the dual-breeds will be killed, but soon the humans will be freely hunted as well. The Maltorim claims to want to save the humans, but when the New World begins, the Maltorim will shift to darker means. Their actions could lead to the ultimate demise of our planet. Of our entire Universe.”

I shook my head. What did they expect me to do about that? “I—I’m sorry. There’s no way. I couldn’t stop them.”

Autumn’s soothing voice was a relief from Aspen’s chilling echo. “You will be ready when the time comes, and you will not be alone.”

In an awkward moment, she unfolded her hands from her lap and reached to place one over my own. The gesture was something Valeria would do, a movement Autumn was merely parroting from her host mother—staged but unrehearsed.

Charles didn’t say a word. His once fiery gaze had extinguished, the irises now dull and clouded. This was the oldest I’d ever seen him look.

“I still don’t understand the purpose of you being sent as children,” I said. “Won’t that make it harder for you to help us?”

“Quite the contrary,” Autumn said with a small smile. “To your world, children are the property of their guardians. We are lesser beings, seen as weak, less intelligent, and less deserving of respect. Who would treat us as equals but those who are pure of heart? Through us,” she said, “you will make the right allies.”

{thirty}

EVEN MONTHS LATER, the misery of that night still haunted me. We mourned . . . Charles, the kids, and I. Even the Liettes’ cabin seemed to mourn—the windows sad, rain sliding down the glass like tears some nights, the scarred wooden floor icy as death in winter. The cherry blossoms had at least brought hope in the spring, unfurling their flowers along the peaks of Mount Rishiri.

Plums, so purple they were almost black, sat in the dish between us. Valeria’s dish. Months had passed, summer now returned, but the ache of losing loved ones doesn’t go away or numb quickly. All the family Charles had ever known were gone now, leaving two orphaned children in their place.

I plucked one of the plums from the bowl and sank my teeth past the tart peel, eyes fixed on Charles. He looked tired, but not as sad. I walked around the table to sit in his lap. He kissed my jaw, my wrist, my fingertips.

“We have each other,” he said, and he buried his head against my neck, his light chin stubble tickling my shoulder.

My heart raced as it always did when he was near. A smile softened my lips, and I kissed the top of his head. “We do.”

For a long time we just sat there, with the hazy, Japanese summer breeze drifting through the open kitchen window. It was all we needed.

I traced my finger along the scar inside his arm. We both had them—scars the world could see, and also our private scars. Those were the scars we shared.



THE MALTORIM never discovered the Liettes’ cabin, and so the location remained a safe refuge for Charles and me to stay with the kids. Adrian found a place in Kutsugata and visited often, bringing us food and supplies. Living more than a few miles away from the common trails did have its benefits, though. It was quiet here. Even the elemental noise was minimal.

I leaned back in our porch swing with a cup of iced raspberry tea and a newspaper I couldn’t read. Sometimes the kids would read it to me, try to teach me the language, but today they were sleeping in late. Sometimes they went into hibernation for days at a time, storing energy to channel messages from the Universe.

Charles emerged from the house. “Adrian stopped by last night while you were sleeping. Said Paloma checked on Ivory, and she is doing well. Doesn’t seem to remember anything more than necessary.”

My heart sped at the mention of Ivory, and my breath caught in my throat. Her name had been lingering around the edges of my mind for months, but I hadn’t heard it spoken aloud since I learned she was the one who had informed the Maltorim of Charles’ true nature.

“You all right?” he asked.

I smiled, setting the paper aside. “I still worry about the future.”

“Most people do.” He cleared his throat, and when I looked up, his gaze was steady on mine. “I haven’t forgotten.”

Before I could ask him to confirm what my heart already knew he meant, I picked up the thoughts from his mind. He was ready to become a pure Strigoi.

Though we had come to trust the children over the months—especially once Charles had found a letter from his mother that explained everything—we hadn’t spoken of our plans to turn him to a pure Strigoi. The kids would be able to guide us through the process, but I’d feared bringing it up would rekindle Charles’ pain. I’d never wanted this choice to be decided for him.

“When you’re ready,” I said.

A small grin tugged at his lips. “All those months you pestered me, and now you say when I’m ready?” He extended his hand, and I accepted, allowing him to pull me into his arms. “You really drive me crazy sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

I smiled against his chest, then peeked up into his deep teal eyes. He opened the screen door behind him and backed into the cabin, tugging me after. The closeness of his body sent a warmth into my stomach, and I pressed up on my toes and kissed him, nearly knocking him the rest of the way into the house. The screen door flapped shut and a picture frame on a table near the door tipped over.

“I need a shower,” I said, feeling a little sticky from the heat. “Want to come with?”

Charles’ grin broadened. His hands slipped down to my hips as we headed down the hall to the bathroom.

I peeled off my sweat-soaked jean capris and white eyelet halter-top, and we hopped into the shower together, enjoying these moments where we could simply be ourselves. Simply be together.

After our shower, I changed into a bikini and some lightweight denim shorts and pulled a wide-tooth comb through my hair. Charles headed out to meet Adrian while I flopped down on our bed to read for a bit. When the front door creaked open, I doggy-eared the page I was on and set the book aside.

“Hello?”

No answer.

“Charles?” I asked aloud.

I could pick up on Charles’ presence, but not Adrian’s.

I threw my legs over the side of the bed and headed into the living room. Lauren was standing just inside the threshold of the cabin, suitcase at her feet and birdcage in hand. Rhett must have flown her over if she was able to bring Red. Something told me he much preferred flying humans.

I rushed the last few steps into the main room. “No one told me you were coming!”

She grinned. “That’s because it was a surprise.”

“A surprise?” I looked at Charles. It must have taken a great deal of concentration for him to plan this without me finding out. I’d totally fallen for the whole Adrian thing.

“You’ve been trapped up here too long,” Lauren said. “You do remember what a surprise is, don’t you?”

I hugged her tight, probably squeezing the life right out of her, and she held the birdcage away. Charles took it from her to set on the coffee table, and Lauren and I sat down, jumping right into conversation as though we’d never been apart.

“How about that hike?” I asked.

“Charles carried my suitcase and the birdcage,” she said with a wink. “You’re lucky you have Superman on hand if you insist on living up here. How do you guys do it?”

“Eh,” I said. “We manage.”

Lauren still didn’t know the real reason we were here, and she never would. We’d told her a partial truth several months back: that Charles’ parents had died in a car accident and that we’d adopted their kids to raise as they would have wanted them raised—here, in the Japanese mountains. She didn’t question it.

“I’m going to visit my family while I’m here,” she said. “I can’t tell you how much this trip means to me. To finally go see them for myself, to let them see me for who I am. And to get to see you. Belle Meadow isn’t the same with you gone.”

“Oh?”

Lauren frowned, and she cast her gaze toward the room where the children were sleeping. “Are you sure you’re ready for such a huge responsibility?”

“No,” I said, “but I have to go with it. I have to do what needs to be done, or nothing else matters.”

All at once, I wished she could know the full weight of that statement while at the same time I wished she’d never have to understand it.

Lauren pushed herself up from the couch. “I’d better unpack.”

“And I’d better help Charles finish getting dinner ready, or we’ll never get you fed.”

I met Charles in the kitchen and sidled up next to him to help wash and dry fruit for a cobbler. He popped a slice of peach into my mouth and gave me a kiss equally as sweet.

The last traces of the sun disappeared behind the mountains, but tonight there were no shadows across my heart.

When dinner was ready, Lauren carried some wooden bowls and spoons outside to the small picnic table while I brought the freshly-baked bread. Charles followed behind to set a spicy vegetable stew on the table.

Aspen and Autumn joined us, carrying Red out in his cage, which they set on a large, flat stone beside the table. The children sent their thoughts to me—the only way I could read their thoughts at all—and told me the bird was safe to be released. They had used their magic to ensure Red’s presence wouldn’t harm the natural wildlife of Japan.

I opened the cage door, and Red peeked out. I realized then why I’d always been so drawn to him. Grandpa Parsons had once kept a pet cardinal, one who would sit on his armchair when we visited in my childhood years. Grandpa Parsons would tell me all the ancient myths and legends that his family had once shared with him.

Over dinner, I shared one of his stories—the German legend of the Holy Family.

“There was a time when the world was left in a natural state. It was Autumn, the time of the harvest. The trees were viewed as living beings, not cast down to clear way for modern buildings as they are in our time. Even in those times, there was a hierarchy of importance in life. So it was with a sense of greater value that the Holy Family traipsed the forest trail. The soil shifted beneath their feet, the flowers swayed as they breezed by, and the trees bowed, but there was one family of trees that did not yield in reverence. The Aspens. The Holy Family cursed the trees, and their leaves began to tremble. And that is how the Aspens became known as ‘the shivering trees’.”

I probably missed the moral when my grandfather told me the story as a small child. Even now, it held a different meaning to me than to most, though it was only natural that everything would be interpreted differently in the context of my new life.

Aspen and Autumn—they were with me now.

As I finished my story, Red strutted out from his cage. After a final chirp, he ruffled his feathers and took flight, soaring aimlessly over the yard before settling on the branch of a nearby cherry blossom tree.

We were home.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rebecca Hamilton writes Paranormal Fantasy, Horror, and Literary Fiction. She lives in Florida with her husband and three kids, along with multiple writing personalities that range from morbid to literary. Having a child diagnosed with autism has inspired her to illuminate the world through the eyes of characters who see things differently. Rebecca Hamilton is represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA.

To learn more about Autism Spectrum Disorder, please visit: http://www.autisticadvocacy.org

Visit her website at: http://www.beccahamiltonbooks.com

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

COVER ART PHOTOGRAPHY:

Mike Thomassen

COVER ART MODEL:

Maria Amanda Schuab http://mariaamanda.deviantart.com/

FONT CREDITS:

Quicksand Book, Trajan Pro, Wicked Grit by http://ajpaglia.com/  and Chicago House font by ‘theoriginal19’

FORMATTING:

R.P. Kraul

EDITING CREDITS:

Sol Stein and Toby Stein for their early guidance in honing my style and voice, Leslie Holman-Anderson for her amazing critical eye, Angela Zoltners and Lynnette Labelle for their comprehensive support, and Stewart Kirby for his fantastic copy-editing service. Thank you also to everyone else who contributed, most specifically R.P. Kraul, Jennifer Sosniak, Joan Ford, Christi Goddard, Noelle Pierce, and S.M. Boyce.

Book One of The Danaan Trilogy

By

* * * *

The Forgotten Ones

Book one of The Danaan Trilogy

Copyright © 2013 by Laura Howard

Formatting by JT Formatting

All rights reserved.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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For Mom,
for never telling me I couldn't.

I miss you every minute.

I caught a glimpse of my mother staring out the den window. She held her violin loosely under her chin, and the bow dangled from her fingertips. Her jaw was slack, her eyes locked on something in the trees beyond me. I knew that haunted expression. I froze.

I swallowed hard as her eyes shifted to me. The violin fell from her chin, and I could see her bottom lip trembling.

I should have been used to that reaction from her when she saw me during an episode. It happened every time. But I wasn’t.

I flew into the house as fast as my feet would carry me. The screen door crashed behind me as I came to a halt outside the den. My mother clutched fistfuls of her blonde hair, garbled words spilling from her lips.

“I have to. I have to go out there,” she said. “He’s waiting for me.”

She stood in the semi-darkness, mumbling, the only other sound the hum of the ceiling fan. I clung to the doorjamb as I watched my grandmother approach carefully. She placed her hands on my mother’s shoulders, and on contact my mother’s body stopped quaking. Gram crooned, rocking her back and forth, as she pulled her into her arms and led her away from the window.

My stomach tightened, and I backed away to leave them alone. If she saw me again, who knew what would happen.

I cringed as the floor creaked beneath me, and she jerked her head in my direction. Her eyes widened when she saw me, and the shaking began again. Breaking away from my grandmother, she stumbled backward toward the window. She raked her fingers down her face and hair as she moaned. “Liam…” Tears streamed down her cheeks, causing thick strands of hair to stick to her face.

I entered the room slowly, desperate not to step on another squeaky floorboard. Her green eyes burned into mine, and I locked my eyes on hers. No matter how many times she fought my attempts to soothe her, I had to keep trying. She was my mom.

I reached for her shoulders. “Mom,” I whispered. “It’s just me.”

She flinched. I knew she recognized me. I’d never met my father, but under my mattress I hid the only scrap I could find with his image on it. The picture—a strip of them actually—was taken before I was born in a photo booth in Ireland. I looked just like him. Considering how she often spoke his name when she was like this, my gut told me that she saw my father in me.

She writhed as I touched her and clawed at my hands. Gurgling sounds came from somewhere deep in her throat, but I knew she was still saying my father’s name. I placed my hands gently over hers, my gaze steady, as though approaching a wounded animal. I took deep, soothing breaths the way Gram had taught me.

I could feel the weight of Gram’s stare, watching as I got closer than ever to my mother actually letting me comfort her. I focused on my mom, ignoring the panic rising in my chest.

“Shh..you’re okay,” I said. “You’re okay.” I repeated it over and over, softly, until her breathing became even, more normal. It felt like hours, but the tension in her fingers loosened eventually as she stopped trying to resist me.

My grandmother walked out of the room as I continued to make shushing sounds, the panic in my mother’s eyes fading. I couldn’t see it, but I knew Gram was probably smiling, at least a little.

I exhaled and led my mother to the couch. The same woman who had just been in the throes of a schizophrenic episode was now completely unresponsive as she sat.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Gram standing just outside the doorway. I released my mother’s hands—she’d stay that way for a while, and there was nothing any of us could do—and got up to follow Gram down the hallway to the kitchen. The air wafted toward me as she moved, smelling like oranges and cloves—familiar and comforting.

I opened the refrigerator, snagged a bottle of water, and slouched down at the kitchen table. I tried to smile as I unscrewed the cap, but inside I was struggling with the gratification of being able to bring my mother down from her episode versus the pang of guilt for being the one who caused her condition in the first place. Before I was born, she’d been a bright, happy college student. Her spiral into schizophrenia didn’t start until I showed up.

She had met my father during her last year of college. She had traveled to Ireland for her final semester to study music at Trinity College in Dublin. She’d been fine when she left, I’m told, but when she came back she was heartbroken and pregnant. She’d never been the same since.

“Have you eaten, honey?” Gram asked, nailing me in place with her eyes.

I flipped the bottle cap in my fingers. “No, but I’m fine.”

“Oh no, you don’t. We had a nice steak for supper, cooked just the way you like. You’ll have some, won’t you?”

I had to laugh. With Gram there was no choice, even if she asked. I sat down at the table while she whirled around the kitchen. In minutes I had a steak dinner in front of me, complete with steaming mashed potatoes and green beans.

“You spoil me, you know,” I said between bites. “I’m never going to be able to take care of myself if you keep this up.”

Gram smiled at me. “You’ll have plenty of time to take care of yourself. Let me spoil you while I still can.”

I swallowed down the guilt, knowing she didn’t see raising me—and Mom—for the past almost twenty-two years as the burden it felt like to me.

As I ate, my mother walked into the kitchen. She sat down at the table quietly without looking at either of us.

“Hi, Mom…” I spoke as softly as I could, not wanting to alarm her.

“Hello.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. She chewed on her fingernail and stared absently out the window. Even with the hair framing her face in knots, my mother looked lovely. Her eyes sage green, her skin flawless. She was forty-three but didn’t look a day over thirty.

“That was a beautiful tune you played earlier, Beth,” Gram said as she took my mother’s hands in her own. “I could practically smell the breeze blowing in off the Irish sea.”

“Mm hmm,” my mother answered, mostly detached, but a tiny smile lifted the corner of her mouth.

My cell phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out quickly before it startled my mom. I opened it to find a message from my cousin, Nicole:

I need ice cream tonight

I gave a small laugh as I put my phone back into my pocket. I’d worked all afternoon at my grandfather’s hardware store, but it was Friday night—I should’ve known I wouldn’t be able to just relax with a good book. Nicole was twenty, only a year younger than me, and we were as close as sisters. But our ideas of a perfect Friday night couldn’t be more different. If only we didn’t live next door to each other maybe I could get out of this.

I glanced out the window to Nicole’s driveway. When I’d gotten home, it had been filled with cars—her friends had been taking over the place. But now I was grateful to only see her little Jetta. Hanging out with Nicole I guess I could handle.

Her friends were a different story. Especially when Ethan Magliaro was around.

Nicole and I sat down at a table on the patio with two of the biggest sundaes on the menu at DeeDee’s. The sun was hanging low in the evening sky, and the heat from earlier in the day had settled into pleasant warmth on my skin. The last fingers of golden light caused the pink and blue umbrellas to cast a glow across Nicole’s pale blonde hair. She licked a puff of whipped cream off her spoon and eyed me.

“What?” I said through a mouthful of ice cream.

“We’re going to the beach tomorrow,” she said before taking her own bite.

“Have fun,” I mumbled.

She wiped her lips with a napkin and narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re coming.” I opened my mouth to argue, but she held a slender finger up at me and pursed her lips. “It’s the first Saturday you’ve had off in months. School’s over, at least for the summer. You’re coming.”

I sighed and looked up at the pattern of our umbrella. “You really know how to ruin a perfectly good sundae.”

Her eyes shot daggers at me. “We’ll have a great time, Al.” Her expression changed as she seemed to change tactics. Her green eyes widened and her lip stuck out just the tiniest bit.

Cranky Nicole was a challenge, but pouting Nicole was impossible.

“Fine,” I sighed. “We’re going to the beach.” I looked at my sundae, which had made me so happy a minute earlier and a thought came to me. She hadn’t said anyone else was coming, but Nicole and her boyfriend Jeff were practically inseparable. “Wait, who else is going?”

Nicole grinned, clearly smelling her victory. “The usual crew: Jeff, Rachel, Sean and”—her eyebrows inched up—“Ethan.”

I nodded, trying to breathe evenly. I hated the way my pulse spiked at just the mention of his name. Handsome, cocky Ethan. His smile had the power to break down every one of my defenses. But, I didn’t have space in my life for that. I had a plan—to focus on taking care of my mom. My grandparents had done it by themselves for long enough. I needed to find a way to help, to unburden them. That was my priority. But Ethan…he was so hard to resist sometimes.

Just as I began to get lost in thought, a quick movement caught my eye as Jeff snuck up behind Nicole. He held his finger to his lips and planted a kiss on Nicole’s cheek.

She jumped and instinctively smacked him, but a smile overtook her face when she realized who it was.

“Hey, babe.” Jeff took the seat next to her and looked over at me. “Hey, Al.”

The chair next to mine scraped the patio, and it was my turn to jump. Ethan dropped into the seat and grinned at me, his dimples out in full force. I tried to concentrate on my sundae.

“Hey,” he said, nodding at me. A brown curl slipped down his forehead, adding to his annoying charm.

“Hi,” I muttered before shoving a glob of half-melted ice cream in my mouth to avoid conversation. Must. Not. Fall. I reminded myself.

Ethan was tall, olive-skinned with dark, messy curls. Easily the best-looking guy in Stoneville. And also the biggest player in town. He knew the effect he had on girls, and he used it to his advantage.

“So, we’re all set for the beach tomorrow,” Nicole told them. She sounded a little too smug, and I rolled my eyes.

“Something in your eye, Allison?” Ethan asked, seemingly amused at my attempt at indifference.

I clenched my jaw and almost rolled my eyes again. “That must be it, Ethan.”

“Oh, come on. I know how bad you want to see me with my shirt off.”

I knew it didn’t warrant a response, but I could never keep my mouth shut when Ethan provoked me. And he knew it.

“The entire female population of this town has seen you without a shirt on. Not that exciting.”

A slow smile spread across his face—he saw through me. I really needed to work on my sarcasm.

He turned back to Nicole and Jeff, who were debating whether to head northeast to Hampton Beach or southeast to Horseneck Beach the next day. Not a debate I had any interest in. Though, maybe it could be okay…it was a day off after all.

Nicole’s petite nose scrunched up. “Hampton is full of screaming kids. Horseneck is better.”

“What do you think, Ethan?” Jeff asked his brother.

Ethan stretched, raising his arms over his head so that his sleeves fell and showed off his toned biceps. His eyes darted to me before answering. “The girls wear skimpier bikinis at Hampton.”

A gagging sound escaped my mouth before I could stop it.

Ethan grinned, obviously delighted to get another rise out of me. “But I’ll go wherever Al wants to go. I don’t want her to have any reasons to bail on us.”

He would twist anything I said, so this time I managed to stay quiet. Nicole met my eyes and I nodded.

“Horseneck it is.”

Nicole left with Ethan and Jeff a little while later, all three of them excited about the band playing tonight at The Bean Counter. Ethan had made an impressive effort to convince me to come along, but going to the packed coffee house sounded horrible to me. Thank goodness I had my own car and could use needing to go get us food for the beach as an opt out.

“I’ll be over at seven-thirty a.m. sharp!” Nicole hollered from Jeff’s jeep as he pulled away.

Right. Sure, she would.

I chuckled as I drove home from the grocery store, remembering Nicole’s claim that she’d be ready early. All of our lives I’d had to drag her out the door, kicking and screaming, just to get her to school on time.

I pulled into the driveway, grabbed the bags, and headed up the stairs of the front porch. Twigs snapping in the woods broke through the quiet night. As I looked around to see what might have made the noise, a shiver ran down my spine. The yard was dark, and the porch light didn’t reach more than five feet off the steps.

I shook my head, irritated by my paranoia and walked through the front door.

Gram sat on the couch with a crossword book on her lap, and my mother was watching a game show on TV. Pop was slouched in his chair, eyes closed under the half-moon glasses that had slid down low on his nose.

I smiled at them as I quietly set my keys on the sideboard.

At that moment, it wasn’t hard to believe that my mother was the happy, carefree girl everyone claimed she was before I was born. The glow from the lamp brightened her partially damp hair. A stranger wouldn’t think she was much older than me she looked so young. Even staring at the TV with her mouth slightly open, she was beautiful.

“What time will you be heading to the beach tomorrow?” Gram asked without looking up.

“Nicole says she’ll be here at seven-thirty. “ I sighed, pulling a cooler out of the closet. “What do you think the odds are of that happening?”

“No comment, Allie-girl,” Gram replied, a twinkle in her eye.

Sunlight assaulted my eyelids, and I pulled the blanket up over my head with a groan. I’d been dreaming of cloudy, rain-soaked skies, but judging from the intensity of the sun, there weren’t any ominous thunderstorms getting me out of going to the beach today. It was only six o’clock, though, so I climbed out of bed, threw on shorts and a tank top and headed out for a run. At least I’d have a little time to myself.

When I walked back in the house, my mother was already sitting on the couch watching TV. Pop sat at the table reading the Saturday paper. I didn’t see Gram anywhere—she was probably out back watering her garden before it got too hot.

“Good morning, Allison,” Pop said, folding down the corner of his paper.

“Mornin’, Pop,” I said as the smell of fresh coffee drew me into the kitchen where my favorite mug already sat on the counter waiting for me. When I returned to the living room, caffeine in hand, Pop continued.

“I hear you kids are heading to the beach today,” Pop said, his face hidden behind the newspaper. My mother glanced over at him but quickly looked back to the talk show she was watching.

“That’s right. Can’t wait.” I dropped down on the couch with my coffee.

Pop folded down the corner of his paper again, peering at me over his reading glasses. “It’s okay to have some fun once in a while, Al.”

I snorted in response. Going to the beach with Nicole and her friends didn’t really count as fun in my book. Other than Nicole, I didn’t really feel comfortable around anyone my own age. I’d never fit in, I’d rather just be alone or sit in the backyard with a book while Gram worked in her garden.

“When Beth was a girl, she and Joanne went to the beach just about every weekend during the summer. They were inseparable.” Joanne still stopped by to visit at least once a week, so I could believe it. She also happened to be Jeff and Ethan’s mother.

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me something, Pop?” I asked with a smirk.

“Nah, sweetheart. Just thinking life is too short, you know? I wouldn’t want you to miss out on your share of fun before life gets in the way.”

“I’m perfectly happy with a good book and a bowl of Double Fudge ice cream.” I grinned widely, trying to show my sincerity, though probably was pushing it toward overkill.

“It sure isn’t that you’re not pretty enough,” he said, ignoring me. “Those eyes of yours are about the bluest I’ve ever seen. I think all the boys around here are just scared off by your sharp tongue.”

“Think so?” I couldn’t help laughing as I stood up, patted Pop on the shoulder, and went upstairs to change into my bathing suit.

I glanced at my watch. It was seven forty-five. If Nicole didn’t show up by eight, I was grabbing my book and camping out in the backyard.

No sooner than the idea crossed my mind, the screen door slammed. Nicole burst in wearing a hot-pink terrycloth coverall and flip-flops. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was pulled up in a high ponytail.

“We’re burning daylight here, Al. Let’s go!”

“Good morning to you, too. You’re practically on time,” I teased.

“It’ll be a good morning if you have some coffee left.” She whipped open the cabinet and pulled down a travel mug. “Mom and Dad aren’t even up yet.”

I chuckled. “When was the last time you were up at this hour? I haven’t seen you leave the house before nine-thirty since high school.” The hair salon where Nicole worked at opened at ten o’clock, and she didn’t get up earlier than she had to.

Nicole ignored me and took a long sip of her coffee, then peered out to the living room. “Whatcha watching, Aunt Beth?”

“My shows,” my mother answered quietly.

I kissed Pop on the cheek and walked over to kiss my mother on the head. She didn’t move, and I gave her a tiny smile. “Grab the cooler, Nic. I’m going to get the umbrella and we’re outta here.”

When the trunk was packed, I slammed it shut just as Nicole’s friend Rachel pulled into the driveway in her tiny red coupe. She was dressed just like Nicole, only in turquoise, and her curly dark hair was twisted up in an artfully messy bun.

“Hey, girly,” she greeted Nicole, not even looking at me. She raised a perfectly shaped brow as she held up her beach tote.

“You’ll drive, right, Allison?” Rachel said airily as she tossed her bag into my backseat.

I clenched my teeth. “You bet!”

Jeff pulled his Jeep in behind Rachel’s car, and her attention was quickly diverted to sticking her chest out for maximum cleavage exposure.”Hey, boys!” she lilted to the three guys in the Jeep.

Nicole caught me as I rolled my eyes. “We’re gonna have an awesome day,” she stated. “So, don’t be a grouch!” She playfully stuck her tongue out and hopped in the car.

I inhaled the salty ocean air, and the lingering scent of suntan lotion filled my nose. The sun was searing my legs, and it was time for a break in the shade. My skin burned easily and although I had sunscreen on, I was already looking a little pink. I put my bookmark between the pages and attempted to brush some of the sand off of my legs as I stood. Lifting my arms, I stretched before retreating to the chair under my umbrella.

Down at the water, I could see Rachel with her arms wrapped around her middle, the wind whipping strands of dark hair into her face. She kept jumping and shrieking when Sean or Ethan stumbled on their boogie boards and splashed her. Ethan caught my gaze and motioned for me to come join them. I laughed as a wave collapsed on top of him and shook my head.

Settling into my spot, I took off my sunglasses and closed my eyes, listening to the sound of the gulls. I sighed contentedly. This wasn’t so bad.

A loud cawing interrupted my tranquil moment. I pried open an eye and looked at the kids building a sand castle next to our spot. There was a crow standing a few feet away, facing my direction. Weird. I’d never seen a crow at the beach before. Maybe there was a beached seal nearby.

I started to open my book up, but the hairs along the back of my neck stood up, and a funny feeling came over me, like I was being watched. I glanced around, and this time, the crow locked eyes with me. Something about its beady eyes made me shudder, and I turned away quickly.

On my other side, Nicole was just about done burying Jeff in the sand. All that was visible was his spiky brown hair and his Red Sox visor.

“Just stay still for one more second, Jeff. I’ve got to get a picture,” Nicole begged as she grabbed her camera from her towel. She clicked a few times before the sand started to crack and crumble around him.

“That’s it, let me out of here!” Jeff shouted. The sand broke apart around him, and he climbed out. Nicole yelped in surprise as he took off chasing her down to the water.

“Come swim with us, Al!” Nicole yelled over her shoulder as she ran.

I shook my head with a smile. “I’m good,” I called out before reopening my book.

A few minutes later, I heard a quiet thud as Ethan dropped down to his knees on the blanket by my feet. He dug around the cooler and pulled out a soda.

“Aren’t you having fun?” he asked breathlessly between gulps.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” I replied, gesturing to the umbrella and my book.

“Yeah? Whatcha reading?”

I felt a blush rise on my cheeks as I held the book out for him to see. I was reading Gone With The Wind. Again.

Ethan started laughing, nearly choking on his soda. “I imagined you up here reading The Guide to Modern Physics. I would’ve never guessed you were reading a romance novel!” He stretched himself out on the blanket and closed his eyes to the sun, his lips curved up in that mocking little smile. His dark hair was slicked back with water, and he was perfectly tanned. I couldn’t help noticing that his lashes were a thick, dark fringe. I forced myself to look away.

When I glanced back at him—I couldn’t help it—Rachel had snuck onto the blanket and gestured to me with her finger to her lips. She flopped down onto her stomach and began running a piece of ice that had fallen out of the cooler along Ethan’s chest, causing him to shout in surprise.

“You’re going down!” he yelled before hauling Rachel up over his shoulder and running down to toss her, squealing, into the ocean.

I looked down to the water, wondering how Sean felt about Rachel’s not-so-subtle display. They had one of those on-again-off-again relationships. They were all friends, but her flirting with Ethan must have bothered him. If I wanted to be honest, it even bothered me.

I pushed all of Nicole’s friends out of my thoughts and tried to enjoy the rest of the day. When it was time to leave, I walked up the old wooden steps to the parking lot with my arms full of beach gear. The others were lagging behind, but I could still hear the sounds of their laughter and teasing.

“If you’re going with Jeff, I am too,” I heard Rachel say to Nicole in her whiny voice.

“Sweet! Shotgun in Al’s car,” Ethan yelled. A smile crept onto my face—Rachel would be disappointed that she wouldn’t get to cozy up next to him in the backseat. Good thing no one could see my face.

“Damn, man, I was just going to say that!” Sean said, a thump following. I could only imagine from Ethan’s grunt that Sean had whacked him upside the head. I laughed to myself that both guys were so desperate to stay away from Rachel.

I opened the hatch and started loading it when Ethan gently pushed me aside. “I got this,” he said, winking at me as he hefted the cooler in.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to break a nail,” I muttered, placing my bag in the back.

Ethan just laughed and shook his head.

“Meet us at Nic’s!” Jeff shouted out his window before tearing out of the parking lot.

I started the car as Ethan and Sean piled in. As usual, Sean reached up front and ruffled my hair before settling in his seat. He grew up in the house on the other side of Nicole’s, and he’d always been nice to me, even if his sometimes-girlfriend was a jerk.

“You coming over tonight?” Ethan asked as he flipped through the CD’s in my case.

“Me?” I tried to swallow down the butterflies. “Are you kidding? My bed is already calling my name,” I replied, trying to keep an aloof tone.

Ethan shook his head and smirked, no doubt trying not to laugh at me. “We’re just going to be watching a movie.”

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to beg, dude?” Sean asked, teasing. “You probably have a hot date, right Allie-O?” He shook my shoulder lightly. I smiled at the old nickname from the days when we used to play hide-and-seek in our neighborhood.

“Yeah, a hot date with Rhett Butler,” Ethan said. I kept my eyes on the road, but I couldn’t help the smile that played on my lips.

“Poor Ethan,” Sean said. “I think Rachel wants to snuggle with you tonight, pal.” He was laughing, but there was an edge to his voice. The idea of Rachel and Ethan together made my chest squeeze, too.

Ethan chuckled. “No, thanks. Rachel is all yours. She’s not my type.”

“Since when do you have a type?” Sean asked, the tension lifting.

“I’m twenty-three years old, man. Time to start thinking of the future.”

I nearly snorted soda out of my nose…until he slung his arm around the back of my chair. Then it was all I could do to keep the car on the road.

He had to know the way he affected me, how he got under my skin. Four years ago, in one of my weaker moments, I’d fallen for his charm. I couldn’t let that happen again. But the memory of that kiss still left me breathless.

I pulled my car into the driveway, thanking the universe for getting me through the trip without too much drama.

The guys grabbed the umbrella and cooler and headed for the house. I shut the trunk and was about to scoop my bag and chair up when a raucous of caws and screeches broke out in the woods.

Startled, I grabbed my things and hurried toward the porch. I watched the tree line as I went, where a handful of large crows were swooping up and down in the yard, knocking leaves and small branches all over the place.

I had almost reached the porch steps when I walked straight into Ethan, who was squinting at the scene the birds were making, too. I stumbled back, nearly falling, and he grabbed my elbow to steady me, sending electricity shooting through my body.

I yanked my arm back as though he’d burned me. He held his hands up, palms facing forward.

“Easy. You all right?” He laughed, and I felt my cheeks flare.

I pushed past him, embarrassed that I’d practically fallen over backward and annoyed that he had laughed at me.

“Hey! Allie…”

I stopped with my hand on the screen door. I didn’t know why I was overreacting like this—it wasn’t the first time he joked around with me—and it made me even more flustered. I heard his footsteps as he climbed onto the porch behind me and tried to keep my cool. My hand dropped from the door, and I turned around.

Ethan looked at me, his warm brown eyes searching mine. “Don’t be mad.”

I took a deep breath and looked away. “I’m not mad,” I said. “I was just sort of freaked out by the birds.” I looked at the spot they’d been tearing up just seconds ago. They were nowhere to be found.

He opened his mouth to speak just as Sean appeared at the screen door. I stood aside to let him out and internally thanked him for saving me from another self-induced awkward moment.

“You sure you can’t come over tonight?” Ethan asked, his usual wry expression back in place.

Sean just snorted and gave my shoulder a squeeze as he walked by. “Later, Allie-O.”

I shook my head at Ethan. “I’m sure, but thanks for the help carrying the beach stuff inside.”

He grinned and nodded. “Well, have fun with Rhett then.” He followed Sean toward Nicole’s house.

“Did you have a good time today, honey?” Gram said as she pushed the door open and held it for me.

Tearing my gaze away from Ethan, I made myself smile. “Yeah, it was okay.”

I brought the bag up to my room and then headed back out to my car. Once I confirmed that there was nobody around, I made my way to the spot where the birds had been. I expected to see a raccoon or opossum lying dead in the woods, but other than scattered leaves and twigs, there was no sign that the birds had even been there. The entire backyard was clear, not even a squirrel in sight.

I walked all the way around the perimeter of the yard until I was satisfied that I was just worrying over nothing. Of course nothing was out here. I rubbed my hands over my face. I couldn’t help wondering if this was how it had started for my mother—paranoid over every little sound, every strange happening.

I walked past the fence to Nicole’s yard and froze when I heard a hushed conversation on the other side.

“Obviously he wants to get with Allison because she’s like, no-man’s land. Once he gets in her pants, he’ll lose interest.” Rachel said my name like it was acid on her tongue.

“Give me a break, Rach,” Nicole replied. I could just imagine her dramatic eye roll.

“What? Isn’t she still, like, a virgin or something?” Rachel said, snickering. “She’s probably a lesbian anyway.”

“I think you need to back off my cousin.” Nicole’s voice hardened. “Got it?”

When I realized what I was doing, I hurried inside. I did not need to hear any more of that conversation. Time to take a quick shower and read for awhile. That would sort me out.

My mother was perched in her usual spot on the couch as I entered the living room, with Gram and Pop in their seats. The television was on, but when I glanced at my mother, I noticed she wasn’t watching it. She was looking out the window. Her expression was blank, but there was a tear trickling down her cheek.

My mother walks through an endless stretch of green forest. There is a man by her side, with big, blue eyes and wavy, caramel hair. She beams up at him. His hand gently rests on her back, steadying her as she steps over fallen branches and stones. His eyes are constantly moving, restless.

Black birds surround them. One swoops down at my mother, and its red eyes glare at her as it drags its talons across her chest. As quickly as it came, it flies off with the rest, leaving her shirt torn and streaked with blood. The man’s eyes are wild, searching the forest. He's yelling words I don’t understand as he pulls my mother toward him.

I jolted awake, my pajamas soaked in sweat, my breaths coming fast. But it was just another dream. Yet, muffled sobs came from my mother’s bedroom across the hall. I climbed out of my bed and hurried to my mother’s room.

Her bed was empty, and my chest seized. But when I spun around I saw her in her window seat, staring out at the woods. Relief flooded through me.

“Mom,” I whispered, but she didn’t move. “Mom, please look at me,” I tried again, sitting down on the seat beside her. She turned to face me then. Tears lined her cheeks like silver rivers down her moonlit face.

“Allison,” she murmured. I shivered at the clarity in her voice. I hadn’t heard her say my name since I was six years old.

“It’s okay, Mom.” I wiped her tears away with a tissue from the nightstand. Her eyes shone brighter than I’d ever seen them, and they burned holes into mine.

“You look...so much like him.” She didn’t have to say who she meant. I knew she was thinking about my father.

“I’m sorry if that hurts you,” I said, trying to hang onto the moment of lucidity.

“No,” she whispered, staring back into my eyes. “Your father was beautiful, just like you.”

“Did he hurt you?” I immediately regretted my words—I knew how easy it was to push her over the edge.

My mother shuddered, and just like that, she was gone. Her eyes glazed over, completely void of recognition. She turned her head slowly and stared back out at the woods.

Sunday morning, I sat at the kitchen table after my run, picking through the newspaper that Pop had already dissected. My mother sat across from me, threading and unthreading her fingers. I picked up my coffee cup and grimaced when I took a sip to find it unexpectedly cold. I walked over to get a warm-up and the doorbell rang.

I glanced around, Gram was out in the garden, and Pop had taken a ride down to the hardware store to do paperwork. I set the coffee pot aside to answer the door. A young man stood on the other side, looking off into the woods. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him before, but there was something familiar about him.

“Hello. I’m looking for Beth O’Malley, please,” he said with a heavy Irish accent.

“Beth?” Nobody ever came over asking for Beth O’Malley. Then his eyes met mine.

Just like in a movie, when the camera zooms into someone’s face and everything else ceases to exist for that moment, my world stopped.

Because I had seen those eyes before.

They had gazed affectionately at my mother in my dreams.

His light golden-brown hair was short, but I could tell that if he grew it out a few inches, it would be wavy just like mine. He looked exactly like the photos I had in my room.

“She can’t come to the door.” The words tumbled out, my heart thrumming in my chest like a thousand butterfly wings. “I’m her daughter, Allison. Can I help you with something?”

“Oh, I see.” His brow furrowed, like he didn’t actually understand at all. “No. Thank you, Allison. Good day.” He turned toward the stairs.

“Wait!” I shouted. “Liam?”

He cleared his throat, froze, and spoke over his shoulder. “Yes. Has she told you about me then?”

“Not really, no.”

It was true. I only ever heard his name during her episodes. When I was little, she would sit in her room sometimes holding a piece of paper in her hands and cry. One day I snuck into her bedroom while she was playing her violin and stole the paper—what turned out to be pictures of her and Liam. I thought that if I took away the thing that made her cry, she would be happy with just me.

I shook my head. “She mentioned the name to my grandmother, after she came back from Ireland.”

“Right.” He turned back to face me again. “Do you suppose I might be able to speak with your mother later?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “You haven’t spoken to her in the past twenty-two years, obviously.”

“I beg your pardon?” Liam cleared his throat again.

“I said it’s obvious you haven’t talked to my mother since she came back from Ireland twenty-two years ago.”

“Please, you must understand—”

“Oh, I think I understand perfectly. You knocked my mother up and sent her back to the US, and now…what? You’re in the neighborhood so you thought you’d drop by to say hello?”

“I don’t know what you’ve been told. But”—he paused, swallowing hard—“I assure you, I knew nothing of a child.”

I stepped out onto the porch, quietly shutting the door behind me. I tried to keep my expression calm and indifferent.

I noticed his jaw muscles clenching. Something else we had in common, I guess.

“I don’t know what to say,” he whispered as he passed a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know you existed, yet... here you are.”

“Here I am,” I laughed, without humor. “I guess you’re wondering why I won’t let you see my mother?”

“I suppose I am. But I might have a bit of an idea,” he said. His blue eyes looked sad and far older than I’d originally thought.

“You think so?” I snapped. “And why might that be?”

“Oh, Allison. I daresay I know far more than I wish to.” He sighed and ran his hands through his hair again.

“So, you know that my mother is crazy? That she can’t even leave the house without being sedated? Do you know that most days she doesn’t say more than ten words? And on those off days, she rants and screams your name?” I took a deep breath, my chest heaving with emotion. I had been going for cool and indifferent, but, his innocent act set me off. I couldn’t even look at him. “Is that what you wish you didn’t know?”

“Won’t you let me see her?” he pleaded, his fingers still laced in his hair. “I have loved your mother all these years. I know this is my fault, believe me. There was nothing I could do, but I would have done anything...” His voice trailed off, and there was a faraway look in his eyes.

I was at a complete loss. How could he just show up twenty-two years after tearing my mother’s heart apart? How could he stand here, claiming to love her in one breath, and yet say he was helpless to do anything about it in the next?

“Let me guess—you were married, with a kid or two already. I bet the American student and her illegitimate baby didn’t fit well in the family portrait, right?” My hands clenched into fists.

Liam laughed then, but it was a cold, terrible laugh. His face clouded over, and for a moment I regretted speaking to him so harshly. I didn’t know this guy. I had no idea what he was capable of.

For what must have been the longest two minutes of my life, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look at me, just stared off into space. His eyes were hard and shiny, like marbles, glistening with unshed tears.

“No, I was never married,” he finally answered. “I wish it were so simple.”

He looked directly into my eyes then, and for a moment I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Questions tumbled through my mind, but there were so many that I had no way of knowing where to begin. I opened my mouth to ask what he meant, but he spoke first.

“I will find a way to undo what has been done, or I will die trying.” He took two steps back. “I understand your anger. You’re completely justified. But know this—you will see me again.” He nodded curtly and strode down the front walk. Just like that.

I didn’t have to work on Sunday, but I almost wished I had, if only for the distraction. The sky was bright blue as I stepped back out onto the front porch, and I could hear the chords from “Drowsy Maggie” floating out from the den. My mother hadn’t played such a peppy tune on her violin in years. I sat on the top step with an ice-cold glass of lemonade, tapping my foot to the melody. Uncle David had mowed that morning, too, so the smell of freshly cut grass added to the illusion of a perfect summer day. Puffy clouds moved swiftly through the sky, matching the speed of the thoughts passing through my mind.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell Gram and Pop about Liam showing up. Every time I considered it, I pictured Liam’s face—he was so…young. Something about him didn’t sit right. It wasn’t just that he spoke in riddles. It was that his face hadn’t changed a bit from the photo strips my mom clung to when I just was five years old.

No. I did the right thing, I encouraged myself. They had enough to deal with, and something told me I should keep his arrival to myself.

I took a sip of my lemonade and looked around the yard. There were no signs of the fighting black birds, at least. It was actually a peaceful day. It was warm but not as hot as it had been the past week. I stretched my legs out and leaned back on my hands, letting the sun warm my face.

My mother’s music danced through my head. When I was a very little girl, she would let me choose the music she’d play. I always loved the fast tunes like “Drowsy Maggie.” I would watch her bite her bottom lip in concentration as she moved through each piece. She withdrew completely when I was around seven years old, though, and I missed turning the sheet music for her and dancing along to the reels.

I opened my eyes, and lights sparkled across my vision. I looked down, letting my eyes adjust. Once I could see normally I stood, figuring I should probably do a load of laundry before Gram had a chance to do it for me. But to my left, I saw a twinkling silver light. I turned to walk up the stairs, and sure enough, the same light caught my eye, even when I faced the house.

I remembered Gram would sometimes hang aluminum pie plates near her vegetable garden to keep the birds away. I must have not been paying attention when I walked past her gardens—surely she had put some out.

The rumbling of an engine announced Jeff’s arrival next door and jerked me away from my thoughts. I looked over to see Nicole bouncing down the driveway. She glanced over at me, her face all lit up.

“There you are! I’ve been texting you all morning.” She signaled to Jeff that she’d be just a minute and made her way over to me.

I sighed, knowing what was going to happen before she was even in front of me. Once again, I had no believable excuses.

“I’m going to a cookout at Jeff’s parents’ house. Wanna come?” No matter how many times I’d turned down her invitations in the past, she never lost hope that I would one day be happy to tag along with her and her friends.

“I have laundry to do, Nic,” I mumbled as I walked into the house, wincing when I heard her follow behind me. She would never give up so easily.

“And, it will be here tomorrow, won’t it?”

My mother was still playing her violin in the den. Her talent never faded, no matter how ill she became. As I walked past, I could see Gram coming in through the sliding door. She was wearing her gardening hat and gloves, the knees of her pants caked with soil.

“Hello, girls.” Gram smiled at us as she pulled the gloves off, wiping her brow.

“Hey, Gram,” Nicole said, grinning. “Aunt Beth is doing okay, isn’t she?”

Gram looked between the two of us, a knowing smile forming on her face. She licked her lips and laughed.

“Aunt Beth is just fine, why do you ask?”

I widened my eyes at Gram. She usually helped me fend off Nicole’s endless invitations.

“Great, so you can come, Al!”

“Are you sure I’m even invited?” I knew I was just putting off the inevitable. But I had to put up a little bit of a fight. I couldn’t let Nicole get complacent.

She glanced at me and frowned. “I just invited you.”

I breathed deeply. “If I come, will you leave me alone for the rest of the week?”

Her dismissive expression made me laugh. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go. This will be so much fun,” she said, sounding much more excited than I felt.

I made a “how could you?” face at Gram and followed after my cousin. I would never let Nicole know, but the idea of being surrounded by mindless conversation might actually be the only way I could make it through this day.

The Magliaro family never had small get-togethers. They were a huge Italian family with plenty of relatives and friends constantly stopping by unannounced. A cookout there meant three times as many people around as there usually were. Luckily, their house was enormous.

It stood a mile back from the road, and I sat in the back of Jeff’s Jeep, bumping and bouncing all the way up the long, snaking driveway. Half a dozen cars were already there when we arrived. Jeff pulled right onto the front lawn and secured the parking brake.

I followed them into the house, smiling at relatives I’d met before, even if I couldn’t remember their names. The air was thick with the smell of spicy Italian cooking. Two booming male voices were having a friendly argument about which Patriots tight end should be starting in the fall, and little kids were running around, darting under our feet.

“Eli, what did I tell you about running inside Auntie Joanne’s house?” Jeff mock-scolded a dark-haired boy as he ran by. The boy grinned up at him, showing several missing teeth, and scooted out the front door.

In the kitchen, Joanne was putting chips into bowls and chatting with an older woman. The second she saw me and Nicole, her eyes lit up, and she excused herself before rushing for us.

“Hello, girls! So glad to see you,” she said before turning to Jeff. “Did you offer them anything to drink Jeff?”

“Uh, not yet, Ma. We just got here.”

Joanne made shooing motions to her son, and he threw up his arms before going off in search of drinks.

She leveled me with her eyes. “How’s your mom, honey?”

“You know…same old.” I put on my best polite smile.

Joanne nodded, her face showing that she saw right through me. “Well, I’m sorry I haven’t stopped by in a few days. I’ll come by soon, I promise.”

I nodded. I knew she would.

She gave my arm a gentle pat and then excused herself as Jeff came back with two bottles of water. I took one from him and caught sight of Ethan across the family room. My smile faltered a bit—he was leaning against the back of the sofa, whispering into the ear of a redhead who looked vaguely familiar.

Nicole cleared her throat. “Whatcha looking at, Al?”

I scowled at her as my cheeks heated up. “I’m not looking at anything,” I said, looking down at my flip flops.

I snuck a peek back at Ethan, who was laughing and standing inappropriately close to the girl. Then I remembered: she went to high school with us.

“Hey, man.” Sean came up, clapping his hand on Jeff’s shoulder. Behind him, Rachel stood watching Ethan talk to the redhead, too.

“Hey. We still on for some Home Run Derby?” Jeff asked, curling his arm around Nicole’s waist.

I glanced back at Ethan. Lisa, that was her name.

Sean grinned. “Of course I am. Let’s do this!”

“Hey, Ethan,” Jeff hollered across the room. “Get your hands out of Lisa’s pants, and let’s go play ball!”

Nicole smacked him and Joanne shot him a look, but Jeff and Sean just cracked up. They weren’t the least bit sorry.

Ethan separated himself from Lisa and walked over to where we all stood, his smile wicked. Sean punched him in the shoulder.

“What? We were just catching up.” Ethan’s teeth gleamed against his deep tan as he laughed. I stared back down at my feet again, wishing I were home doing laundry.

“Hey, Al.” Ethan said, turning his grin on me. I attempted to make my face completely unreadable.

Dammit. Why did I always have to react to him?

“Hey,” I said, trying for indifference but only achieving awkwardness.

“Come on, come on.” Jeff let go of Nicole and nudged Ethan toward the back door.

While the guys were playing ball I sat on the deck with Nicole, Rachel, and a few of their other friends, and listened to them talk about who was dating whom and who was pregnant with whose kid. I recognized the tone of Rachel’s voice every time she spoke. The same one she’d used when she’d called me no-man’s land and decided I was a lesbian.

This was the kind of the thing I avoided. Playing Home Run Derby sounded way better than listening to gossip from Nic’s snooty friends. I stood, kicked off my flip flops and headed off the deck, ignoring Nicole calling my name.

Ethan stood with a wiffle ball in his hands, his expression intrigued. “You playing?”

I glanced back at the girls on the deck watching me and shrugged. “Count me in.”

Sean jogged over with the bat and held it out for me, grinning. He knew I’d played softball and run track all through high school to pad my transcripts. And I was no slouch at either sport. “Pick your pitcher, Allie-O.”

The smirk on Ethan’s face was a challenge, and I couldn’t resist. “Ethan has the ball. He can pitch to me.”

“I hope you haven’t gotten rusty,” Ethan said. He made a big show of stretching and winding up before he finally tossed the ball to me.

I swung and smacked it over the pool house, and Sean started shouting and cheering. Ethan shook his head, but he was smiling. He clearly thought I would be an easy out.

But no. I made it all the way to the final round, kicking Sean and Jeff out of the game.

“You gonna let her win, E?” Jeff called, winking at me from the picnic table where he sat drinking a beer.

Ethan chuckled, showing off those damn dimples. He looked down at the ball in his hands and then back up at me. “If I do, will you let me take you out?”

“What? Like on a date?” I snorted, trying to look braver than I felt. “Not a chance.”

“Wait a sec…I like this. Let’s make a wager,” he said.

The guys were all hooting and hollering at me, my face no doubt crimson. I bit my lip, feeling all their eyes on me. “What do I get if I win?”

“I’m thinking, hang on.” He held up his finger, his brow furrowed in thought. His eyes widened with excitement, and I knew I would regret whatever he had to say.

“If I win, I get a kiss.” If it was possible, my cheeks flushed even more. Cue the laughter and the cat calls.

“And, if I win?” I said, setting a hand on my hip to stop the shaking.

He looked at me for a second, considering. “If you win, I won’t ever ask you out again.”

The idea earned a chorus of “Yeah, right” and “No way” from the guys.

My mouth fell open. I had not been expecting that, but his expression was serious. The laughing around us fell away for a second, and I could only stare at him, feeling the color drain from my face. His expression remained solemn, and he met my gaze head on.

I nodded stiffly and swallowed. “All right.”

His grin came back in full force. “Oh, and Al?” I raised my eyebrows at him. “I won’t lose.”

He was right. I swung at his third pitch and completely missed. And when it was his turn, he smacked the first ball I pitched a hundred yards past the mark.

I couldn’t help but laugh at his victory dance—his hips swinging, fists rotating over his head. His energy was contagious. He bounded toward me, a grin on his face.

“Told you,” he said.

I shrugged, about to make some kind of snide remark when Joanne shouted from the deck.

“Food’s ready!”

When it was time to go, the nervous feeling in my stomach intensified, and I almost regretted eating so much. This wouldn’t be the first time I’d kissed Ethan Magliaro; I knew what he was capable of.

It’s just a stupid kiss, I repeated over and over in my head. I could get through it, and then everything would go back to normal. Then my long-lost father’s face flashed in my mind. Okay, as normal as possible. Nothing had to change because of one little kiss.

When Nicole asked Jeff to bring her home, I stood to join them, but Ethan shot me an “oh, no you don’t” look. I hadn’t really expected to get out of the bet, but I didn’t want to appear eager, either. That would only make things worse. He grabbed my hand, and pulled me toward his truck, while my cousin and his brother left us to drive back to Gram’s alone. I waved at Joanne without meeting her eyes, knowing she probably knew all about our little wager.

He opened the passenger door for me and waited until I was settled before closing it. He came around and slid in next to me. He didn’t start the engine right away, though. We sat in silence in his parents’ driveway.

Ethan finally looked over at me, his forehead crinkling in concern. “You know I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, right?”

A nervous laugh escaped. “You won the bet.”

Ethan laughed and shook his head as he started the truck. He headed toward the road, and the silence stretched between us. We didn’t speak, but he kept looking over at me with an undefinable expression on his face.

I had spent more than my share of time watching Ethan’s face. I’d watched him play hockey, I’d watched him play baseball. I’d watched as he flirted with girls, I’d watched him stand stoically at his grandfather’s funeral. I thought I knew how to read him pretty well. But at that moment, I couldn’t figure out what was going through his mind.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and checked the number. Nicole.

“Don’t freak out, but I just—”

“Nicole!” I couldn’t help raising my voice. Sometimes she could be so exasperating. I hadn’t even gotten home yet, and she was already drilling me.

“Wait, Al, listen – it’s your mother. Gram and Pop had to take her to the hospital. She’ll be okay, but she needed to get stitches.”

My heart stuttered in my chest. “Stitches? What happened?”

“I don’t really know. Mom just said she had an episode during dinner and was banging on the window...and the glass broke.”

I looked over and Ethan met my eyes curiously.

“We’re almost home, meet me there.” I clicked my phone shut and leaned my head against the back of the seat. “My mom broke a window with her hand. She needs stitches.”

I looked over at Ethan, expecting to see pity, but, thankfully he just nodded and kept driving.

“Do you want me to take you to the hospital?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“You don’t mind?”

Ethan clenched his jaw, and I looked away. “Of course I don’t mind. You should probably text Nicole and let her know, though.”

We drove the rest of the way in silence, a million feelings—namely guilt—running through my mind. I should have been there. I should never have gone out. But what would it have mattered if I was there? Would I have been able to help? Oh god, did Liam show up again? I was starting to hyperventilate.

Ethan placed a hand on my knee as he parked the car, and for once, my heart rate slowed rather than raced. “She’ll be okay,” he said.

I nodded, and then we hurried into the emergency department, scanning the crowded lobby. I didn’t see my grandparents anywhere, so I headed to the Triage station where a middle-aged woman was typing something into the computer. She didn’t even look up when I arrived. I bounced on the balls of my feet for a second, waiting for her to greet me. Finally, I coughed to get her attention.

She glanced up at me. “Can I help you?” she asked, her voice nasally.

“Yes, my mother is here—Elizabeth O’Malley. I need to know where I can find her.”

“Just a minute.” She yawned and typed a few strokes into her keyboard.

I looked over at Ethan to find him watching me, his expression anxious. As I turned my attention back to the woman at the desk, I saw Pop walking toward us, carrying two coffees.

“Thanks, I’m all set,” I said to the receptionist. She returned my gaze with a bland expression.

“Allison, what are you doing here?” Pop asked, glancing between me and Ethan.

“Nic called and said you had to bring Mom in for stitches, so Ethan drove me over. How is she? Is she okay?”

He smiled tiredly. “She’ll be fine. Twelve stitches in her left hand. Those darn birds in the yard were making an awful racket. She was really upset.” Pop shook his head and motioned for us to follow him.

“Al, do you want me to take off?” Ethan asked. “I can stay if you want me to.”

I looked at him. “You can go. I’ll be fine.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked out the huge glass window in the lobby. “Okay, well, let me know if you need anything.”

I smiled and nodded. “Thanks for bringing me, Ethan. I owe you.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. That was a look I recognized. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Gram was sitting at the table with a clipboard when I walked into the kitchen the next morning, remaking the chart that kept track of my mother’s medication schedule. She now had to add painkillers to the anti-psychotic drugs she already took daily.

I watched my grandmother fill in the sheet, whispering to herself about the dosages and medication names. I wondered, not for the first time, if I’d actually be able to handle the medications and care of my mother on my own.

I pulled my hair back into a ponytail. I had to work the ten o’clock shift at the hardware store. My grandfather wasn’t working that morning, but I didn’t see him around the house. Then the sight of the plastic covering the window in the living room gave me a pretty good idea where he was.

I poked my head into the den to check on my mother. The sight of the bandage on her hand wasn’t what upset me most. She just sat there in a chair, staring at the trees. Pain was written in the tight lines around her mouth and eyes. Knowing she was on pain meds, I guessed it wasn’t something physical.

I cleared my throat quietly, letting her know I was in the room. At first I didn’t think she’d look at me, but after several heartbeats she turned her head toward me. A tiny gasp escaped before I could cover my mouth with my palm. Her eyes were vacant and dull, but it didn’t mask her misery. I had never seen her so despondent.

I made my way into the room and sat on the sofa across from her. She shifted her gaze back toward the window. I wished I knew what went on in her mind when she was like this. Maybe then I could help. Was she thinking about Liam? How would she react if she actually saw him again?

The screen door creaked from the porch, and I heard my grandfather’s voice. And then Ethan’s…

From where I sat I could see him walk in carrying a new window. He was dressed for work in his hunter green Magliaro Construction T-shirt. The muscles in his forearms were taut as he brought the window into the living room. The door slammed, and my grandfather followed.

With a small sigh, I rose and tiptoed out of the den, leaving my mother still staring out into the woods. I grabbed my keys from the sideboard in the living room as Ethan measured the frame of the window with a tape measure, a pencil stuck between his lips. I smiled at how boyish he looked.

“I’m off to work.” I walked over to the table in the kitchen and placed my hand gently on Gram’s back and kissed her hair.

“Oh, honey. Did you get something to eat?” She pushed her papers away and looked up at me with a frown.

“I’ll just grab something on my break.” I smiled to reassure her, even though I knew better.

“Give me just one minute. I’ll pack you a lunch.”

“If it will make you feel better, I’ll come home for lunch?” I met her gaze, wishing she wouldn’t worry about me so much.

Gram’s frown smoothed. “That’d be good.”

I shook my head and sighed, but I was still smiling in spite of myself. I turned to leave, and Ethan met my eyes, his expression unsure.

“How’s your mom today?”

I twisted the end of my ponytail, “She seems okay,” I said. “Thanks for helping with the window.”

Ethan looked down at the floor. For a second I thought he might be embarrassed but when he looked up his roguish smile set my cheeks on fire.

“My pleasure, Allison.”

The look on his face spread the blush down my neck, and I hurried toward the front door. As I walked out, I could still feel Ethan watching me.

“Which color would you go with, Allison?”

I looked up from the ordering screen on the computer to see Gus Baker holding two strips of paint chips up for me, frown lines etched between his winged eyebrows. I took a deep breath before walking over to the counter where Gus stood waiting for me, his watery blue eyes watching me. From across the counter, I could smell the tang of dirty laundry and decaying teeth.

I tried not to be annoyed at the little old man, but Gus was in here every day. I guess he was lonely, but he spent as much time in this store as I did. And he never bought anything.

“I’d go with the eucalyptus green,” I said in my friendliest voice.

“I just don’t know. There are so many of these colors! How does anyone choose?” Gus grumbled, his eyes intent on my face.

I swallowed, forcing my smile to stay in place as I breathed through my mouth. I just wanted to get the big order that just came in all set for Pop, but Gus had been here for the past forty-five minutes comparing shades of green. I sighed inwardly. He needed to find a new hangout.

The door jingled, signaling a new arrival. I glanced at the door. Ethan. Figures.

Seeing me, his eyes lit up and his face broke into a stomach-twisting half-smile. I shook my head at him, and he chuckled. He knew the effect that grin had on girls, obviously.

Gus’s rumbly throat-clearing brought me back to reality. He was still watching me, waiting for my reply as though his life depended on it.

“Maybe going with green is a bad idea, after all,” Gus said. “I guess I’ll just keep it the way it is.”

I nodded and closed my eyes to hide my exasperation. When I reopened them, Ethan was standing a few aisles back, toying with the foam paintbrushes. His smirk stayed firmly in place, his dimples doing a number on my willpower.

“You know,” Gus said. “I’ve heard the lunch special down at The Pickle Barrel includes a meal for two for ten dollars. I would really like to treat you sometime. You’re such a big help to me here.”

I opened my mouth in shock, staring back at Gus without replying. I could hear snickering from the paintbrush aisle and glared in Ethan’s direction as he coughed to cover up his amusement.

I had to say something, but words wouldn’t come. Gus just looked at me with his cloudy eyes wide and hopeful.

“Hey, how’s it going Gus?” Ethan sauntered over and clapped Gus on the back. I cocked my head at him in confusion.

“Oh,” Gus sputtered. “Hey, there yourself, Ethan. How’s the family?”

Everyone knew everyone in this town. You couldn’t go anywhere without someone asking about your family.

“Doing well, thanks. I’m just popping in to bring my girl her lunch.” He grinned and held out a little brown lunch sack. My eyes widened with surprise. Now what is he doing?

“Your girl, huh?” Gus looked between Ethan and me, his expression crestfallen. “Well, that’s great.” Gus stared at me a minute longer before muttering something about seeing me later and shuffling toward the exit.

“You’re welcome,” Ethan said, waggling his eyebrows at me.

“Who said I was your girl?” I huffed, placing my hands on my hips. I tried to be serious but a laugh escaped. The relief of avoiding turning down Gus’s invitation kept my annoyance at Ethan’s remark at bay.

Ethan placed the lunch sack on the counter and leaned forward on his palms. “Just having a little fun.”

I rolled my eyes at him.

“How long have you had poor Gus smitten?” Ethan was still leaning forward, his big brown eyes glowing with humor.

“Poor Gus is just lonely. He’s in here just about every day.”

Ethan shook his head and placed a hand over his heart. “I know how he feels. The poor sap.”

“So, what are you really doing here, besides saving Gus from heartache?” I asked, heading back to the computer and perching myself on the stool to work on the order.

“After I put in the window, your grandmother asked me to bring this down….to save you having to come home for lunch.”

I snorted, keeping my eyes on the screen.

“And, I don’t intend on forgetting our little wager.” He straightened and crossed his arms, daring me to protest.

I laughed. “What, here? While I’m at work?” I avoided his eyes. Many girls had gotten lost in those eyes, but I knew better.

“What time do you get off work?” he asked.

I turned and narrowed my eyes at him. “I close at six. Then I have to balance the register, so around six thirty.”

Ethan looked down at his hands for a second, then glanced up at me through his thick lashes. “You want to get something to eat when you’re done?”

I licked my lips, his dark brown eyes pulling me in. I tore my gaze away and tried to focus on the computer screen. He didn’t say anything for a few moments, and I fidgeted, knowing he was watching me. When I turned toward him, his expression was so intense that my stomach somersaulted.

“Just one time,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“Say yes, just one time.” Ethan slowly moved behind the counter, his eyes never leaving mine.

“If you don’t have a good time, fine. But, I’ve been trying to get you to give me a chance for years. Don’t act like you didn’t know.”

I shook my head slightly as he approached, wanting him closer but afraid of what it would mean.

He stopped, his brow creasing. “I won’t hurt you,” he whispered.

His expression was so earnest my mind went blank for a moment.

“Ethan,” I began, my thoughts scrambled. “You know I’d like to—”

“So say yes.”

I looked up at the ceiling. I was tired of always pushing him away. If I went out with him once, maybe then I could convince him too that this was a bad idea. I covered my face with my hands. “All right,” I mumbled through my fingers.

“What was that?” I felt the warmth of Ethan’s hands as he pulled my own away from my face.

“I said all right,” I repeated, my insides fluttering.

He gathered my hands and pulled them close to his chest. His scent, clean and fresh like sun-warmed denim, made my knees go weak.

With his head tilted back, he exclaimed in a mock reverent tone, “Yes! Thank you! Six-thirty on the dot. Be ready. I’m picking you up!”

“Cut it out. Don’t make me change my mind.” I laughed, pulling my hands away.

“Oh, no. You can’t back out now!”

I ushered him toward the door. “Ha! Watch me!” I couldn’t believe I was flirting back—it went against everything I was trying to do.

But it felt surprisingly good.

I was in big trouble.

Even on weeknights, Inland Seafood was always packed. The smell of fried clams and french fries would be on our skin for a week, but the food was so worth it.

Dinner was the easy part—I could sit across a table from Ethan just fine and make mundane conversation. But when Ethan and I walked to his truck, all I could feel was the heavy air between our swinging arms. Then he stopped in front of the ordering window at Dee Dee’s Ice Cream Parlor and looked over at me expectantly.

My eyebrows shot up. “What?”

He laughed, showing his dimples. “Were you really gonna walk past ice cream without demanding some?”

I felt the warmth rise up my neck. “I do have self-control, you know.”

“So I see.” He snorted. “But I want ice cream. You don’t mind, do you?” His smile glinted in the bright lights outside the ice-cream window.

“Ice cream’s fine,” I shrugged, trying for nonchalance.

After we each had a cone in hand, we walked straight to his truck. Ethan opened the door for me, but when I moved to climb in, he put his arm across the doorway. I glanced back at him, confused.

“Actually, let’s sit on the tailgate and eat these,” he said, yanking a quilt out from behind the passenger seat. He handed me his ice cream and opened the tailgate. After he laid the quilt down, he glanced over at me, mischief clear on his face. Before I had a chance to question him, he hoisted me up onto the tailgate. I yelped in protest, but it was no use.

“It’s a perfect night,” he said, jumping up next to me and grabbing his ice cream. His arm brushed my bare shoulder, igniting my skin where he touched me. I inhaled sharply, breathing in his scent.

“The stars are all out tonight. There’s the Big Dipper,” I said, pointing with my free hand. I had to keep talking, even if I was just babbling, so that I wouldn’t think about how close he was.

“Allison?” His voice was soft and serious, sounding warning bells in my mind.

“Mm-hmm?” I was afraid to look at him, afraid of the way he said my name, so I kept looking at the sky.

“I want to know why you never date,” he said.

I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t come up with an appropriate answer so I closed it.

“You could have anyone you wanted. Why is it you’re always alone?” I could feel his eyes on me as I stared into the star-studded night.

“Anyone I wanted? That’s a little excessive.”

“Come on, I’m being serious.”

I sighed, trying to think of the right response, one he would understand. “I guess I’m just always busy.”

He chuckled. “Everyone is busy. You have to give me a better reason than that.”

My mouth felt like cotton. Why did I have such a hard time forming coherent sentences when he was looking at me like that? I licked my lips and looked over at him. He stared directly into my eyes, the question still hanging between us.

“I want to take care of my mother. It’s all I want. So, I need to make that happen.” I curled my fingers into fists and pulled my shoulders back, looking back up at the stars. I’d had this conversation countless times with Nicole over the years.

“I know you do,” he said softly. I glanced back at him, surprised he wasn’t telling me that what I wanted was ridiculous. “But...who will take care of you?”

“I will take care of me.” I shook my head sadly. “My whole life everyone has had to take care of me. My grandparents, my aunt and uncle. They all sacrificed so much for me.”

“You act like it’s your fault, but it’s not.”

Now I was back in familiar territory. “My mother was normal before I was born, Ethan. When I came along she began her descent into schizophrenia. You don’t think that’s connected?”

He shifted in his seat. “I just know sometimes things happen, things that can’t be explained. But you still deserve to be happy.”

I glanced over at him before looking down at my hands. I uncurled my fingers. “I am happy. I’m enrolling in grad school, working and saving the money I make at the store. It’s what I want.”

“But what about friends? What about fun?”

“My idea of fun is just different from yours, I guess. I don’t need to be with a lot of people to be happy.” I hoped he would pick up the double entendre of my answer.

Ethan sighed and turned his body to face mine. He reached up and lightly traced a finger down my cheek. A shiver ran through my body. I turned my face away and focused my attention on finishing my ice cream. There were people everywhere. I didn’t want anything that happened between me and Ethan to be the subject of town gossip.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” Ethan said, unaffected. He reached down and picked up my left hand, interlacing his strong fingers with mine. “It seems like I’ve been trying to get you to go out with me forever.”

I stared down at our joined hands, too shocked to move. “Ethan, you’ve never had a lack of dates. I’d even say you’ve had more than your fair share.”

He ducked his head and laughed. “You think I’m a jerk, don’t you?”

I looked at him and smiled. “No. I don’t, actually. What you did today, for my grandparents… that was really great. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It was no big deal.” He squeezed my hand and jumped down from the tailgate. “I’m going to take you home now, while you still think I’m so great.”

A girl stands in a poorly lit room. There are no windows or lights, but behind her, a flashlight beam brightens the loose dirt beneath her feet. When the girl turns in the direction of the light, it’s my face that illuminates. The man holding the flashlight is huge, wearing a tight, black T-shirt, black cargo pants, and enormous black leather boots. His head is shaved like a soldier’s, his expression grim. He looks around, and my eyes follow. Broken-down wooden shelves line the stone walls, each one holding all manner of dusty glass jars and bottles, some broken and lying on their sides. It looks like a cellar of some kind.

Liam appears, placing his hand on the wall as blinding light fills the room. I turn to look at the big man, eyes wide. He gestures for me to go after Liam, who has disappeared into the wall of light.

I walk into a large, bright room. The ceiling and walls are rounded, like they are in an enormous dome, something straight out of a fairy tale. I notice an oversized wooden table in the center of the room, where a glass ball the size of a fish bowl sits. It shimmers and glitters from within. I walk toward it, almost as if I’m under a spell. When I reach out to touch the orb Liam grabs my arm and shakes his head. I look up at him, disappointed. I can’t tell what he’s saying but his lips move as he pulls my arm away from it. Inside the glass ball, suspended in a sparkling prison is a tiny black-haired woman.

I sat up in my bed—another strange dream—and sighed in relief to find myself in bed at Gram’s. But as my heart settled, I considered how many dreams like that I’d had in the past six months. A whisper in the back of my mind taunted me. Crazy. Just like her.

I couldn’t remember if my mother’s illness began with bizarre dreams, though. The days before my mother really lost her sanity were hazy at best. Memories of her in the mirror combing my hair were outnumbered by the breakdowns and vacant stares.

I look over at my clock. It was early but there was no way I’d be able to get back to sleep. Might as well get my run in before the heat became unbearable.

The rhythmic thumping of my sneakers soothed me when my mind worked overtime. I had always been fast, so fast I sometimes felt like I was flying. It had won me countless medals and awards over the years, but that’s not why I did it. Running was something that was for me and only me. Things like schizophrenic mothers, reappearing fathers, and boys with dimples didn’t exist when I ran. All I felt was the wind and my heartbeat, my feet carrying me along. And the less I felt right then, the better.

I wiped the sweat from my brow as I got closer to home, my heart pumping, each beat throbbing in my ears. My body felt strong, but inside I felt weak, scared, overwhelmed. I needed to cool down—in more ways than one—so I slowed my pace, trying to match my breaths to my footsteps. Anger at Liam was sitting heavy on my chest, a cannonball filled to the brim with years of guilt and hurt threatening to implode. Why did he have to show up? My mother was sick enough already.

As I approached my grandparents’ driveway, a flash of black caught my attention. Those damn black birds had been watching me whenever I came or went. They hadn’t caused any more upsets with my mother, at least, so I tried to ignore their beady little eyes, even though I wanted to chase them all away.

I pulled my ear buds out as one flapped its wings. But it was a movement beyond the bird that startled me.

Several yards in from the street I could just make out the figures of two men standing by a pickup truck in the clearing. They were on my grandparents’ property, so I edged closer to the tree line to see what they were up to. Through the branches I could see one of the men gesturing with his arms. I couldn’t make out their words, but I easily recognized the rich, low voice. Ethan.

What is he doing here? I squinted to identify the man he was talking to, but Ethan’s frame obstructed my view. I moved up the path to get a better look.

And when I did my jaw just about hit the dirt.

The man in front of Ethan was a few inches shorter, one hand rested in his light-brown hair, as if it helped him concentrate on what Ethan was saying. I’m not sure what gave me away, but those sharp blue eyes quickly shifted to where I stood. What was Liam doing here talking with Ethan?

As I began backing away, Ethan followed my father’s eyes, nailing me in place. His entire demeanor changed upon seeing me there. One minute he was all business, the next his eyes brightened like he was a man in the desert and I was a cold drink of water.

Ethan started toward me, and I was filled with dread as my father walked alongside him, both pairs of eyes trained on my face.

“Hey, Al,” Ethan said.

I did my best to smile at him, but my attention was on the man walking to his left.

“I didn’t even know your grandparents sold this plot,” Ethan said as he approached.

My eyes darted to Liam. This was news to me, too.

“This is Liam McKeown. Liam, this is Allison O’Malley—Tom and Jane’s granddaughter.”

I nodded politely, and Liam cleared his throat. Being around Liam and Ethan at the same time wasn’t something I’d anticipated, and obviously neither did Liam. The tension between us was palpable. When Ethan’s cell phone went off, the air in my chest heaved itself out. I couldn’t hold my tongue for much longer. He held up his finger and walked a few yards away to take the call.

“What’s going on? What are you doing here?” I hissed, glancing over at Ethan who was laughing heartily into the phone.

“Well,” Liam began, not meeting my eyes. “I’ve just bought this lovely piece of land, and I’ve hired the Magliaros to build a house for me.”

“What kind of game are you playing?” My voice was much louder than I’d meant it to be. Ethan looked over his shoulder at me, holding his index finger up.

Liam sighed. “We all have to have a home, don’t we?”

Anger licked at the base of my neck. “I won’t let you hurt my mother again.”

“Easy now, Allison.” The sad expression from the first time we met reappeared. “I’m not going to hurt your mother. In fact, I think I can help her. I just need a little more time.”

My jaw clenched as cold fear gripped my heart at the memory of mother’s tear-streaked face staring out the window. She was so beautiful, so fragile. She would shatter like hand-blown glass if Liam made an appearance in her life. I just knew it.

Ethan hung up the phone and start back to us. “You don’t know what you’ll do to her if she sees you,” I said quickly.

Ethan looked between Liam and me, puzzled, as he stopped beside us.

“Everything okay, Al?”

“Everything is just fine, my friend,” Liam answered, his smile reappearing. “Ms. O'Malley and I have just learned we have a lot of the same interests. Isn’t that right?”

I swallowed down the first reply that came to mind and glanced down at the ground. Then, looking at Ethan, I put my mask back in place. “Yeah, it seems that way.”

Ethan cocked his eyebrow at me and turned to his new client.

“Thanks for meeting with me today, Ethan,” Liam said evenly. “I’ll be in touch with your office to make arrangements.”

Ethan and I stood quietly as Liam walked down the path toward the road.

“What just happened here? It sounded like you were arguing.”

“I was taken by surprise, that’s all.” I smiled, hoping to be convincing. “I had no idea someone had bought this plot.” I looked back down the path after Liam. The only vehicle on sight was Ethan’s pickup truck. How had Liam gotten here? And what on earth was he up to?

I ran my finger over the clingy, green tank top hanging in my closet. It was a little revealing for a Fourth of July cookout. Maybe I should wear a simple T-shirt. I stood pondering my outfit, focusing on something I could control for a change. Why was I so worried about how I looked for this cookout anyway? I’d known the Magliaros forever. I’d known Ethan forever.

I sighed and reached for the green tank when a flash in the woods stole my attention. There was no way that was just the sun reflection off an aluminum pie plate. I walked over to the window and saw…nothing. What was wrong with me? I let out a frustrated groan, threw on my top, and jogged down the stairs. I was going to find those pie plates hanging from trees in the backyard—there was no other explanation for it.

I walked out back, my eyes scanning the trees. I heard footsteps behind me and whipped around, my hand flying to my mouth when I saw my mother standing directly in front of me. She stared over my shoulder into the woods, her gaze intent. She must’ve seen it too.

“Mom? What are you doing out here?” I asked, looking around for my grandparents. My mother only left the house to go to doctor’s appointments, and even then she had to be heavily medicated. She didn’t answer me, just kept looking beyond me into the woods where Liam and Ethan had met the other day.

“What is it?” I asked turning back toward the tree line. I bit my lip, hoping she hadn’t glimpsed Liam that day.

My mother started walking toward the trees. Oh, no. Not a good idea. I rushed up beside her. “Uh, why don’t we go back inside, Mom? I think The Ellen Show is coming on.”

She stopped and turned to me. She stared into my eyes for a minute, her expression full of longing, then she nodded, the light in her eyes flickering out as she allowed me to lead her toward the deck.

As we climbed the stairs Gram opened the slider, still holding a dishrag in her hand. “There you two are,” she said, casting me a curious glance.

“We were just listening to some animals squabbling in the woods, Gram. But we’re heading in now since we don’t want to miss Ellen.” I raised my eyebrows and hoped Gram caught my I’ll tell you later look.

“Oh, I see,” Gram said, nodding.

After I got my mother situated in front of the television, I joined Gram at the kitchen counter where she was chopping a cucumber and adding it to a salad.

“I heard something in the woods,” I explained. “I guess Mom followed me outside.”

Gram continued chopping. “Hmm…that’s strange. Was there anything out there?”

“Just some birds squabbling,” I said, grabbing a cucumber slice. “But that reminds me. Ethan told me he’s building a house on that empty plot?”

Gram placed the knife on the counter and wiped her hands on a towel. She looked into my eyes and smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile, but a silent plea for understanding.

“You’re wondering why Pop and I didn’t tell you about selling the property. I understand.”

“I know it’s none of my business, but it was just a surprise.”

“No, of course, it’s your business. That land was supposed to be your mother’s, just like the property on the other side belongs to Aunt Jessie,” she said. “Pop and I talked it over, and we decided to sell it to Mr. McKeown. He paid more than twice what we asked for it, and we’re putting the profit in an account for your mother’s future.”

I nodded and smiled. They had tried to give the land to me after my high school graduation. I hadn’t wanted it then, and I didn’t want it now. Their plan was definitely a good use for it. But the fact that Liam was the one to instigate it shot off major warning bells in my mind. But I couldn’t tell her that…

“Is this for me to bring to the cookout?” I asked, changing the subject.

She glanced up at me, then continued chopping. “It is.”

“I don’t have to go, if you and Pop want to instead,” I offered. “You guys are always cooped up here.”

Gram placed the knife on the counter again and turned to look me in the eye. “Don’t be silly, Allison.” She bent to pull a box of plastic wrap out of the bottom drawer.

“I’m not!” I laughed, knowing exactly what I was doing, but continuing anyway. “I don’t mind staying home. Cookouts aren’t really my thing.”

“You’re going to that party, and you’ll have a good time. I don’t want to hear another thing about it.”

The driveway at the Magliaro house was twice as full as it had been for the last cookout. There were even cars parked down the street. Nicole had warned me that in addition to family and co-workers, several of the Magliaro’s clients would be there too, networking opportunity that it was. She saved a spot for me right on the lawn in front of Jeff’s Jeep, though, so I scooted past the parked cars toward the house.

There were people of all ages everywhere I looked, kids running around the enormous yard, elderly women sitting in the shade of an ancient oak tree. As I walked by the floor-to-ceiling living room window, I could see that inside was just as crowded. Climbing the steps of the deck, I heard my name being called.

“Allison!” Joanne waved at me from one of the French doors leading inside. I smiled and went to say hello. As I approached, she opened the screen door and ushered me inside.

“Hello, sweetheart. I’m so glad you made it. Let me get that for you,” she said warmly, taking the salad out of my hands.

I followed her through the mass of people into the kitchen. She put the salad down on the center island, which was already crowded with similar dishes.

“How’s your mom?”

“Pretty good today. The nurse came yesterday to take out her stitches.”

“Good. That’s good, honey. I really am glad you could come today.” Her expression turned mischievous. “Ethan told me you two went to DeeDee’s the other night. I always knew he had—”

“What did you always know, Mom?” Ethan appeared from nowhere, poking my side and making me jump.

“Ethan! It’s not polite to eavesdrop!” Joanne laughed as she smacked him.

“Hey, now—no hitting!” He rubbed his chest. “And I wasn’t eavesdropping, I just wanted to come greet our guest.”

“All right, all right. I get the hint,” Joanna said. “Have a good time, Allison. I’ll talk to you later.”

Ethan looked down at me then. His eyes skimmed over my tank top and then back up to my face. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I mumbled, embarrassed at the smoldering look in his eyes.

That was as much of a greeting as I would get, though, because Nicole and Jeff walked over then.

“There you are, Al!” Nic wrapped me in a hug. “Did you have anything to eat yet?”

“Um, no. I just got here,” I said, extricating myself from her grip.

“You’ve got to try the scallops Jeff’s dad is grilling. Oh, and we made these amazing cookies, too. Come on!” She tugged my arm, leading us all out onto the back deck. As Nicole went on about the food and what I needed to try, I felt the strangest sensation in the back of my head, like someone was tickling my brain with a feather.

Allison…

A enchanting, musical voice, unlike any I’d heard before, whispered my name. I looked around.

Allison, it said again.

I couldn’t pinpoint who was speaking. It sounded like it was coming from inside my head. But that didn’t make any sense…

“I’d just love to try some of your cookies, Jeffrey,” I heard Ethan tease. He hadn’t heard it, I guess.

“Make fun of me all you want, pal. But, I make some mean peanut butter cookies.” Jeff lightly punched Ethan in the shoulder.

Allison…

There it was again. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two people standing far away from the crowd. You’ve got to be kidding. Liam and a blonde woman I’d never seen before stood close together. I blinked, and they were gone.

Four guys, as tall and as built as Ethan, approached us, each with a beer and a plate of food balanced in their hands. They greeted Ethan and Jeff, and it was obvious they knew each other well.

Ethan stiffened a tiny bit and put his arm around my shoulder. Surprised, I looked up at him.

“Oh, guys. This is Allison, Nicole’s cousin. Al, these are the guys on our crew—Ted, Jack, Vinny, and Rich.”

I tried to be polite and smile, but my eyes scanned the yard, trying to track down Liam and the mystery woman.

Allison.

The soda can slipped out of my hand and crashed onto the deck, fizzing all over the legs of the men I’d just met. I dropped down onto my knees to grab the offending soda, horrified.

Snippets of past conversations regarding my mother’s behavior seeped into my mind.

Aunt Jessie’s soft, concerned tone: “She’s always so tense.”

The deep, baritone of the psychologist: “It’s paranoid schizophrenia.”

Gram talking quietly with Pop: “The voices in her head.”

Hands trembling visibly, I looked up, and my eyes locked on Liam and the blonde, who were across the yard from me. Liam looked uncomfortable; the woman just looked amused.

“Let me just get some napkins,” I muttered, searching for anything to clean up the spill.

Ethan frowned at me and followed me to the table that held napkins. “It’s okay, Al. It’s just a soda, no big deal.”

I huffed out a breath, realizing what a fool I was making of myself. I pursed my lips and nodded.

“Hey, where should I put the fireworks?” Sean asked as he and Rachel joined us. I was grateful for their arrival, hoping my embarrassing overreaction would be forgotten. Sean’s arm was wrapped loosely around her waist. Apparently they were on-again today. It didn’t stop her from batting her eyelashes at the guys, though, and of course, she sneered over at me. Then as if I didn’t exist, she turned her back on me and launched into conversation with Nicole.

I tried to relax, listen to the conversations around me, and have a good time. Just before twilight, the guys went out to the fire pit to get the fireworks ready. Nicole and Rachel were at the picnic table near the pool chatting with a group of friends. I saw my chance to take a minute alone so I headed to get another drink.

“This is some party,” a familiar voice said from behind me. I turned to see Liam standing in the shadow of the pool house.

“What are you even doing here?” I asked, looking around for the blonde woman he’d been with earlier.

Liam smiled, and his eyes flickered to Ethan. “My new contractor invited me, of course.”

“Where is...where is the blonde you were with before?” I ground out. Not exactly the way to convince me he really still loved my mother as he’d claimed.

Liam looked tense and ignored my question. “You have every reason to hate me, Allison. I know that. But I’m here to help your mother, not harm her. There were circumstances that kept me away until now.”

“They must have been some circumstances.”

“I know that’s vague.” He coughed a little and looked down. “But it’s the most I can tell you at the moment.”

I laughed, surprised at how cold it sounded. “No comment.”

“I know that I’m responsible for your mother’s current state. But I really believe I can help her recover.”

I twisted to look him in the eye. “I told you I don’t want you near her.”

“Please, allow me to finish. Helping your mother isn’t the only thing I wanted to talk to you about today.”

I frowned at him.

“I believe she’s in danger.”

“My mother is schizophrenic. There is no chance she can, as you say, recover.” I shook my head in frustration. “And, as far as any danger she might be in, there is nothing more dangerous than having her see you again.”

“I’m not able to explain further right now, but I’m begging you, please try to trust that I’m telling the truth.”

“Trust you? That’s a joke, right?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“We’ll be watching to make sure your entire family stays safe,” he continued without missing a beat. “But if I do contact you at your grandparents’ again, please understand that it's important.”

“Wait, what do you mean ‘we’?”

Liam looked away, and when he looked back at me, his eyes pleaded with me to understand. Ethan was walking across the lawn, looking from Liam to me with a concerned expression.

“Ethan, your family's home is stunning,” Liam said. “Thank you so much for inviting me today, but I’m afraid I must be going.”

“All right, man. Talk with you soon.” Ethan glanced down at me, a question still in his eyes.

“Allison, lovely to see you again,” Liam added with a nod.

I watched him walk away, every muscle in my body thrumming with tension.

“You don’t like him much, do you?” Ethan asked, watching me as if gauging my reaction.

“I don’t even know him,” I replied. Okay, I needed a change of subject. “Are they almost ready for the fireworks?”

“I think so. Keep your fingers crossed that they know what they’re doing.”

I laughed at Jeff and Sean across the yard, fighting over a box of matches. Ethan muttered something under his breath, and I turned to see Rachel sauntering over to us.

“Such a great party, Ethan,” Rachel sputtered, taking a sip of her wine cooler.

“I’m glad you’re having a good time, Rach.”

Rachel giggled, batting her heavily made-up lashes at Ethan. “Is it just me, or is it starting to get a bit chilly?”

“I brought a sweatshirt, so I’m fine,” I said, pointing to the sweatshirt I’d wrapped around my waist.

“Oh, you’re so smart, All-i-son,” Rachel stammered. “Do you have a sweatshirt I could borrow, Ethan? I’m getting goose bumps all over.” She held her arm up to Ethan’s face.

She was such an annoying drunk.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll see what I can find,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me behind him.

“You all right?” he asked, his eyes scanning my face. “You seem upset.”

“I’m fine.” I tried to smile, but I knew my voice sounded shaky.

“I think I have one of Sean’s old sweatshirts up in my room. She can have that,” he said as he led me through the house.

“So, are they back together?” I asked him as we walked up the stairs to the second floor.

Ethan snorted. “Sean and Rach? Who knows? Who cares?”

He paused just inside his bedroom door and turned to look at me. His face was scrunched in concern. “What is it, Al?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking about something Rachel said to my cousin the other day.”

He waited for a moment. “Are you going to tell me what it was?” he asked.

“Um, no. I don’t think I will,” I whispered. I tried to keep my voice from cracking as he moved closer to me.

“Well,” he said, his gaze moving down to my lips. “How am I supposed to make you feel better if you don’t tell me what upset you?”

I inhaled sharply as he kept moving forward. I took two steps backward before I bumped into the wall.

“She might have said something about you only being interested in me because I’m no-man’s land,” I managed to squeak out.

Ethan chuckled, and I could feel it vibrate through me. “No-man’s land, huh?”

“That’s right. And she said I’m probably a lesbian, anyway.”

His face was inches from mine now.

“You’re not a lesbian, are you, Al?” he teased, trying to meet my eyes.

“I don’t really have much to base my opinion on,” I said, the words just barely audible above the beating of my heart. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

“For the sake of your own peace of mind,” he whispered, leaning in so that I could feel his breath on my lips. “I’d be willing to help you figure it out.”

My pulse spiked, and I willed it to slow down so that I could form a witty reply. But, he didn’t give me a chance. His lips just brushed against mine, soft as a feather. He brought his hands up and cradled the back of my head. So gentle. His lips moved against mine—not taking, only asking.

His fingertips trailed down my arm and made me shiver. I pulled back, needing to breath. He didn’t let go of me though.

“We should go back outside, before we ruin this by fighting.” His smile was genuine, if the slightest bit wistful.

I blushed. Yeah, he was probably right.

Liam walks through a room lit by tiny glowing spheres suspended in the air. The round lights cast shadows on the high-curved walls. He keeps his head bowed as he nears a woman seated on a dais against the far wall. Her hair, as black as a moonless night, is gathered at her neck by a jeweled clip, and hangs in loose waves over one shoulder. Eyes as blue and cold as ice watch him approach.

Liam kneels slowly at her feet, eyes trained on the floor. The woman smiles, and cocks her head to the side like a bird, grabbing his chin and pulling it upward until his eyes meet hers. As he speaks, the woman’s face contorts in rage. He winces and she loosens her fingers, leaving behind a bloody trail where her fingernails have cut him. The woman closes her eyes for a moment before shoving him roughly onto his back.

I sat up in my bed, my lungs screaming for air. I pulled my legs up and rested my forehead against my knees as I attempted to catch my breath. Rain beat against my window, matching the drumming of my heart.

For the past six months I’d dreamed about Liam almost every night. Most of the dreams involved blood and fear. They’d gotten more intense now that I’d actually met him too, more foreboding.

The need to go for a run came upon me so suddenly that when I jumped from my bed, my head teetered. I counted backward from twenty as the dizziness subsided and changed into shorts and a tank top. A little rain never hurt anyone.

I inhaled the smell of wet grass as I bound down the front steps. The air was misty, and a gray cloak hung over the trees and early-morning streetlights. It took all of my self-control to force myself to warm-up when all I could think of was launching into a mind-numbing sprint.

The rain eased as I ran, leaving a dreary fog in its wake. After an hour, I looped back around to the bend in the road just before the path to what was now Liam’s property.

Allison.

The voice was the same as last night. It made my name sound like a song. But this time there was no one around.

I stopped running, forgetting about cooling down or stretching. My stomach clenched with leftover panic as I looked around in the gloom. I approached the path when Liam stepped out of the trees. His expression was the same uncomfortable one he wore when I saw him last night, as though he dreaded speaking to me.

The blonde materialized next to him, as if the mist had been hiding her body. She cocked her head to one side…reminding me of the woman in my dream. She looked nothing like that raven-haired woman, but she was equally beautiful. Her golden hair was sleek and smooth, cascading down past her shoulders, and her eyes were such a light gray they appeared nearly colorless.

I stopped walking. Something about this woman made me nervous. She smiled at me, her icy eyes glinting, even though the sun hadn’t yet made an appearance today.

“Allison,” she said out loud in the same voice I'd heard in my head. A shiver raced down my spine when she spoke. Why were they even here?

“Liam? What’s going on?” I asked through clenched teeth.

“I wasn’t prepared for this,” Liam said, his eyes focused on the ground. He was grinding his teeth, too.

“I’m sure you weren’t,” the blonde said. “But too much time has passed already. You should have known you couldn’t put this off forever.”

Liam looked at me then, his eyes filled with regret. My heart lurched, and I had the urge to bolt. I shouldn’t feel empathy for the man who left my mother pregnant and alone.

“I would’ve liked to...” He broke off and turned to look at the blonde woman. “She knows nothing of your kind.”

Anger and frustration instantly replaced any other emotions that may have been building. “What are you talking about?”

Liam took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “The things I didn’t think I could explain to you last night”—he exchanged a look with the woman—“well, it appears I can explain them now.”

“Okay,” I said, “So, explain.”

The woman started walking toward me, her strange diamond eyes holding me captive. “If I may?” It came out as a question, but she didn’t appear to actually be asking permission.

“Of course,” Liam replied, closing his eyes.

“Your people often use the expression, ‘Things aren’t always as they appear.’” She paused and I raised my eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. “Whether you believe it or not, your father is here to help your mother.”

“Wait.” I held my hands up to interrupt. “Who are you?”

She smirked and glanced back at Liam. “My name is Niamh. I am one of the Tuatha de Danaan.”

“What?”

“A Danaan—a descendent of the Goddess Danu. You might recognize the term ‘fairy’ or ‘the people under hill’?”

“Fairy,” I repeated, the word sounding disjointed from my lips. “Are you a fairy too, Liam?” I choked out a laugh, looking between the two of them. They just stared back at me.

Liam cleared his throat. “Ah, well. I haven’t always been...”

“Listen, I don’t know what kind of joke this is, but my mother is ill. Just stay away from her.”

I started to turn around, but Liam held out his hand to stop me.

“Please,” he said. “Let me explain.”

I threw my hands up in exasperation.

“I was raised in County Monaghan, north of Dublin. I was born the son of a farmer”—he paused and looked me in the eye—“in 1862.”

“This just keeps getting better,” I said. Why am I even listening to this?

“My Da passed away when I was nineteen. I took on many of his responsibilities. After supper I would sneak off to a little clearing in the woods and just play my fiddle until my arms ached.”

He stopped and watched for my reaction. I just tapped my foot. “One day as I played, a lovely woman appeared. She told me she had heard the music and wanted to see where it came from. Her name was Aoife, and she was the most glorious creature I had ever seen, with raven hair and eyes like sapphires. I was completely enraptured by her. And the longer I played for her, the more I wanted to make her mine.”

Liam paused, his eyes far away, remembering.

“I soon began to long for her day and night. On the days I couldn’t slip away, I ached for her—”

“Explain how this has anything to do with my mother,” I said. He expected me to believe this?

He ignored my question and continued. “I was becoming physically addicted to her. Aoife and her folk believe that humans are their playthings. They think nothing of capturing a human and filling them with longing, only to dump them back into this world. After their encounters with the Danaan, humans are nothing but empty husks.”

Niamh cleared her throat and Liam paused.

“Not all Danaan are so callous,” she said. “Aoife is my sister, but we don’t share the same beliefs. She has been defying our laws and customs for some time now.” She motioned for Liam to go on.

“One day, I begged Aoife to come home with me. She took me to her home instead. By then, I was completely enthralled by Aoife. She was all I cared about. I forgot about my family—they were totally wiped from my mind. And as time went on, I began to come back to myself, my mind began to clear. Just by living in Tír na n’Óg, I was becoming immortal.”

“Immortal?” I asked, laughing. “What? Like a vampire?”

“We are as alive as you are, Allison. But unlike your kind, we don’t grow old,” Niamh said, her lips curving into a smirk.

“So,” Liam went on. “I started to remember my life before entering their world. I longed to see my family. I didn’t realize that decades had passed here. It seemed such a short time in Tír na n’Óg, because nobody aged there, including me. Aoife would leave occasionally, with only her handmaiden Eithne to watch over me. The first time I asked if I might join Aoife in her travels was in 1979. She agreed to take me along to Dublin.

“Several years later at the Music in the Street Festival at Trinity College, I met your mother.”

I thought of the photos I had of Liam and my mother, smiling and happy. Those must have been at the music festival. If any of this were to be believed.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about her and planning ways to see her again. I hid her from Aoife. It wasn’t easy, but I had fallen hopelessly in love with your mother. It was nothing like the obsession I’d felt for Aoife—that was nothing like love.”

Niamh looked away with an uncomfortable expression. When she caught me watching her, I quickly turned back to Liam.

“By then I had become more Danaan than human. I’d stopped aging and had developed some magical ability. Nothing like a true Danaan, but magic nonetheless.”

He frowned, and I noticed his eyes beginning to glisten.

“Your mother and I were able to continue seeing each other for about five months before Aoife suspected anything. She assumed I was involved with Eithne, her handmaiden, and began watching me closely. It was nearly impossible to meet with your mother. She didn’t understand my situation, and I was too afraid to tell her the truth. I knew I was breaking her heart by staying away, but I didn’t have a choice.

“When I returned to Tír na n’Óg, Aoife was waiting for me. She’d figured out with whom I had been meeting and was infuriated I had a desire to be with another, let alone a human.”

Liam blew out a shaky breath, and Niamh took over. “Aoife’s temper is well-known among our folk. But none of us had ever seen such fury as when she felt she was betrayed by Liam,” she said shaking her head.

“What did she do to my mother?” I blurted out, anger coloring my tone.

“She didn’t do anything to your mother—not directly anyway,” Liam said, his hands balling into fists by his sides. “Aoife placed a geis, an enchantment, on me so that I was unable to touch your mother,” his voice faltered. “And then I was forbidden to leave Tír na n’Óg, and your mother left Ireland, thinking I had abandoned her.”

I just stared at Liam, though he looked everywhere but at me.

Niamh spoke again, and her face softened. “That’s not the worst of it, though. Like Liam said, when humans are abandoned by one of us, they are driven crazy with longing. He experienced it firsthand when Aoife stayed away for just one week. Your mother has been kept from your father for twenty-two years. She doesn’t have schizophrenia—she has an unfulfilled addiction. Until she is able to touch him again, she’ll never be more than an empty shell of what she once was.”

I felt tears sliding down my cheeks as I listened to Niamh. If this story were true, maybe Liam really could help my mother. For that reason, I wanted it to be true. Another thought hit me hard and fast.

“Where is Aoife now?” I asked, my chest squeezing. “Is she the one who you are trying to protect us from?”

Niamh kept speaking as though she didn’t hear me. “During a recent gathering, I sensed something was very wrong with your father.”

Niamh looked into my eyes, and I heard her voice in my mind again.

I can read and speak to minds, so I could communicate with Liam without making Aoife suspicious.

“Liam told me everything that happened. I agreed to imprison Aoife in a fey globe. It was the only way to stop her from keeping Liam captive.”

Niamh stared into my eyes again. An image of a beautiful woman trapped in a shimmering sphere flashed into my mind.

“Aoife may not be able to cause trouble now, but there are others who would restore her to power—”

“I’ve seen her,” I interrupted. “The black-haired woman in the sphere, I’ve seen her in my dreams.”

I looked at Liam. “When I first met you, I knew who you were because I’d dreamed of you. I knew you were my father because we look...so much alike.” I paused for a beat and swallowed hard. This can’t be happening. “And last night I dreamed of the woman with black hair. Aoife.”

Niamh’s brow shot up. “I don’t understand why my mother didn’t tell me about this,” she whispered to Liam.

Liam kept his head down. The muscles in his jaw were tense, his hands clenched at his sides.

I couldn’t help wondering how her mother would know about me, but my phone rang just as I was about to ask. Ethan’s name showed on the display. I turned my back to Liam and Niamh to answer.

“I need your help,” he said, sounding distressed.

“Wh-what’s wrong?” I asked warily. I didn’t know how much more I could handle right then.

“We have way too much leftover food here. Come help me eat it...please.”

I let out the breath I had been holding. “Oh, okay,” I said, relieved that there was no more earth-shattering news.

“Hey, is everything all right?”

I swallowed the truth, wondering if the fact that my life had just turned into a Disney movie would be considered all right.

“Allison,” Liam said from behind me in his thick Irish brogue.

“Oh, is someone there with you?” Ethan asked.

“Uh, yeah. I just bumped into Liam while I was out for a run.”

“Okay,” he said, something off in his voice. “Just give me a call later then.”

I put the phone back into my pocket and closed my eyes, trying to reconcile the image of Ethan’s face in my mind with everything I’d just heard. What would he think if he knew about all of this?

The answer was simple: he could never know about any of it.

I turned around just as one of the giant black birds landed on a branch just over our heads.

“You have these dreams often, you said?” Liam asked, his eyes darting up to the bird.

I nodded. “Almost every night for about six months.”

Niamh’s gaze flickered between my father and me as I told them about the dreams. Liam stared at the ground, stroking the back of his neck as I recalled the different scenarios I’d witnessed.

A loud caw came from the trees, and Liam looked up at Niamh, some kind of silent conversation taking place between them.

I put my hands up. “Don’t do that. Don’t make it so I can’t tell what you’re saying. Not after all you’ve put me through already.”

Liam cleared his throat. “It was a mistake for us to have met with you out in the open like this.”

“It’s time for us to go,” Niamh said. “It’s not safe to stay here any longer.”

“So, that’s it? You’re just going to leave? What am I supposed to do now?” I asked.

“I will see you soon,” Liam said, taking one more look at the house where my mother was.

The black bird cawed again and flapped its wings in the tree above.

Go home, Allison.

Niamh and Liam turned as if they were going to walk away, but instead they completely disappeared.

Monday evening I was at the hardware store closing out the cash register when the bells hanging over the door clanged. I looked up from the receipts to see Ethan strolling up the aisle.

“Oh, hey, Ethan.” I looked back down, ignoring the jolt in my heart. I hadn’t called him back yesterday after my run-in with Liam and Niamh.

“I was just wondering what time you get off work?”

“Well, as soon as I finish counting up these receipts.” I kept my voice casual, keeping my eyes on the papers in front of me.

“Something wrong, Al?” he asked in a low voice.

I shook my head, pretending to be confused. “Not really. I just have a headache.”

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his faded blue jeans and shrugged. “You busy tonight?”

“The only thing I’ll be doing is taking an aspirin and lying down.”

Ethan’s mouth tightened, but he nodded.

I wrapped the totals sheet around my receipts and locked them in the safe, avoiding his eyes.

“Everything else is okay though, right? You seem a little...distracted,” he said. “And you never called me back…”

“Everything’s fine,” I said. “Just busy.”

I turned off the lights, grabbed my purse, and walked around the counter. He walked by my side to the door, his arm brushing mine as I reached past him to set the alarm. The air felt thick and charged.

Ethan walked me to my car silently. I took a deep breath, and as I turned to face him, a flood of emotions washed through me. Who was I kidding? I’d loved him since before I could remember, reputation and all. But I had a plan: get through school, get a job, and take care of my mother. Being in a relationship was not part of it.

I knew he wouldn’t walk away without a fight, but I didn’t want to pull him any deeper into my life than he already was. If all of these things with Liam and my mother made no sense to me, how would I ever explain them to Ethan? And if they were true…he’d be in danger. There’d be a rogue fairy out to get me.

“I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I said softly.

He was quiet for a minute, and I started getting even more nervous. “I took the day off Wednesday,” he said with an odd note of uncertainty. “I wanted to take you to lunch on your birthday.”

My mouth went dry, and I realized I’d been holding my breath. I let it out in a puff. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Ethan swallowed and looked away, then cleared his throat. “I’ll...I’ll just call you Wednesday. Hope you feel better.” He tapped the hood of my car before turning and walking away.

Two days dragged by with no word from Liam. I kept replaying the conversation with him and Niamh over and over in my head. They had answers for so many of the questions I’d had my whole life—why I’d never known my father, why my mother lost her mind. And, why I felt like I was losing mine. Their answers sounded crazy, but they explained it all so perfectly.

They even acted like my dreams meant something, like I might not be going insane after all. Unless they were just as crazy as I was. Which was highly possible.

I typed the word Danaan into the search engine on my laptop, tapping my chin with a pen as I scanned through the results. I’d spent every spare minute the past two days looking up Irish fairies.

The Tuatha Dé Danaan are magical descendants of the pre-Christian deities of Ireland who lived alongside the druids and Gaels. These human-like beings were forced to retreat under the hills of Ireland into another dimension of space and time with the rise of Christianity.

It was reputed that only iron weapons could injure them. They became known as the people of the Sidhe (mounds) or fairies.

Deities? As in gods? I scrolled through web pages on all manner of magic and fairy stories. Paintings of women wearing flowers in their hair with flowing gowns were on every page. Beautiful.

I jumped when the phone rang. Again. It had been ringing non-stop all day. I glanced at the caller ID, seeing that it was Nicole this time. I silenced it and tossed it back on my nightstand.

“Allison,” Gram called from outside my bedroom door.

I heard the worry in her voice and tried to ignore it. “Come in.”

She poked her head in, her brow creased with concern. “Supper’s ready, honey.” Gram was using her “cheerful voice.”

“Okay, I’ll be down in a sec,” I said as I shut off my laptop.

Gram smiled and tried to make her face look relaxed before nodding and heading back downstairs, leaving my bedroom door open.

The smoky smell of grilled chicken that wafted in from the kitchen made my stomach grumble. I must have forgotten to eat lunch.

Oh my god, lunch!

Ethan had taken the day off so he could take me out for lunch on my birthday. No wonder the phone had been ringing non-stop. I groaned and rubbed my hand over my face. How could I have forgotten? I stood and smoothed my ponytail. I needed to pull myself together for Gram’s and Pop’s sakes. I was sure they had put together a nice supper while I sulked in my room all day.

I went downstairs, and started when I saw Aunt Jessie and Uncle Dave setting the table.

“Hey, birthday girl!” Aunt Jessie said as she walked by.

Pop came in off the deck carrying a plate of grilled chicken. “There she is! Finally showing her face today. Happy Birthday, young lady!” His eyes twinkled like they always did when the family was all together. As he set the plate down, he kissed my mother on the cheek.

The front door shut with a crash. Uh oh. There was only one person missing from the table.

Nicole walked into the kitchen, staring at me with her eyes wide and lips pursed, but said nothing. It might as well have been a slap for what it meant.

Gram saved me by announcing it was time to eat. Everyone loaded up their plates, the typical chatter going on across the table. I was about to take my first bite when Nicole spoke, her voice loud enough to stop all other conversation. “So, Al. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Nic,” I replied without looking up. I knew my family was looking at Nicole for an explanation.

“That’s really good, you know, because I was convinced you were in some sort of accident or that you’d been mugged...seeing that you haven’t answered your phone all day.”

“Nope, I’m all right,” I said evenly, fighting the urge to apologize. I had a secret now, something that set me apart from even Nicole, and I had to keep it that way.

“Fabulous.” Nicole said sharply.

Gram cleared her throat pointedly, and my head snapped up. My grandparents, aunt, and uncle were quietly cutting the food on their plates, and, my mother was slowly sipping her drink gazing out the back door. Finally, I raised my eyes and met Nicole’s hard stare. I shook my head and looked back down at my plate.

I turned on the sink and picked up the sponge. Dinner was over, and helping to clean up was the best excuse I could think of to avoid Nicole. But Gram stopped me.

“It’s a beautiful evening, and your birthday, so why don’t you go enjoy it on the deck?”

I sighed. It would be no use to argue. I nodded and gave her a kiss, then took my iced tea out back and sat in a lounge chair. Nicole inevitably followed.

She leaned back on the railing and folded her arms. “All right, let’s hear it.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“I’m used to this sort of thing from you,” Nicole began, “but I’m family, I have no choice but to accept your weirdness.”

“Nic—”

“No, let me finish. You told Ethan you’d go to lunch with him. Now that I see for myself that there’s no catastrophe, I don’t understand why you would blow him off.”

“First of all, I never agreed. And besides, I haven’t been feeling well, and I just laid down for a minute and...” I trailed off, not wanting to lie but hoping Nicole would come to her own conclusions.

“This is Ethan we’re talking about, Al. You have been in love with him since you were in the first grade! So, what’s the deal?”

“It was a mistake, Nic,” I whispered.

Nicole shook her head and stalked back in the house without another word.

I closed my eyes, and let my head fall back on my chair. The sounds of the dishes clattering in the sink began to fade.

I walk into a room. I’ve seen it before…the curved ceiling is familiar. A man stands in the center of the space, his black hair pulled back at the base of his neck. His face is all sharp angles, and he smirks at me, a cruel and twisted smile. He looks like he’s been expecting me, but I’ve never seen him before.

The cry of bird makes me stop, my feet not wanting to enter any farther into the room. A large black bird lands on the man’s outstretched arm, and he looks into the bird’s eyes, then back at me.

His laughter is as cold and sharp as an icicle as he turns to look at me again. “Do you know where your mother is, girl?”

“Allie?” I jumped at the sound of my name, and woke to find Ethan gently shaking my shoulder.

“Where is she?” I shouted.

“Whoa, Allie, it’s okay. It was just a bad dream,” he said as I stood up. “You were kind of thrashing around.”

I gulped in the summer air and tried to catch my breath. “I’m…I’m fine. I’m just not feeling that great.”

His expression was hopeful. “You must be coming down with something. Nic just told me you slept all afternoon.”

I nodded and stretched my arms above my head.

“We were thinking of doing your cake, sweetie,” Aunt Jessie said as she stuck her head out the back door and smiled sheepishly at us.

“Oh, thanks Aunt Jessie,” I said, grateful for a reason to not have to give Ethan any more explanations. I gave him a halfhearted smile as we headed inside.

My family was seating themselves back at the table with coffee, and in front of my seat was a beautiful cake with lemon icing—my favorite.

As I blew out my candles, I wished for the same thing I did every year—to be strong enough, and capable enough, to take care of my mother.

But, this year’s wish was slightly different. I hoped for a real chance at my mother getting better.

When I got up the next morning to go for my run, it was already in the eighties and the sun had barely risen over the trees. The humidity made my tank top stick to my skin, but I didn’t care. My headphones blared in my ears, cares shattered into pieces by the pumping bass line. I welcomed the sweat trickling down my back and pushed harder.

I walked the last half mile to cool down, and as I came around the corner I saw Liam standing, once more, in the path leading up to his property.

As I approached, he raised his hand in greeting, and something silver gleamed out from the short sleeve of his shirt.

“Good morning, Allison.”

“Hey,” I said, feeling awkward and not sure how to act after all he’d told me a few days before.

“They’re beginning to clear the property today.”

I looked up the path to see a group of men pulling chainsaws out of a truck. “I guess I won’t be sleeping in anytime soon.”

Liam laughed a little, and his lips curved upward. He had a nice smile—I hadn’t seen him smile much since I’d met him.

“I had another dream last night,” I said, grabbing my ankle to stretch my leg.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” I said, suddenly unsure if I should share it. He waited for me to continue, and I shook off the fear. “I was in that same room where I saw Aoife before. There was a man with long, black hair. He had a black bird on his shoulder.” I looked straight into Liam’s eyes. “He asked about my mother.”

I didn’t like the way his eyes widened at this. “Breanh,” he murmured.

“And that means...what?”

“Breanh is Aoife’s adviser. He’s the one who introduced her to dark magic in the first place. I’m sure he’s trying to find Aoife right now.”

The way Liam was talking now, fast and without really looking at me, filled me with dread.

“Wait a sec! That doesn’t really tell me anything. This guy is the one you think will hurt Mom?”

For a moment, Liam just looked down, his jaw working. When he finally raised his eyes, his expression was tight and reserved.

“If Breanh discovered why I’m here, he’ll use your mother against me. In order to get Aoife back.”

“I’m guessing letting Aoife go is out of the question?”

Liam sighed. “It would just make everything worse if we released Aoife at this point.”

“Worse for who? How can I keep my mother safe if she’s now some evil fairy’s bargaining chip?”

Liam sighed again, heavier this time. He looked up at the house where my mother was probably watching the early talk shows.

“The workers will keep him away for now, I think. But the nighttime is more of a concern. Stay inside today. I think you’ll be safest there.”

“No way,” I said, raising my voice. “I can’t just stay home and hide. I need to do something, find a way to protect her.”

“I just need to speak with Niamh, We’ll figure something out.”

“No, that’s not good enough.” I was nearly shouting, but the words died in my throat as Ethan’s pickup truck pulled up next to me.

Liam turned and walked quickly into the woods in the opposite direction of the workers.

Ethan hopped out of the truck, shutting the door with a thud. “Good day for a run,” he said with a smile.

“Oh, yeah.”

He turned to look at me then. I felt like he could see past all my secrets, so I quickly looked away.

“I just have to go over some things with these guys,” he said as he gestured toward the lot next door. “But, after that, I’m free for awhile. You wanna grab lunch?”

“Actually, I was thinking I’d like to spend a little time with my mother before I take over for Lenny at the store.”

Ethan nodded slowly, rubbing his hand across his chin. His gaze traveled in the direction where Liam had walked off. “I was hoping to talk to Liam for a minute today, too. Think he’ll be back?”

I was caught off guard. “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

“I had thought...” He struggled to find words, but I already knew what he was going to say.

“What, Ethan?” I asked, keeping my voice low and cool. “You won a bet. What more do you want?”

“So, that’s it?” He straightened up. “I think we both know it was more than that.”

I felt backed into a corner, so, I used the only weapon I had. “I’m sure it’s hard for you to believe,” I said, adding ice to my voice. “But, it’s true.”

“Fine.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded. “I guess I’ll see you around, Al.”

He narrowed his eyes and stared hard into mine, stripping me of the last of my defenses. Without another word he turned and walked away.

I headed inside. It really was a scorcher outside. As I headed up the stairs to take a shower I wiped the sweat from my forehead and the tears from my eyes.

The hardware store was slow that night, and it was even harder to get through the hours than usual as I was constantly fighting back tears. When I could finally close up, I went straight home. I hadn’t heard from Liam yet and it was nearly seven, and between worrying about my mother and replaying my conversation with Ethan, I was completely exhausted and beyond emotionally drained.

Thankfully, everything was quiet when I got home. I walked into the living room to find Gram sitting on the couch folding laundry.

“Just the person I was thinking of,” Gram said as I dropped my purse on the sideboard.

“Hi, Gram. Where is everyone?”

“Your mom is upstairs lying down. Pop is down in the cellar, I think.”

I sat down in the recliner and leaned my head back for a minute.

“Are you feeling okay, honey? You look a little pale.”

I yawned and settled further into the chair, opening one eye to look at her. “Just a little tired, that’s all.”

Gram stood and hauled the laundry basket up to her hip. “There are leftovers in the fridge, I’m just going to put this laundry away, and I’ll heat something up for you.”

“I can manage,” I said, stretching one more time before I stood.

I took the leftover pasta out and heated a bowl in the microwave. As I waited for it to cook, I sliced a piece of fresh Italian bread.

I wanted to be able to tell Gram everything, to share the weight of all I now knew with someone. But there was no way I could even tell Gram and Pop about who Liam was, let alone all the insane-sounding things he’d told me about his life. Plus, I hadn’t had a chance to come to terms with his arrival yet myself, as my father.

I took a deep breath and watched the microwave. Now that my mother was in potential danger, I needed to take care of this myself. There could be no more distractions. But the image of Ethan staring into my eyes, his expression cold and angry, was burnt into my memory. He’d never been angry with me before. But—I reminded myself—angry was better than hopeful.

Once again, I was left waiting to hear from Liam. The hope I’d let myself feel since he’d shown up was being replaced by dread. Liam had said Breanh was dangerous. But would Breanh even know where we were if Liam hadn’t shown up here? Now he may as well hand-deliver my mother right to the bad guy.

The ceiling creaked loudly, and I looked up, wondering what Gram was doing up there. It sounded like she was scurrying in and out of the bedrooms. A second later, she bustled down the stairs. Her face was flushed, and strands of white hair escaped from her bun.

The bread knife slipped from my fingers as she approached me, landing with a clatter on the cutting board.

Mom. Something was wrong.

“Gram?”

She blinked at me before hurrying over to the living room window. “Your mother isn’t in her bedroom,” she said as she turned away from the window.

“Tom,” she called as she walked toward the cellar stairs and opened the door. “Tom, have you seen Beth?”

“Coming, Jane,” I heard Pop holler from the bottom of the stairs. “What is it, dear?”

“I can’t find Elizabeth. She isn’t down there with you, is she?”

“No,” Pop said, wiping sawdust off his brow.

“Maybe she wandered out into the backyard again,” I said. Before anyone could respond, I threw open the screen slider and hurried outside. I ran around the entire house shouting her name, but there was no sign of her.

I climbed the porch steps two at a time and charged upstairs to my bedroom. My hands shook as I scrolled through the numbers on my cell phone, trying to find the one Liam had called from.

I heard him pick up but was speaking before he had a chance to say anything. “My mother,” I shouted. “She’s missing.”

After a moment of silence, he finally replied. “I’ll be there in just a moment, Allison. Stay put.”

I threw the phone down on my bed. Pacing back and forth, I tried to imagine how this could have happened. How could she have left the house without my grandparents even noticing? It just didn’t make sense.

Pop was on the phone when I came back downstairs, and Gram stood by the slider, wringing her hands, looking out into the darkening backyard. My grandfather hung up and walked over to where Gram stood. He wrapped his arm around her, and she leaned her head into his shoulder. I could see she was trembling.

“She can’t be far, Jane. I told the police about Beth’s condition—they’ll be here soon. They’ll find her.”

“I just don’t know how this could have happened,” Gram said in a shaky voice.

“Mom?” Aunt Jessie walked down the front hall and froze by the side table, looking back and forth between me and my grandparents.

Gram pulled away from my grandfather and pursed her lips. At Gram’s expression, Aunt Jessie rushed over to her.

“She’s just...gone,” Gram murmured into my aunt’s shoulder as they held each other for a moment.

The sound of car doors cut through the tension then, and we were out on the front porch in seconds. A police car was parked in front of the house.

While the officers spoke with my grandparents, I caught sight of Liam standing on the sidewalk a few yards away. He had his back to me, and it wasn’t until I was just a few feet from him that he turned around.

“What’s happened?” he asked.

I inhaled. “I don’t really know. My grandparents thought she was up in her room. But when Gram went to check on her, she wasn’t there.”

Liam nodded and turned toward the house. His eyes slid over the yard and the vehicles in the driveway.

“You got here so fast,” I whispered, barely even aware that I had spoken out loud.

“That’s one advantage of being a Danaan.” He cleared his throat and glanced over at me. “Speed.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but it wasn’t important right now. All that mattered was finding my mom.

I heard one of the officers tell my grandparents that due to her schizophrenia, they’d be able to file a missing persons report immediately. The second officer walked to his squad car to call into the station, while the other continued speaking to Gram and Pop.

Uncle Dave stood at Aunt Jessie’s side, rubbing her back as they listened to my grandfather describe my mother’s physical appearance.

A car door slammed, and I heard the clatter of heels on tar.

“Al?” Nicole said as she and Jeff walked to the sidewalk. She glanced at Liam and then at me. “Allison? What’s going on?”

“My mother,” I said, but my voice came out like a croak and I cleared my throat. “My mother’s missing.”

Nicole’s eyes widened in alarm. “Missing? Oh my God.” Her arms came up around my shoulders, squeezing me with all her strength.

Jeff spoke from behind Nicole. “Can we form a search party? What are the police doing?”

Nicole didn’t give me a chance to answer, she half pulled me toward the rest of our family. I looked over my shoulder at Liam, and he nodded, as though he knew just what to do.

I hurried down the cellar stairs and over to the map of Stoneville that hung above my grandfather’s workbench. Standing on my tiptoes, I reached for the pushpins that held it in place. My fingers just barely brushed the rounded heads of the pins, and I strained to get my fingernail underneath. The frantic energy buzzing through my body wouldn’t allow me to pop each pin off the board one at a time, and I ended up tearing the map from the wall, barely keeping it in one piece.

I sprinted back to the kitchen and spread the map across the table. My grandparents sat in two chairs pushed close together. Jeff and Nicole, Joanne and her husband Frank, plus half a dozen friends and neighbors had arrived to help look for my mother. Looking down at the street names, I jabbed my finger into the spot that I knew represented our property.

“Okay, we’re here. If we divide into groups of four, we can each spread out in all directions...” I looked up to see everyone was waiting for my instructions, as if I really knew what I was doing.

As I assigned paths for everyone to follow, the front door slammed and footsteps came down the hall. Ethan walked into the living room, carrying an armload of flashlights and lanterns. His mouth was set in a grim line and fear flickered in his eyes. I breathed deeply through my nose and looked back down at the map.

I felt each step he took as he came to my side. As I spoke to Ethan’s parents and Sean’s parent’s—the Connor’s—I heard the trembling in my own voice.

“You four can take the old cart road up behind the Connor’s house. Do you have flashlights?” I grabbed the lantern Ethan held out and passed it to Sean’s father, accepting the comfort he offered me with a tight smile.

Allison.

Niamh’s voice in my head caused a shudder to ripple across my shoulders. I looked toward the door, but she wasn’t anywhere I could see.

Ethan touched my elbow. “It’ll be okay, Al. We’ll find her.”

I looked up to see his brown eyes fixed on mine. He squeezed my arm in reassurance, and I pulled back. I needed to keep my head clear, and his touch was too much.

“Let’s go, Ethan. We’re going to look behind the old Miller farm,” Jeff said as he and Nicole walked over. Nicole’s eyebrows pulled down as she assessed the situation.

That’s when another familiar voice spoke behind me.

“Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley? I’ve heard about your daughter,” Liam said. “I’ll search the woods on the property. She’s sure to turn up soon.”

My grandparents barely responded, they just gave him watery smiles.

I closed my eyes and sighed. Liam—in my house, talking to my grandparents. About my mother. I had to hold my tongue and remind myself that this wasn’t his fault, that he was trying to help bring her home.

I felt Ethan watching my reaction to Liam. I didn’t know what was going through his mind, but I was sure any ideas he had about my relationship with Liam were completely off the mark.

My father turned toward the door. Each assigned search party was making its own plans now, so I followed him out onto the porch. Niamh stood on the sidewalk, and she held me in her gaze as I approached.

Follow me.

I didn’t want to, but without hesitating, I followed her to the path leading up to Liam’s property. My feet felt like they were moving without my consent.

I gave my word to protect your mother, Allison. No harm will come to her.

I shook my head, not understanding how she could promise that. Or why she would even want to. I got the impression humans meant very little to the Danaans.

I swore to help your father. We will return your mother unharmed.

I sighed. This mind reading thing was already getting annoying.

Niamh smiled wryly. “I can speak aloud if you’d like.”

“Thanks,” I muttered as we walked farther up the path into the trees.

It was fully dark now, and the moon was waning. The flashlight helped a little, but I still managed to trip over a rock hidden under some leaves. I blew out a frustrated breath and felt someone grab my elbow to steady me. But when I looked over, no one was there.

“Allison, meet Tagdh.”

“What?” I asked, looking at Niamh.

“Tagdh is Niamh’s guardian,” Liam explained. “He’s wearing a glamour to stay hidden from human eyes.”

My eyebrows shot up. “What does that even mean?”

“A glamour is an enchantment,” Niamh said. “It’s like a cloak of magic that keeps your mind from registering his presence.”

I rolled my eyes, but nodded as if I heard this kind of thing all the time. “I see.”

The air shimmered in front of me, and a young man slowly came into focus. He bowed his head, raising his solemn eyes to meet mine. Their color reminded me of the bright green buds of early spring, and his auburn hair curled around his ears.

“Tagdh was able to use glamour to keep hidden.” Liam gestured for me to stop walking now that we were away from the others. “And we have news. The birds we’ve been seeing around your house are confirmed as Breanh’s spies.”

Liam watched for my reaction, but I was determined to keep a straight face. “Breanh is able to control the minds of all creatures, including humans.”

“Your mother could have easily been coerced to walk right out the front door,” Niamh said. “Your grandmother might have seen the whole thing and not remember a bit of it if Breanh wiped her memory.”

“So what are we looking for exactly then?”

“Right now, we’re keeping up appearances, for your family. Wherever your mother truly is, she’s far, far away from here.”

Time stopped, and my mouth dropped open. “Keeping up appearances?”

“Your family would think it was strange if you weren’t taking part in the search.” Niamh shrugged, the slightest pull of her shoulder upward.

“How can you be positive it was Breanh that took my mother? How do you know she didn’t just wander off?” I glared at Niamh, but she remained unaffected.

“The chances that she is still in this world are very small,” Liam began. “We will go to Tír na n’Óg and see Niamh’s mother, Saoirse. She is a Seer, able to see many paths into the future.”

I shook my head. “Okay,” I said, though I didn’t comprehend what that actually meant.

“You will stay here,” Niamh added. “Your father and I will go to my mother.”

I threw out my hands, breathing hard. “You expect me to sit around and wait?”

“Taking you would be too big of a risk,” Liam said.

I gritted my teeth and glared at him. “I need to find my mother.”

“I know you’re frustrated,” he said. “But what’s important is that we keep you and your mother safe.”

“Obviously our ideas of keeping her safe are very different,” I said, spinning on my heel and marching back down the path without sparing another glance at either of them.

I could hear Liam’s footsteps behind me as I walked up the sidewalk. I tried to ignore him for as long as possible, but when I stopped he came around to stand in front of me.

“What?” I snapped.

He chuckled a little under his breath as he shook his head. “I’ve never seen anyone talk to Niamh like that.”

I snorted. “Just wait ‘til she finds out that I’m going with you.”

“Absolutely not,” he said, his posture rigid. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you see? Niamh doesn’t care about my mother—I don’t even understand why she’s helping you in the first place.” I walked around him, heading toward where the crowd still gathered in our front yard. “But if you care about her, you’ll take me with you,” I called over my shoulder.

Aunt Jessie was talking on the phone when I walked up. I looked around for Gram and saw her surrounded by a group of my mother’s old friends, including Joanne. I was grateful that they were there to reassure her.

When Gram saw me, she excused herself from the ladies and hurried over. “Oh sweetheart, how are you holding up?” she asked, placing her palm on my cheek.

“I’m fine. But what about you?”

“I’m terrified, Allie-girl. It’s not like your mother to wander off for this long,” Gram said, glancing over at Pop.

“We’ll find her Gram,” I said. I knew Liam could hear me from where he stood on the sidewalk. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

My mother lies in a bed, swathed in gauzy fabric, her eyes closed in peaceful sleep. The room is quiet, and warm light comes from globes suspended in the air. A young woman with scarlet hair approaches her bedside, carrying a platter of fruit and a golden cup. Her blue gown looks straight out of the Middle Ages with floor-length, open sleeves and gilded embroidery on the hems. She bends to place the platter on a table by my mother’s head, her hair tumbling over her shoulder.

Another woman with mahogany curls and a similar mauve gown appears on my mother’s other side. She laughs as she smooths my mother’s hair back onto her silky pillow.

Suddenly, both women straighten up as another walks into the room. Her glistening blonde hair flows to the small of her back. She takes the golden cup in her hands and brings it to her curved mouth. After she takes a sip, she trickles a few drops of liquid onto my mother’s lips. As soon as it touches, my mother's eyes open. She stares dreamily at the women surrounding her. She doesn't look afraid—she looks content.

I opened my eyes, and rubbed my palms across my face before looking at the clock.

4:43 a.m.

I must have fallen asleep on the couch while waiting to hear from the police.

It took a minute to clear the cobwebs from my head. I could still almost smell the ripe fruit and hear the laughter from my dream. I reached over and patted the end table until I found my cell phone. I clicked it open and tapped a text message to Liam:

Where are you?

Not ten seconds later, my phone beeped with a message:

Right outside.

My eyebrows furrowed. Had he really waited for me?

I stood and walked to the window that looked out on the woods next to the house. A sliver of the moon still hung low in the sky, but it was too dark to see anything.

I sent another message:

What are you still doing here?

After a brief pause, my phone beeped again:

Niamh went without me.

I looked up from my phone and out into the trees. I squinted and saw a tiny bit of movement in the woods. Slipping on my flip flops, I hurried out the sliding door. The sky was streaked with the lavender and peach light of early morning as I walked toward the spot I’d seen the movement.

“Good morning.”

I jumped as Liam appeared out of nowhere beside me. “How did you do that?”

He chuckled, the sound so quiet I barely heard it. “I told you—we’re fast. Too fast for you to see.”

I closed my eyes and inhaled. Nothing should surprise me anymore.

“Why didn’t you go with Niamh? And why are you standing in the woods at this hour?” I asked, glancing up at him.

He looked toward the sky as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It didn’t feel right,” he began, his accent thick. “Leaving you here didn’t feel right.”

My eyes widened and I swallowed hard to hold back the biting comment that came to mind. “What about my mother?”

“Allison, this is all happening so fast and I know you’re frustrated.” He swallowed, shooting me a pleading look.

“You worried about what I might do, didn’t you?” I said, the realization striking me as I spoke.

He cleared his throat and shrugged. “You’re the first daughter I’ve ever had,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. “All right, fine. Does this mean you’re taking me to fairy land?”

Liam sighed. “I suppose it does.”

The screen door bounced a few times before it shut behind me as I walked back into the house. I smelled coffee brewing and heard dishes clanking in the sink. As I passed the den, I saw my mother’s violin sitting in its case, open on the coffee table. It looked like she had just been about to take it out before she’d disappeared, not up in her room at all.

Gram sat at the table, idly stirring a cup of coffee in front of her, while Pop gazed out the back window. Aunt Jessie stepped away from the sink where she was washing the dishes from the night before.

“You all couldn’t sleep either, I guess…. Any news?” I asked, as they all looked at me questioningly.

Aunt Jessie smoothed back my hair and smiled at me with pity in her eyes. “No, honey. Nothing yet. There were a couple calls during the night but”—she sighed—“they were all dead ends.”

It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut. I wanted to tell them they were all wasting their time, that I was going to find her and bring her home myself.

“I’m just going to grab some breakfast, and I’ll be heading back out,” I said instead.

Uncle David walked into the room holding up his phone. “Nic said she’ll come here first, and you can go out with them. They’re about to head to the mall to see if for some reason she wandered down there.”

I shook my head. “I’d rather split up for now, cover more ground.”

Pop cleared his throat, and when I looked over at him I froze. His face was ashen, with dark circles shadowing his eyes. “Allie, please don’t go out alone. Wait for your cousin.”

I felt a sharp twang of guilt as I packed my duffel bag. Leaving might hurt my grandparents a little at first, but it would be worth it when I brought my mother back safely. Staying here to keep them calm now would be worse in the end. As I zipped my bag closed, my bedroom door opened slowly.

Nicole stuck her head in, her expression worried. “You planning a trip, Al?”

“Actually...yes. And you’re just in time to help me.”

Nicole frowned. “I don’t think I like where this is going.”

“Come on, I never ask you for anything. I need you to cover for me, to keep Gram and Pop from worrying,” I said as I picked up my bag. “Now, I can’t tell you where I’m going, but you need to just trust me.”

“Are you kidding? You’re just leaving, and you expect me to cover for you without any information. Of all the times for you to lose your cool, Al.”

I put my hands on Nicole’s shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. “I need you now, more than I have ever needed anything. I am going to find my mother, and you need to have faith in me. Whatever you have to say, just cover for me.”

Shaking her head, Nicole turned away. “Fine, but don’t do anything stupid. It’s not like you to be so crazy. Please don’t do anything stupid,” she repeated

“Thanks, Nic…really.”

“Did I mention I don’t like how you’re acting?” Nicole said over her shoulder, walking out of my bedroom.

I met Liam in the clearing after I snagged a few snacks to bring with me. He looked curiously at the bag slung over my shoulder.

“You’re ready, then?”

“Yep, I’m ready.”

“And you’re sure about this?”

“Stop stalling. How are we getting there?”

“The portal is at Niamh’s house, about an hour from here.” he said, hesitating. “By car. But if we run, we’ll be there in about a minute.”

My eyebrows shot up and I gasped.

“I know, I know. But it’s true.”

I shook my head. “Maybe you can run at light speed, but I can’t.”

“Allison,” he said, as if I was being ridiculous. “I’ll carry you.”

“Whoa, I don’t think so. I’d rather drive.”

“We’re wasting time,” he said, his jaw tightening. “It’ll be over very fast. You won’t even have a chance to think about it.”

I looked at him a moment longer. “Fine.” I threw my hands out. “Carry me.”

In a flash, he had me up over his shoulder like a fireman rescuing a child, and the air was sucked straight out of my lungs like a vacuum. The change from standing still to flying through the air was so intense that I swore I left my vital organs in the wooded lot. I tried to pry open my eyelids, but the pressure kept them locked down. The only thought I had was of falling from Liam’s shoulder and exploding into a million pieces.

When Liam slowed down and I felt the pressure release, my lungs automatically gulped in air. I opened my eyes to see grass and boulders and a dirt road blurring by. Then he came to a complete stop and I wriggled off his back. My equilibrium was still in Stoneville, so I was glad he held me steady by the elbows. I might have gone down like a sack of rocks otherwise.

The trees on either side of the road towered above us, their long branches intertwining overhead to give the impression of a tunnel. The grass was wild and tall around the two indents of the road. It was obvious that no vehicles had been up this way in quite some time.

“Niamh’s house is just around that bend,” Liam said, walking along the overgrown path.

I followed closely behind, keeping underneath the green canopy where the air was cooler. The only sounds were the chirping of songbirds and our footsteps on the earth.

“It’s pretty here. But why are we in the middle of the woods?”

“We’re backed up to a wildlife preserve in Wheelwright. We try to stay away from iron as much as possible, so this spot is perfect.”

“How can you stand being in Stoneville then? Iron and steel are everywhere.”

“We use magic,” he said, glancing at me sideways as he walked. “There is no iron in Tír na n’Óg, as you can imagine. There is a mineral known as fháillan, however. Fháillan is, in many ways, the opposite of iron.”

He lifted the sleeve of his shirt. A silver-colored band decorated with intricate swirls and triskelions encircled his upper bicep. That’s what I must’ve seen those days ago.

“This fháillan band repels the effects of iron for a time. It’s not complete, but it’s bearable.”

As we walked, I thought about the dream I’d had the night before. “I dreamed of my mother last night.”

“Oh?” he asked, waiting for me to continue.

“She was in a room, surrounded by these women. One of them was so beautiful it practically hurt to look at her. They were all smiling and laughing.”

Liam’s eyebrow furrowed. After a moment, he asked, “What did the woman, the one you said was beautiful, what did she look like?”

“She had long, pale blonde hair. Her skin was equally pale, flawless. At first I thought it was Niamh, but Niamh’s hair is much more golden.”

“That sounds like it might be Niamh’s mother, Saoirse,” Liam didn’t seem to actually be talking to me, but rather thinking out loud.

“I hope that’s a good sign, that my mother seemed happy.”

Liam didn’t say anything, just kept walking until we came to a vast clearing. The rolling hills were dotted with purple and yellow wildflowers. Nestled between two ancient oak trees sat a pale blue shaker-style farmhouse. It appeared to be at least two hundred years old, yet impeccably maintained.

As we opened the front doors, we heard low voices. I widened my eyes as Liam gestured for me to follow him inside.

The old wooden floorboards creaked under our feet, and the house smelled of wood and old, oiled leather. In the small foyer, a staircase led to a second floor. Doorways were at both sides of the room.

Sitting at a round wooden table to the left were two young men, one I recognized as Tagdh. He didn’t seem very surprised to see us, though. He smiled tightly and glanced across at a man with shaggy black hair. It seemed as though they were expecting us, even.

A large map lay on the table in front of them. I didn’t recognize the locations, but there were little blue beads dotted over its surface.

The black-haired man rose to his feet. “Liam. We were wondering when you’d arrive.” He spoke with a thick Irish accent. His gazed moved past Liam to rest on me.

“Allison, meet Diarmuid, Niamh’s advisor,” Liam said.

Diarmuid looked at me curiously. His eyes were soft blue and gentle. “Lovely to meet you, Allison.”

“And, you met Tagdh in Stoneville,” Liam said.

Tagdh stood and inclined his head and looked at me with a blank expression. I tried to smile at them, but it came out more like a grimace.

“Liam.” I turned to see a young woman with wavy, ginger hair come through a swinging door.

She hurried to place the plate of fruit she was carrying on the table and turned to Liam. She grabbed his arms, and her gaze ran up and down the length of him.

“I’d heard you were all right, but I’m so glad to see for myself.” She turned to me, confusion plain on her face. “And, who’s this?”

The woman released Liam and tilted her head to the side as she appraised me. I felt heat creep up my neck.

Diarmuid came to stand at the woman’s side. “This is Allison. Liam’s daughter.”

“Daughter?” The woman stood frozen, looking at Liam with utter shock.

Liam cleared his throat. “It was a surprise for me as well.”

For an awkward moment there was only silence.

“Forgive me, Allison. I’m Eithne. Come, sit.” Without meeting my eyes, she gestured to a chair across the table, and I sat down. Liam took the chair next to mine.

“Eithne was once Aoife’s handmaiden, the one I told you about,” Liam said. “She and Diarmuid are bond-mates, similar to a married couple.”

Liam waved his hand at the map, clearly done explaining. “I’m guessing Aodhan is on another mission?”

Diarmuid leaned back in his chair. “That he is.”

Now, that I was closer, I could see that the map showed the Northern United States and Canada, most of the beads concentrated in lower Ontario.

“Who’s Aodhan?” I asked. “Does he have something to do with my mother?”

Eithne’s eyebrows shot up and her mouth formed an O.

“Aodhan, like your father, was once human,” Diarmuid said.

The other three Danaans kept their eyes cast on the floor, and I got the impression that talking about Aodhan made them uncomfortable for some reason.

“After a time in our realm, he wished to visit his family. When he returned, they were long gone. He’d been in Tír na n’Óg nearly three hundred years, but now he lives here, alone, hunting for Danaans who harm humans.”

I wished we had someone like him on our side. He sounded like just the guy to help get my mother back from Breanh.

“My brother Niall tracked him to Canada,” Tagdh continued. “There are reports of serial killings up in Thunder Bay. Humans left completely drained of blood just left on the streets.” Tagdh's voice was strangely void of emotion considering the gruesome news he shared.

“Is there a portal there that’s been left unguarded?” Liam asked.

Eithne got up and excused herself, exchanging a look with Diarmuid. Huh. What was her deal?

“There’s one just over the Canadian border. Since Aoife was imprisoned, her folk have been running wild up there. It was just a matter of time before Aodhan caught up with them.”

Liam cleared his throat and turned away, but I could see his jaw clench. Between his reaction and Eithne’s I guessed there was more to this story than I was getting.

“Does Niamh know about the situation up there?” Liam asked, still gazing out the window.

“No, when she first came here, her father showed up in a rage. She went back to Tír na n’Óg before we had a chance to tell her,” Diarmuid said.

Liam’s head swiveled in Diarmuid’s direction. “Deaghlan was here? Does he know what’s happened with Aoife?”

Diarmuid and Tagdh both hesitated.

“He does, Liam. Breanh told the King and Queen everything.”

Liam smacked his palm on the table and muttered an oath under his breath. “Where is the fey globe now?”

“Deaghlan demanded that Niamh give it to him.”

Liam swore, louder this time. “We need to go, Allison. Deaghlan is Aoife and Niamh’s father. If he releases Aoife, she’ll go back to Breanh. Things could go very wrong if we don’t hurry.”

Butterflies as big as helicopters filled my stomach. “Why would Deaghlan let Aoife out?” I stammered. “What about all the trouble she’s caused?”

The muscles in Liam’s jaw popped under his skin. “Deaghlan doesn’t value human life. Humans are just playthings at his disposal. I’m fairly certain he doesn’t even think Aoife has done anything wrong.”

I stared at Liam for a moment. It was like a nightmare, where no matter what you did things just got worse. How could I have lived my entire life without knowing these people existed? And now they held everything I cared about in the palms of their hands.

“If Breanh has my mother, and Aoife goes there...” I couldn’t even finish that sentence.

“Liam?” Diarmuid asked. “What will you do?”

“We’re going to Tír na n’Óg to get Allison’s mother before something terrible happens to her.”

Diarmuid and Tagdh rose gracefully from their seats. “We’ve been given specific orders not to allow you to enter the portal.”

“I don’t understand,” Liam said, looking between the two men. Both stared back blankly.

My heart plummeted at their grave expressions, and I knew that we would not get past them without a fight. They were stronger and faster, and who knew what kind of magic they were capable of. It wouldn’t be a fair fight. And judging by Liam’s frown, he knew it, too.

I stared down at the table, running my finger along the image of the Great Lakes. Why would Niamh forbid Liam to go through the portal? I’d been wary of her before, but I didn’t think she would purposely keep Liam from being able to help find my mother.

“Maybe it’s best this way,” I said, pushing up from the table.

At any other moment, I’d have paid money to see the incredulous look on Liam’s face. But the beginning of a plan had taken root in my mind. And in order for it to work we needed to hurry.

I stood up and walked straight out the door without another word.

I counted my steps as I walked away from Niamh’s house. Frustration and panic boiled inside me, but I needed to keep calm. I stopped walking when I realized Liam wasn’t with me.

I was not going back in there. The Danaans were lovely to look at, but their behavior was not normal. It was as if they were made of stone, incapable of emotion.

Minutes passed and Liam still hadn’t come out. I paced back and forth in the field, willing myself not to panic. When the front door slammed, I turned to see my father at my side in an instant, his expression wary.

“You’re taking all of this too well,” he said, his brow furrowed.

I sighed, knowing this would be a fight. “I’ve come up with a plan.”

He stiffened. “Oh?”

“You and I are going to go find this Aodhan guy and bring him back here,” I said, nodding toward the house. “I can tell those two are at least a little afraid of him. We need someone on our side.”

“Absolutely not,” he said.

“Niamh doesn’t care about my mother,” I said. “Who knows what she’s doing now? If you want to find my mom, you’ll come with me to ask this guy for help. Otherwise, I’ll go alone.”

“You’ve only seen a handful of the Danaans, Allison. You don’t understand what you’re dealing with. Did you hear what Tagdh said in there? They’re draining the blood of humans. Aoife’s folk are involved in all sorts of forbidden magic.”

“All I care about is getting my mother home safely. Are we supposed to just sit around until Niamh comes back before we do anything?” I put a hand on my hip, acting braver than I felt. “I get that Breanh isn’t someone I can face on my own. But maybe Aodhan will help us.” I paused. “I have to do something, and if this is all I can do, I’ve got to try.”

Liam looked away from me, past the trees to the hills in the north. After a few minutes, he exhaled and looked back at me.

“I suppose you’re right. We need to do something and waiting on the whims of Niamh is not looking like much of a plan now.”

“I'm ready. Are we going to...run again?”

“I guess that was more uncomfortable for you than I expected.” He took a couple steps toward me, put his hands on my shoulders, and looked into my eyes. I stared back, and then everything went black.

A young woman with fire-truck red curls and multiple facial piercings clings tightly to a guy’s arm as they walk through a large, mirrored door. The guy is tall with black gelled spikes and tattoo-covered arms. She scans the darkness surrounding them while they walk toward an alley. He looks pleased at the way she is pressed tightly to his side.

“Tori, look, there’s nothing there. It’s okay.”

The woman pouts her full, black-painted lips and buries her face in his arm, making a low whimpering sound.

“Seriously, how many of those drinks were for you, and how many did you give Val?” he asks her, laughing.

“I’m not that drunk, Wes. I’m telling you I heard something.” She pulls away from him and smacks his arm before the heel of her black boot catches on a crack on the sidewalk, making her stumble. The guy kneels by her side as she examines the tear in her black fishnet stockings.

Without either of them noticing, two tall shapes move out of the shadow of a striped awning, heading straight toward them.

“Allison.” My eyelids fluttered open to Liam staring down at me in concern.

I took a deep breath and blinked, trying to figure out where I was. I lay in the center of a double bed, in an unfamiliar room. A motel room?

The walls were dingy white and the bedspread smelled like fabric refresher—chemicals covering unwanted body odor. There was one large window with its floral drape pulled closed. On the bedside table, a tiny lamp cast shadows on the wall, and the alarm clock flashed 12:00 in red.

“We’re in a motel in Thunder Bay,” Liam said. He was sitting on the side of my bed, looking down at me.

I sat up and stretched my arms over my head and yawned. “Did you cast a spell on me?” I asked, moving my fingers and toes, feeling a little groggy.

“No, not exactly. Mind magic doesn’t really work like that. I was able to coerce you to go to sleep.”

“All right,” I said slowly as I stood up. A horrible possibility occurred to me. “You could coerce me to do whatever you wanted?”

He looked aghast. “I suppose I could, Allison, but I wouldn’t. I still have my humanity.”

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. Did he? I sure hoped so.

“Before we left, though, I found out a little more about the situation up here,” Liam said, changing the subject.

I raised my eyebrows as I waited for him to continue.

“Aodhan is staying at a motel adjacent to a nearby crime scene.” He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and glanced up at me before continuing.

“The entire area is on alert because of a suspected serial killer. There was a group of teenagers murdered on their way home from a concert Wednesday night. Then on Friday, a bartender and his girlfriend were found completely drained of blood not far from the spot where the teenagers’ bodies had been discovered.”

I sucked in a breath. “That’s awful.” The memory of the dream I'd had of the couple out walking played in my mind.

“Yes. What they’re doing, this kind of magic, it taints them. Makes them wicked. And they don’t give a damn if they leave a mess behind.”

“What do they actually use the blood for?” I asked, not positive I wanted to know the answer.

“There are two kinds of magic the Danaans can use. One is mind magic. It is all about being able to control things with ones will. For instance, Eithne is a healer. She is able to use her mind to see what it is that ails you and reverse it. Niamh is able to use her mind to hear your thoughts and share hers.

“The other is elemental magic. It involves using outside forces. Some aspects aren’t bad, but what it sounds like Aoife’s guards are doing has been forbidden by Saoirse for a very long time. They’re taking the blood of humans and harvesting the small levels of magic in it to increase their own abilities.”

“So humans have magic in them too?”

“That's right.”

“Did Diarmuid and Tagdh tell you all this?”

“After you walked out they told me that Tagdh’s brother, Niall, is one of the guards tracking Aodhan.”

I nodded and went to get a cup of water from the tap. I took a sip and then glanced at myself in the mirror hanging by the bathroom. My hair was a disaster, and I had circles rimming my eyes. No surprise there.

Once I pulled myself together, Liam took out his cell phone and opened the door. I watched him curiously but kept quiet as I followed him outside.

The motel was like the dozens of others I’d seen in my life, with the lot butted up to a highway. We walked out to the sidewalk, and I looked around. Thunder Bay was a busy place. Cars were flying past and people rushed around, talking on cell phones or yelling to their friends. Across the street was a park littered with people playing Frisbee or walking their dogs. Beyond the park, I could see a marina that edged out into Lake Superior.

Liam’s phone snapped shut, and I looked over at him. “That was Niall. He’s about three blocks away. Let’s go.”

We walked past several businesses and apartment buildings until we came to a corner where one of the murders had taken place. Two buildings down, on the side-street, were three metal doors with mirrors on their surfaces. I looked at the reflective doors, and my jaw went slack.

The doors from the dream I’d had on our way to Thunder Bay.

A black sign above the door read Black Pirates Pub in curling, white letters.

Liam stopped walking, not noticing my preoccupation. His lips curved into a little smile. Following his gaze to a bench, I saw a man with shoulder-length chestnut hair reading a newspaper. He put the paper down and turned. As soon as he recognized Liam, the man stood and walked over to greet us.

“Liam,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder and glancing curiously at me.

“Allison, this is Niall. Without his help I may have never escaped Aoife in the first place.”

Niall smiled, clearly glad to see my father. “So, Liam, what news do you bring?”

“I’m afraid I don’t bring good news. We’ve come to find Aodhan to seek aid.”

“Good luck there, my friend,” Niall laughed.

Liam made a face. “We must at least try.”

“Have you found your lady, then?” Niall asked, looking at me.

Liam cleared his throat. “Yes, but this is actually my...daughter.” The corner of his mouth lifted.

Niall pursed his lips, as if trying not to laugh. “Indeed.”

“Have you seen Aodhan today?” I asked, pushing down my embarrassment at Niall’s amused expression. We were running out of time.

Niall shook his head, still surveying me. “He usually stays inside during the day. He’ll be coming out once it gets dark. Give him a couple hours.”

“This is the pub where the couple had last been seen Friday night,” Liam cut in, looking up at the sign.

“Yeah, I know,” I nodded.

Liam’s eyebrow quirked up. “Did you just say ‘I know’?”

“Well, yes. I had a dream about a couple walking out of there,” I said, gesturing toward the doors to the pub. I looked back at Niall as I walked toward the three metal doors at the entrance.

“Blá’s watching the back exit. We'll let you know when he comes out.” Niall said as he sat back down on the bench.

“Blá?” I asked Liam.

“Bláithín is Niall’s partner. There are always at least two guards assigned to watch Aodhan,” Liam said with a sardonic grin.

I paused before opening the door. “What?” I asked.

Niall now wore the same wry expression as Liam. “Nothing,” he said, trying to hide his grin. “It’s just that Niamh wouldn’t risk losing track of Aodhan.”

I huffed in exasperation. “If Aodhan isn't out yet, we should get something to eat, maybe ask a few questions—let’s go.”

Inside, the Black Pirate was quiet. There were a few employees setting up tables, and at the end of the long, polished bar was an easel holding a blown-up photo. I recognized them as the couple from my dream. A wreath of flowers hung on the corner, and several teddy bears and bouquets were placed nearby.

Liam and I sat at the far end of the bar. As we opened our menus, a man with a white button-down shirt approached from the other side of the mahogany.

“Good afternoon. My name’s Jack. What can I do for you?”

“I’ll just have a BLT,” I said, picking the first thing I saw on the menu. Liam ordered the same.

“Are you two here on vacation, or just passing through?” Jack asked as he took our menus.

“We’re just passing through, actually. Seems like a rough time around here, eh?” Liam said, gesturing to the easel by the bar.

Jack’s face fell. “Oh, yeah. Such a tragedy. Wes was the bartender here a couple nights a week.”

“Wow. What really happened?” Liam asked, looking hard into Jack’s eyes.

“They’re saying serial killer. Must be a real psycho,” Jack said, launching into the story of all the bodies being found drained, six altogether.

After we ate, we walked back outside, and Niall was gone.

“I guess Aodhan’s on the move.”

Liam opened his phone and typed a message. We sat on the bench and waited for Niall to respond.

Minutes passed and still nothing.

“Can we take a walk down to the water, just to look around?” I said, itching to do something.

Liam looked at me for a couple seconds, considering. “Right, let’s do that.”

We crossed over to the park and down to the marina. A light breeze blew off Lake Superior, rustling the leaves above our heads as we walked down the path. The only other sound was the occasional faint whir of traffic up on the street.

Liam walked close by my side, his eyes constantly roaming the area.

“I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me about Aodhan,” I said.

Liam coughed, looking uncomfortable. “The situation with Aodhan is...complicated.”

“Did you know him?”

“I knew him briefly. When I first arrived in Tír na n’Óg, he had just started asking about his family. He’d been there the equivalent of nearly three hundred years and had no idea. The time passes differently there, especially when you’re in thrall.”

“In thrall?” I interrupted.

“Well, yes. Aoife had me so deeply under her spell, I had no will of my own. All that mattered was her.”

“Oh, okay. Go on.”

He sighed but continued. “When I met him, he asked me about the war. As I told him, he looked at me like I was daft. The Ireland of 1602 was a far cry from the Ireland of 1888, I’m sure you can imagine.”

The park was deserted, only the long shadows of the oak trees crisscrossed the path in front of us. “We should head back, see if we can find Niall.”

I inhaled and we turned back up toward the street. “I wonder if—”

Before I had the chance to finish, a shadow moved ahead of us.

“Liam,” a tall figure said, pushing away from a tree just five yards away.

I froze on the path as the man walked down to where we stood. As he got closer, I took in his gaunt features and sunken eyes filled with malevolence.

“Stay back,” Liam hissed, pushing past me.

“Has Aoife let you off of your leash?” the stranger asked.

Something shifted in Liam’s stance, he stood straighter and tension rippled through his body.

“This is all your doing, Aengus?” Liam gestured to the city.

“How long is your mistress going to keep us locked out of Tír na n’Óg?” Aengus asked, ignoring Liam’s question.

“I don’t know anything about you being locked out. Things have been”—Liam hesitated—“out of sorts in Tír na n’Óg. You can probably thank Breanh for keeping you out.”

Liam looked back at me, but quickly realized his mistake when Aengus noticed me standing there. Before I could even try to move, Aengus appeared in front of me. He reached out and stroked my jaw with a long, bony finger.

“Ahh, and who do we have here?” he asked, his warm breath blowing in my face as his eyes raked over my skin.

Liam ran back to my side and grabbed Aengus’s hand to shove him away. I heard the metallic whoosh of a blade, and in a flash, Liam was on his knees. The color drained from his face, and I looked down to see the handle of a knife sticking out of Liam’s side.

Before Aengus’s sneer had a chance to fully form, he was knocked to the ground by a blur of silver light. I quickly figured out that the silver blur was actually a gigantic man, dressed all in black with a closely-shaved head.

Without hesitation, the man yanked Aengus’s head back by his hair and put a wicked-looking dagger to his throat. Aengus grimaced as the edge of the dagger drew a thin line across his neck.

I rushed to Liam’s side as his body went limp, and I struggled to get him down to the ground without injuring him more. He tried to speak but all he could manage was a low gurgling sound.

“Shhh,” I crooned, trying to calm him. I sat him in an upright position as I scrambled to figure out how to help him. I needed to put pressure on the wound, but the dagger was still sticking out. And I knew that if I pulled it out, it would increase the blood flow.

“Aodhan,” I heard Aengus hiss between clenched teeth. “Another pleasant surprise.”

“You like torturing the innocent, do you?” Aodhan asked as he yanked Aengus’s head back further.

“Just kill me and get it over with,” Aengus spat.

“Oh, no. That would be much too easy,” Aodhan growled as he pulled a cord out of his pocket, the dagger still held firmly to Aengus’s throat. “How do you like being tortured?”

Aodhan secured Aengus’s hands behind his back and lifted a length of steel chain from a cargo pocket at this thigh. He put the dagger between his teeth and wrapped the chain around Aengus’s throat.

Aengus groaned, and his knees buckled out from under him. Aodhan shoved him to the ground and looked up at me. I could only stare back in silence. There was something familiar about this guy.

His gaze flickered over my shoulder. “Take care of him,” he snarled.

I looked back and saw Niall approaching cautiously. His eyes remained on the sprawled form of Aengus lying face down on the pavement. Without a word, Aodhan approached us and gently lifted Liam up.

“Come on,” Aodhan said to me, his Irish accent thicker and harder to understand than Liam’s. “We need to take care of his wound.”

I nodded and followed Aodhan up the deserted street toward his motel. The bartender had told us the city had imposed a curfew, and there wasn’t a soul out now that dusk had fallen.

Aodhan’s room was on the second floor, but he carried Liam up the flight with no trouble at all. He pulled out a key card and unlocked the door, pushing it open and laying Liam on the bed.

Relief flooded through me that he wasn’t bleeding as much as I‘d feared, but his shirt was ruined.

“Get the towels from the bathroom and fill the basin with hot water,” Aodhan instructed.

When I came back with the supplies, he had Liam’s shirt off, and I could see that the dagger stuck just below his rib cage on his left side. His milky-white skin was covered in a sheen of sweat and streaked with a rivulet of blood.

“I’m going to pull this out. When I do, I want you to immediately apply the towel to the wound.”

I unfolded the towel and knelt by Liam’s side. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was shallow.

“Ready?” Aodhan said.

I nodded.

The blade made a wet, squishy sound as he pulled it out in one swift movement.

“Now.”

I applied the towel, holding the gaping wound together with as much pressure as I could.

“Good, it will only take a few minutes for the bleeding to stop. It’s not as bad as I thought.”

He walked over to the chair by the window and opened a duffel bag. Inside was a small first-aid kit.

“Should we get him to a hospital?” I asked, biting my lip.

Aodhan leveled me with his gunmetal eyes. “No, he’s just unconscious. His body is trying to heal itself.”

He walked to the window, opening the heavy drape just a crack. The muscles in his jaw were tense as he scanned the night.

“Aodhan—” I began.

Aodhan held up his hand, effectively silencing me. He turned away from the window, eyeing both me and my father thoughtfully. His gaze rested on Liam.

“I knew I recognized him…Aoife’s pet.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, but Aodhan wasn’t done.

“I’ve grown accustomed to Niamh’s minions following me all these years. But,” he said narrowing his eyes, “for the life of me, I can’t imagine what Liam would want from me.”

The way he spoke, so low and empty of emotion, filled me with cold fear. I could feel my heart pounding in the tips of my toes, like flames licking at ice.

“It was me who wanted to find you,” I said, my voice taut.

He slowly turned to me, and it was all I could do to keep from shrinking back. “What is it you want from me?”

I closed my eyes and scrounged for every shred of courage I could find. “My name is Allison, I’m Liam’s daughter,” I began.

“My mother was kidnapped by Breanh. I was hoping you could…could,” I stuttered. “ I was hoping you could help me get her back.”

“Breanh,” Aodhan said, but it came out as a low growl.

“Liam has Aoife imprisoned in a fey globe.” I stole a glance at Liam before launching into the full story.

Aodhan leaned against the wall as I spoke, not interrupting, only nodding occasionally. I told him about Niamh and Liam showing up in Stoneville and the black birds that were everywhere, always watching. I told him about the night my mother had gone missing and that Niamh had gone back to Tír na n’Óg without us, effectively shutting us out. I even told him about the dreams I’d been having for months. There was something trustworthy about him.

When I finished talking, Aodhan straightened and walked to the tiny table in the corner of the room. In one fluid motion, he pulled the dagger he’d held to Aengus’s throat from its sheath on his hip. Then, from a wooden box, he pulled a small square of red cloth with which he began to wipe the dagger.

Without turning around, Aodhan spoke, his words clipped. “Do you know where he’s taken her?”

“We’re assuming he’s taken her to Aoife’s home in Tír na n’Óg.”

There was a knock at the door, and for a second Aodhan just stared at it. He walked over to open it. Niall stood there with a tall, black-haired woman I assumed was Bláithín, his partner. His eyes flickered in to me and then Liam before resting on Aodhan’s massive chest.

“We wanted to see if Liam was okay,” Bláithín asked, running her fingers through her short, spiky hair. She, unlike Niall, obviously had no problem meeting Aodhan’s fierce look.

Aodhan stepped aside, and let them into the motel room. Bláithín hurried over to the bed and placed her hand on Liam’s cheek.

“Where’s Aengus’s dagger?” she asked, looking between Aodhan and me.

“There on the floor, just under the bed,” I whispered.

Aodhan had gone back to leaning against the wall, clearly uncomfortable with all the company.

“This dagger is steel, just like I thought,” she said, toeing it with her boot. “It looks like the tip is broken off, too.”

“Come on, Allison,” Niall said. “We’ll take you and your father back to Niamh's house in Wheelwright. He needs to see a healer to get the tip of the dagger out. Hopefully Eithne is still there.”

All three Danaans looked at me expectantly. If I went with Niamh’s guards, I’d be expected to wait on Niamh’s whim. I needed Aodhan to come, too.

I looked at him, silently praying. He hadn’t agreed to help yet.

He met my gaze. “I’ll take her,” he told the guards simply.

Bláithín walked to my motel with me to grab my bag, so that we could go back to Wheelwright. She didn’t say much; she only spoke when it couldn’t be avoided.

I caught sight of Niall and Aodhan walking toward us as we left, belongings in hand. Niall held Liam easily in his arms. They all had a silver glow to them, their glamours hiding them from the eyes of passersby. I looked over at Bláithín, and when I squinted I saw she had a glamour on as well.

“Should I put on a glamour, too?” I asked her quietly, scrunching my face at the strangeness of the question.

She laughed. “Allison, you are glamoured.”

“Oh,” I looked at my skin, and for the first time realized that I had the same glow as the others. How could that have happened without me even knowing it?

I sighed, trying to focus on our next move. I assumed we’d be running—that made the most sense, I guessed—but I wasn’t sure how I felt about being carried by Aodhan. He was so intimidating, and it had been awkward enough with my own father.

Liam looked so helpless lying in Niall’s arms, and I realized that somehow in the past few days I’d actually grown to trust him. Maybe even care about him.

Aodhan narrowed his eyes at me, and I tried to even out my features. I didn’t have a choice of who I went with, so I needed to just accept it.

“Liam made me go to sleep last time we...traveled. Do you know how to do that?” I asked.

Aodhan almost smiled. “I do. It would make it less harrowing for you, but I don’t have to do it.”

I gritted my teeth and held up my hands. “It’s fine,” I said.

With one last look at me, Niall disappeared into a run, Bláithín on his heels.

Aodhan took a step toward me, and the last thing I knew he was staring hard into my eyes.

I’m standing at the top of the Magliaro’s driveway, watching Ethan walk out his front door. He starts toward his truck but turns around, as if someone called his name.

I see myself walk out the door and over to where he’s waiting. He wraps his arm around me and gives me a gentle squeeze. But when his fingers make contact with my skin, my form wavers. It’s not me at all. It’s a tall, ivory-skinned girl with long, brown hair and sapphire eyes.

Ethan hooks his finger in hers, and her features turn back into mine as they walk together toward his truck. When he turns his back to her, the corners of her mouth turn up into a grin, wicked and predatory.

I jerked awake to find myself propped up on an old wingback chair. Aodhan knelt on the wooden floor in front of me, his thick arms held out like he was about to shake me. I wasn’t sure if his expression was fear or astonishment. He raised his eyebrows at me but didn’t say a word as he rose to his feet.

The sitting room at Niamh’s house was straight out of a museum of 18th-century living. There was a huge fireplace in front of me with a mural painted directly onto the wooden paneling above the mantel. The shelves held all manner of crockery, and on the various tables sat brass oil lamps.

I stood up slowly, wringing my hands as I walked to the window that looked out onto the barn. I could feel Aodhan watching me from the sofa across the room. I ran through the dream of Ethan in my mind, trying to make sense of it.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.

“I had one of the dreams I told you about,” I said.

I looked down at my clasped hands before continuing, “It was of a fr-friend of mine, Ethan. I saw him walking with...with me. Only, it wasn’t me. The girl he was with was glamoured to look like me.”

“Does that mean anything to you?” Aodhan asked.

“Well, I don’t know. These dreams never really make much sense,” I said.

“The Danaans don’t think like humans. You must second-guess everything. Their actions often don’t make sense, but they always do things for a reason. And if one of them has your friend, my guess would be they are trying to get your attention.”

I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I had to call and check on Ethan. To my surprise, I actually had service. But his number went straight to voice mail. That wasn’t a good sign.

I decided to try his parents’ house. His father picked up, and I asked if Ethan was home.

“No, I haven’t heard from him.” He paused. “But didn’t he leave with you not too long ago?”

My breath caught in my throat. He hadn’t left with me, but if my dream was turning out to be true, he thought he had. I had to think fast.

“Uh, yeah. He just dropped me off, and now his phone is going to voice mail,” I lied. “I can text him. Thanks, Mr. Magliaro.”

I hung up and looked over at Aodhan. “They think Ethan’s with me. I think Breanh really has taken him.”

“Eithne and Diarmuid went back through the portal a few hours before we arrived. Your father needs a healer immediately, so I’ve arranged to go with him to Tír na n’Óg to find Eithne. We’ll find your friend and bring him home, too.”

He stood and gestured for me to follow him. I exhaled, and swallowed back my fears. I had to be stronger than that. “And what am I supposed to do? Just sit here and wait?”

Aodhan didn’t answer. Instead, he led me outside, where Tagdh was opening the weathered wooden door of a flat-stoned entryway. The structure was dug into a low hillside, assembled with moss-covered stones held firmly in place by the earth surrounding them. A still unconscious Liam lay in the grass just to the left of the hill. Niall was talking in a low voice to Bláithín just a few feet away.

Tagdh turned around as we approached. He nodded respectfully at Aodhan.

Niall bent to gather Liam in his arms again, and he and Bláithín joined us at the door.

“We ready?” she asked.

“Let’s go.” Aodhan said. He nodded at me. Okay, I guess that’s my answer.

Bláithín went in first, glancing back at us as she walked. Niall ducked through next, walking sideways to keep Liam’s limbs from hitting the frame.

Inside the door, crumbling stone steps led down to a dim root cellar. The arched ceiling was made entirely of rock, and old wooden shelves lined the stone walls. Each one held dusty glass jars and bottles, some broken and lying on their sides.

An acute sense of dèja vu struck me as I looked around. This room was from one of my dreams, too. The only difference was that in my dream, Liam had been leading the way.

I turned and looked at Aodhan. He also was from my dream—the gigantic man, I was positive. He looked back at me blankly.

The room was only about fifteen feet long. At the far end, Bláithín placed her hand on the stones and blinding light filled the space. I reflexively turned away, but Niall and Bláithín walked into to the light and disappeared.

Squinting and averting my eyes to the floor, I took a deep breath and followed.

The light swallowed itself, and we appeared in a gathering room of sorts. In the center of the room was a wooden table long enough to seat ten. The edges were carved with spiraling flowers that matched the scrollwork on the chairs. The whitewashed ceiling arched up, supported by thick, knobby roots. The room itself felt wild, like a part of nature.

As I examined it, I realized that the tree that was attached had actually grown to form the room’s frame. Windows showed hints of trailing flowers in a multitude of colors just outside, and on the wall was a little alcove that held a sphere similar to the one I’d seen in my dream. I walked toward it, looking at the little shimmering ball. Inside were only bubbles that sparkled in the light.

Niall and Bláithín disappeared through a hallway in search of Eithne. No one had said it in quite as many words, but it was clearly urgent to remove the iron from his body. And judging by the pallor of his skin, the sooner the better.

Aodhan ran his finger along the flowers and looked up at me. “We need to be armed.”

I laughed, not because the need for weapons was funny, but the idea of me using a weapon was ridiculous.

“I don’t really know how to use any weapons.”

My face flared at the look he gave me, as though what I said was the most preposterous thing he’d ever heard. He smoothed his hands over his buzz-cut and gestured for me to follow him.

He led me down the same hallway the others had gone through. As I walked, I felt disoriented, as if I went through too quickly and hadn’t taken enough steps. I shook my head and looked back. The length of the hallway didn’t match the amount of time it took to get through.

We entered a room similar in size and shape to the gathering room, but instead of a table, the room had couches and cushions arranged in a circle. Against the back wall, a stone staircase curved up to a second floor. As I followed Aodhan up, I lost my equilibrium and had to hold tight to the wooden railing to stay upright. He looked back at me, his eyebrows drawn together.

I laughed at myself, but it came out more like a shaky breath. “Give me a minute, I just got a little dizzy.”

“Time and space are different in this realm,” he explained. “Your body needs a chance to adjust.”

At the top of the staircase we entered a room with bronze helmets decoratively set on stone pedestals. Aodhan walked over to kneel in front of a polished stone case. He opened it to reveal three bronze swords and two bronze daggers lying on a cushion.

“This was once Deaghlan’s weapon collection. When he and Saoirse bonded he inherited the weapons of the High Court, but there hasn’t been a need for them in a very long time.”

“Which one is Deaghlan again?” I asked. My mind swirled with all the new names to remember.

Aodhan turned and looked at me, swallowing roughly. “Niamh and Aoife’s father.”

Bláithín appeared at the doorway then. “We need to go to the Bruidhean. Eithne isn’t here.”

Aodhan rose and handed me a scabbard before sliding one of the swords into a strap across his back.

He cast a look at Bláithín.

“In English, Bruidhean means Fairy Palace,” she said. “It’s the home of the King and Queen.”

I nodded as I flipped the dagger in my hand. I wasn’t sure what I’d be able to do with it.

“You never know what they’ll do,” Aodhan said, his voice thick with disdain. “It’s best to be prepared.”

I followed them out of the room, muttering to myself. “I guess I could poke someone just as well as anyone else.”

The sky in Tír na n’Óg was bluer than I’d ever seen it at home. It was like stepping into Oz and I was Dorothy. Everything here was richer, more vibrant than I could have imagined.

Niamh’s house was built into a low hill. The windows and doors were round and merry like an oversized hobbit hole. The lush flowers I’d seen through the window covered everything, making it nearly impossible to see what the actual house was built from.

I found it hard to focus on the fact that Liam’s life was in jeopardy or that my mother and Ethan had been kidnapped by a psychotic faerie. Everything in Tír na n’Óg was mesmerizing.

The sound of the Danaan’s boots hitting the dirt directed my gaze to the dusty path they walked. I took a deep breath and quickened my steps to catch up. Rich, moist air filled my lungs leaving a sweet taste like honey on my tongue.

Movement on the side of the path caught my attention. The grass and bushes swayed, but with more of a natural grace than by a breeze or wind. I brushed my fingertips along a flowering vine that hung between two low tree branches. I gasped—I could actually feel life pulsing from not only the vine, but the tree it hung from.

It was enough to alert the others several yards ahead. Aodhan’s hand went immediately to the hilt of the sword at his back. He hurried over to me, and gave me a knowing look when he saw my fingers splayed across the vine.

“It’s a bit of a shock, no? This realm is utterly different from ours. The plants, the wild creatures, they’re all...aware.” He glanced again at where my hand had been. “They won’t harm you. They’re simply curious, I think.” He reached out his hand to stroke the delicate leaves on the vine, then titled his head toward the others. “Come on. Time to go.”

As we continued over the top of a grassy hill, I could see a valley with a sparkling river snaking through it. Beyond the river, the land was rippled with green hills, and speckled in each hill were doors and windows, similar to Niamh’s. Farther along was a steeper hill, or maybe a low, green mountain.

“It’s always just as breathtaking,” Aodhan said, quiet enough that I could just make out his words.

“Is that the br—I can’t remember what you called it.” I could feel the flush rising to my face. “Is this where the king and queen live?” I rephrased.

“Yes, that would be the Bruidhean,” Aodhan said over his shoulder. He continued walking after the others down the hillside, leading me toward god knows what.

Bláithín reached the round, wooden doors of what they called the Bruidhean first. She pulled on the bronze handle and ushered us in. Inside the doorway was an impressive entry hall. Niamh’s advisor, Diarmuid, was walking up a stone staircase that curled around the room.

At the sound of the door, he looked over his shoulder at us. He smiled, apparently not surprised to see us, until he saw Niall carrying Liam in his arms. Then he turned and hurried down to us.

“He’s been stabbed with a steel dagger,” Bláithín explained. “When the dagger was removed, a piece broke off and is still deep in the wound.”

“Follow me. Eithne is upstairs.” Diarmuid led Niall up the stairs in a flash.

Bláithín turned and put her hand up. “We should wait here. I’m sure the queen will be here soon.”

“You are quite right,” called a lilting voice from the hallway under the staircase.

The skin tightened around Aodhan’s eyes, and I looked over Bláithín’s shoulder, freezing at what I saw.

The woman from my dream.

The memory was nothing compared to reality. Dressed in a white gown embroidered with delicate green vines along the trim and waist, the queen of Tír na n’Óg was radiant. Her blonde hair was luminescent. Her skin milky white and flawless. But the most captivating thing about her was her eyes. The light made rainbows along their surfaces, like an opal.

As she came closer I started to raise my hand to touch her face, just barely stopping myself when I realized what I was doing.

“Welcome, Allison.” Saoirse’s smile drew me toward her like a flower drawn to the sun.

I couldn’t speak.

After a moment of being trapped in her stare, Saoirse looked over my shoulder.

“It’s been a while, Aodhan.”

“Yes, my lady,” Aodhan said.

Saoirse focused her smile back on me then, causing warmth and joy to radiate through my veins again.

“You’re here to see Niamh?” she asked slowly, each syllable gliding from her lips.

After a beat, Aodhan spoke, the tension thick in his voice. “We realize Niamh already came to seek your counsel in finding Allison’s mother, but Liam has been injured and needs care.”

“Yes, Niamh has explained the situation to me,” Saoirse replied, tilting her head slightly to one side. “Aoife has caused many problems.”

I blinked at Saoirse, who smiled demurely back at me.

“Why don’t we continue our talk in comfort?” Saoirse asked, walking out of the entryway without waiting for a response, her flowing gown and bell sleeves trailing behind her.

She led us into a gathering room with high ceilings, and like Niamh’s house, the palace was framed by thick roots from a tree above the hill. Blue fabric was draped along the walls, and although there were no windows, tiny spheres of light were suspended to illuminate intricately embroidered flowers and trees. The effect was like a summer day, even though we were deep in the hillside.

Saoirse folded herself onto one of the plush divans, gesturing for us to each do the same. She met my gaze and smiled, and I was lost in the strange beauty of her eyes once again.

“Tell me about your dreams, Allison.”

I licked my lips, trying to remember what dreams I was supposed to recall. “Well, sometimes I dream of things that might have happened in the past. But some of my dreams are of things that haven’t happened, at least not yet.”

Saoirse nodded, her sweet expression not changing. “You have the blood of my people. It isn’t potent, but you are gifted with the Sight.”

“I dreamed that my friend Ethan,” I started to say, but the sound of footsteps and low laughter stopped me.

Two figures entered the room. Niamh froze in the entryway, her eyes wide. My breath was stolen by the laughing figure behind her.

My mother.

My mother was laughing. But when she stopped, her sparkling green eyes followed Niamh’s gaze to where we sat. The moment our eyes met, time froze, and everything else fell away. This woman was—and yet was not—my mother.

“In Tír na n’Óg your mother is as she should be,” Saoirse murmured.

I stood and walked to my mother, even though my whole body felt numb and tingly. She drew her lips in, just like she did when she was playing the violin. She really was my mother.

“Allison,” she whispered as tears pooled in her eyes.

I felt my own tears welling as dozens of emotions buzzed around in my heart. Love, relief, awe.

Her arms came around me and I hugged her back, my own arms shaking. “I never thought…” She sniffled and laughed into my hair. “I never thought this could happen.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, pulling back to look at Niamh.

Her eyes flicked between mine and Aodhan’s. He sat completely still, staring straight ahead. The only thing that showed he wasn’t a statue was the trembling muscle in his jaw.

“I promised your father that your mother would be safe,” Niamh said. “But Breanh can read minds, like me. If I had told either of you that I was taking Elizabeth here, Breanh could have read it in your thoughts. He would have come after you, Allison.”

For the first time since I’d entered the Bruidhean, I felt the haze lift from my brain. It was quickly replaced by anger.

“But, you let us worry,” I said, inhaling deeply. “You locked us out and left us with Thunder Bay as our only hope…where Liam almost died!”

My mother gasped quietly. “Liam? He’s here?”

“He’s going to be okay, Mom,” I said, rubbing her back. “He was already healing when we brought him here.” I had no idea how true that was, but I’d spent my entire life being cautious of my mother’s fragile mental state, and it was a habit.

I took a breath and refocused on Niamh and Saoirse, Aodhan’s words sounding in my head. They don’t think like you. They’re not human.

I let it drop. “So, since both of my parents are here, can we break the geis?”

Saoirse sat calmly watching me from her perch, rubbing her finger lightly across her bottom lip. “From what I’ve seen, Aoife used a fháillan amulet infused with drops of Liam’s and Elizabeth’s blood for the geis. In order to break it, we need the amulet that binds it.”

Frustration mingled with despair in my heart. The chance to bring my mother back was so close. “Do you know where the amulet is?” I asked.

Saoirse looked into my eyes. “The amulet is hidden in Aoife’s home, but her lands have become polluted with iron and chemicals—it makes it difficult for even me to see.”

I shook my head. No. There had to be a way. “But what if I—”

“Allison,” Aodhan interrupted. “What about your friend?”

Ethan. Anger licked at my mind for becoming muddled again.

“Saoirse,” I said. “That’s another reason we’re here. I dreamed of my friend Ethan the other night, and the girl he was with was glamoured to look like me. Something wasn’t right about her—she looked at him... like a predator. And I think—”

“Perhaps we could take a walk, Allison?” Saoirse asked. “I have something I’d like to show you.”

Aodhan cut in before I’d even opened my mouth to reply. “Wherever she goes, I go.”

I didn’t want to leave my mother, not when I’d just gotten her back. But I knew in my heart that Ethan was in danger—he had actually gone off with that girl, after all—and I needed to figure out a way to get to him.

“I’ll still be here when you come back, Allison.” My mother smiled at me, the way I’d been dreaming of since I was just a little girl. “And, I’d like to see your father.”

Aodhan and I followed Saoirse through a door in the back of the hill. A stone path wound down to a lush garden nestled between the rises in the land. Trees heavily laden with fruit surrounded the garden walls, and the air smelled sweet like honeysuckle and apple blossoms, nearly making my mouth water.

Saoirse led us to the farthest end of the garden, where a sparkling stream flowed into a pool at the bottom of one of the hills. The water in the rocky pool was as clear as pure glass. Saoirse gestured for me to sit on a smooth, stone bench along the shore.

Saoirse sat down by my side, folding her slender fingers on her lap. “This is Danu’s Basin. It has been said that The Great Mother herself gained knowledge from this very pool before she traveled to The Land of Promise, Magh Mell.”

Aodhan stood in the shade of a giant tree, but I could see that his eyes were in constant motion as Saoirse and I spoke.

“You’re worried about your friend?” she asked.

“Yes, Ethan.”

“I am a Seer, but the future can change drastically with one simple decision. The visions I see in in the water, though, are absolute.”

She held up her hands, and the water in the pool began to move in a circle like a whirlpool. Mist rose from its surface, and I looked over to Saoirse who had closed her eyes. She dropped her hands down, and as they fell, the mist cleared away. On the smooth surface of the water I could now see Ethan, walking into a room of six beautiful women. He was wearing only his jeans, and his eyes were dull, his smile bemused.

The woman I recognized from my dream led him to a low bed where the others all sat, laughing and smiling at him. They crawled on all fours to get closer to him, their cold, bright eyes filled with lust and something else I couldn’t decipher. They reached out with greedy fingers to touch him and stroke his skin. So many voices were speaking, too fast to understand what they were saying.

I closed my eyes, trembling with hurt and shock.

“She’s seen enough,” Aodhan said from his place under the tree.

Saoirse raised her hands, and the mist reappeared. When she folded them back in her lap, we were once again looking at the clear pool.

I shook my head. “What was that?”

“That was Aoife’s home. It appears that Breanh has provided himself with a new bargaining chip. Since your mother disappeared, he must be holding Ethan in exchange for Aoife.”

“But, I can’t give him Aoife. I don’t even know where she is.”

“No, it is for the best if she remains in the fey globe for now,” Saoirse agreed.

“Who were they? And why were they doing that to him?” I asked. Despite the erotic way they touched him, there was something twisted and wrong in their eyes. Hot anger—and a bit of jealousy—shot through me. If they hurt him…

Saoirse closed her eyes and sat still and silent. When she reopened them, she looked into my eyes. “You must go to Breanh. You are the one who must save Ethan.”

I looked up at Aodhan who remained impassive. My heart was forming ice crystals as I tried to understand what all of this meant. “Has what I saw already happened?”

Saoirse shook her head. “No, there is still time. But if this plays out, Ethan will become enthralled to whoever he is intimate with.”

I ground my teeth together, trying to keep the anger at bay.

“Don’t tell me you’re having a party without me?” an unfamiliar voice said from the path.

I looked over my shoulder to see a man walking toward us. He smiled as he approached Saoirse. Like all of the Danaans, he was stunning. His hair was glossy black, his jawline pale and chiseled. When he smiled, it was smooth and rich, like butter on freshly baked bread.

“Deaghlan, this is Allison,” Saoirse said, her lips forming an enigmatic smile.

When I met his curious blue lapis eyes, longing coursed through my veins. Somewhere deep in my mind I knew that looking into someone’s eyes shouldn’t cause me to come undone like this, but my body wasn’t listening to the tiny voice in my mind. When he reached for my hand, I only stared at it for a minute before realizing I was supposed to give it to him. When he grinned at me, it was like he had a secret and he liked it that way.

“Surely she isn’t just a human,” Deaghlan said.

Saoirse smiled. “You sense the mark of our people on her, too?”

Deaghlan waved his hands dismissively, but didn’t take his eyes off me. Something in the way he had scoffed at my being “just a human” caused the fog in my head to clear.

“As much as I enjoy being the topic of this discussion, I need to go to find Ethan.”

Then I noticed the way Aodhan stood, so rigid with tension he might snap. “Right. We appreciate your help, Saoirse, and we’ll return this way when our business is through.”

“Aodhan! I didn’t see you there,” Deaghlan exclaimed. “Don’t leave on my account. I meant no offense to the girl.”

Aodhan’s calm facade stayed firmly in place. “Of course not. But Allison and I really must be going.”

Aodhan walked down the little hill and grabbed my elbow, a bit forcefully.

“Surely you aren’t leaving before the night rains? I insist you join us for food and drink and wait to leave until the first light of day,” Deaghlan said. He smirked as he looked at Aodhan, but his tone was commanding.

I opened my mouth to argue, but the look on Aodhan’s face made me shut it immediately. His expression said no one argued with the king of Tír na n’Óg.

I couldn’t decide what the texture was like, exactly. It felt smooth, like silk, but it was soft and comfortable like cotton. The way it hugged my skin was something like spandex, but it was flattering in a way that spandex could never be. The dress fit me so perfectly, like it had been made just for me. The color was a glacier blue, precisely the same shade as my eyes.

I shook my head, trying to get my thoughts to refocus. For the moment, my parents were safe. My mother had not returned from her reunion with Liam. I desperately wanted to know how he was, but no one would tell me anything.

“He’s like a wolf,” Aodhan muttered from where he sat at my side. His gaze flickered around the gathering room, constantly vigilant.

“Hmm?” I asked, wondering if he was even speaking to me.

“At one point, I worshiped Deaghlan. He seemed so strong when I first met him.”

I followed his gaze to where Deaghlan stood among a group of other Danaans.

“Don’t let him fool you. Don’t think for a second that he doesn’t see every move you make.”

“You really do hate them, don’t you?” I asked, knowing I was crossing some unspoken line but not letting it stop me.

“I won’t let myself care about them enough to hate them,” he said, leaning back. He crossed his arms and went back to scanning the room.

Beautiful men and women were scattered around, laughing and dancing, eating and drinking. The women wore dresses similar to mine, floating in flowing jewel-toned gowns of sapphire, amethyst, and emerald. The men wore embroidered tunics in earth tones of moss, bark, and sand with pants tucked into their boots.

Lights twinkled from the spheres high in the ceiling, sparkling off silver chalices and platters as the sounds of laughter and music mingled in my mind with the scent of ripe fruit and fresh cream. Plates were piled with scones topped with berries ripe enough to burst, and the silver cups were full of a shimmering golden liquid. My senses were overwhelmed—I felt dizzy trying to take in the extravagance of this world.

When a plate and cup were placed on the table in front of me, Aodhan leaned in to speak in my ear. “Eat only what you must, and drink very little. You don’t want to get a taste for their food; you’ll never want to eat human food again.”

I stared longingly at my plate, and a voice spoke from behind me.

“I hope you don’t think I’m rude, Allison,” Deaghlan said smoothly, taking the chair on my other side.

He chuckled at my startled expression. I wanted so badly to be annoyed by his smugness, but his eyes were so deep and so blue that I couldn’t look away.

“You’re my guest, and I haven’t paid you any attention,” he went on.

I pulled my eyes away and focused on the bowls of flowers in the center of the table. “No,” I answered, trying to put an edge in my voice. “I don’t even want to be here, so it doesn’t matter.”

Deaghlan laughed again, and I knew it was because rather than sounding firm, my words came out shaky.

“You’ll need to eat and get some sleep so that you’ll be of use to your friend, Allison.”

The way he said my name caused a shiver to pass through me. I stared down at Aodhan’s fisted hands as they rested on the table. The muscles in his forearms were taut, showing how he reacted to Deaghlan’s presence.

Aodhan’s face was impassive as ever, but for a moment, I noticed how he watched Niamh across the table. The fire in his eyes skirted between hatred and longing, but as if he sensed me watching him, he went back to scanning the room.

I needed to get myself away from Deaghlan if I were to be able to think straight. He was too beautiful, painfully so. When I looked at him, every thought I had about my parents and Ethan scattered and all I could do was drown in his eyes. This attraction to Deaghlan and Saoirse, all of the Danaans, was unnatural. But I only realized what was happening when they weren’t speaking to me.

And I had more important things to worry about. I needed to come up with a way to see Liam and my mother, and save Ethan. And Aodhan was right—not just Deaghlan, but all of the Danaans were watching every single move I made.

“I need a moment,” I told no one in particular. “I need a woman’s moment,” I said hoping this was enough to keep them from asking any questions.

Deaghlan smoothed the sleeves of his tunic, only the slightest touch uncomfortable with my words. “Eithne,” he called out, and the girl I’d met in Wheelwright appeared immediately at his side.

He looked up at her charmingly. “Allison needs assistance. You’ll take care of her, won’t you?”

Eithne bowed her head at him, and I rose quickly to follow her out of the gathering room. She didn’t meet my eyes as she led me away, which made me uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I felt like she was afraid of me.

“Eithne,” I said quietly, stopping as I walked through the entryway with the stone staircase. She stopped in front of me, her sandy-colored hair forming a curtain around her face.

“Is my...is Liam going to be okay?” I asked.

She turned partially around, peeking up at me from behind her feathery lashes. “Liam is going to be fine. He had a shard of iron in his wound, which has been removed. He will sleep for another day before his body is healed. And Niall took the iron out of Tír na n’Óg before it did any more damage.”

I nodded, and she led me up the stone steps and down a hallway lit with the mysterious little balls of light—fey lights, I’d learned they were called. A few doors were closed along each wall, and at the end, another set of steps curved up to another floor. As I climbed the steps, a shifting feeling stopped me. I leaned against the cool stones and squeezed my eyes shut.

Eithne was watching me warily when I opened them. I laughed quietly, trying to regain my equilibrium. Breathing through my nose, I continued to the top. I followed her into a room to the right of the landing where stone basins lined the wall on one side and three curtains covered what looked like alcoves carved into the stone of the other.

“Wait, I don’t really need to use the ladies room. I’m sorry,” I said. I should’ve said something sooner. “I really wanted to see Liam. Please take me to see him?” I asked, hoping she could see how important it was by my expression.

“Very well,” she said, and I almost asked her to repeat herself. It seemed too easy.

“Eithne?”

She continued averting her eyes. “Yes?”

“Have I done something to make you uncomfortable?”

She met my eyes. I could see that she was afraid of something, but I couldn’t tell what.

“If Aoife finds out that I’ve helped you...” she trailed off.

“Aoife? What does Aoife have to do with me?”

Eithne’s eyebrows shot up, and a little sound escaped her lips. “I’m not sure what you know about how Liam and I met…”

“I don’t know anything about it,” I said even though Liam had mentioned something about it. My interest was piqued by what Eithne would tell me.

“Well”—she looked around nervously—“I was once Aoife’s handmaiden. When she would leave Tír na n’Óg it was my duty to take care of Liam. I am her cousin, and I was the only one she felt she could trust, you see.

“I helped him when I could. He would go back into the human realm, and I would sneak him back without Aoife’s notice. But one day, she felt I’d betrayed her. I knew too many of her secrets, she said, and she banished me to the human realm.”

I gaped at her. Niamh had told me that Aoife was known for her temper, but I wasn’t sure how Aoife could hurt her now.

“Liam and Niamh have imprisoned Aoife, though,” I said.

She nodded. “Yes, but there are eyes everywhere. Deaghlan won’t allow her to stay in the sphere for much longer, and when she finds out you’re here, and that I’ve helped you...”

“Is it because I’m Liam’s daughter that you think she’ll be angry?”

Eithne’s eyes widened in fear. “I can’t say anymore, Allison. Please.”

“Wait,” I said, holding my hands up, trying to placate her. There was something I was missing. I needed to figure out what Eithne was so afraid of.

“Why will Aoife be so angry?” I asked again, begging her to confide in me.

“Because she made me keep your existence a secret. I don’t know how Liam and Niamh tracked you, but when Aoife finds out, I know I’ll pay for it.”

“But you weren’t the one who told them about me. Everyone knows that.”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. When I hid you for her, I was so careful. I never understood how she could give away such a beautiful creature, but she detested you. Liam didn’t even know about you, but she was seething with jealousy over a harmless baby girl—”

“I’m not following,” I interrupted. “What do you mean you hid me? I didn’t think Aoife even knew about me. Niamh and Liam didn’t know about me when they showed up looking for my mother.”

“Your mother?” Eithne said, tilting her head to one side.

I got the distinct feeling we were talking about two completely different scenarios, but I had no idea how to untangle the threads of the story she’d just told me.

“Yes. Liam came to my grandparents’ house looking for my mother, Elizabeth—”

If Eithne’s expression could have become more horrified, it did then. “Elizabeth is your mother?” she asked slowly, some of her confusion disappearing.

“Uh, yes.” I said, shaking my head. “You’ve lost me again.”

“Oh, Allison,” she muttered, covering her face in her hands. “Please, forget what I’ve told you. It is best for everyone if you pretend we hadn’t spoken.”

Eithne clearly thought I was someone else. From the sound of things, she thought Aoife was my mother. I shook my head. I needed to calm her down.

I put my hand on her shoulder until she uncovered her face and looked at me. “I don’t know who you think I am, Eithne, but right now I have to see my father. Can you take me to him? Please?”

Her face relaxed a fraction and she nodded. “Follow me.”

Liam lay in a bed motionless, covered with soft blankets pulled up to his chest. His eyes were closed, but he’d regained his normal coloring. He looked like he was just sleeping soundly.

My mother sat in a chair that had been pulled up right next to the bed. She gazed down at him, her face a collage of different emotions. The strongest by far was love.

I sat on the arm of the chair and placed my hand slowly on her shoulder. When she looked up at me, she smiled again, her eyes reflecting the light like sea glass in the sun.

“I never dreamed we would all be in the same room, Allison. It was too much to hope for.” She lifted her hand to Liam’s face but wasn’t able to break through the geis to touch him.

“Were you aware of everything that went on around you? All of this time?” I asked, not sure if she would know what I meant.

“Yes,” she whispered, pain evident on her face. “It has been like being stuck in a room while I watched your life unfold on a television. All of this time I’ve been trapped in my own mind, screaming, but nobody could hear me.”

“Oh, Mom…once Ethan is safe, I’m going to figure out how to make this right.”

“Allison, you should return before they notice you are missing,” Aodhan said, appearing in the doorway.

I smiled at my mother and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back soon.”

Aodhan brought me back to the gathering room where most of the Danaans were now dancing in the center of the room. Deaghlan sat at the head of the table with Saoirse, both leaning back in their chairs watching the dancers.

They were dancing closer than before, more intimately. Their bodies pressed tightly together, moving with each other. As the music played on, they changed partners and entwined their bodies with no shame or self-consciousness. Liam told me that, by nature, the Danaans weren’t a monogamous race. Some had a bondmate, like Diarmuid and Eithne, but they considered intimacy something that wasn’t restricted to any one individual.

Aodhan and I went back to our seats, and I wondered how much more time I had to spend here before it was considered polite to go to the bedroom that awaited me. The morning couldn’t come soon enough. The panic was setting in, and I was forced to have faith in Saoirse’s visions that I would get to Ethan before any permanent damage was done.

“Perhaps a dance would take your mind off of your friend?” Deaghlan appeared at my side, startling me.

I shook my head, refusing to look up into those eyes. “I think it’s time for me to get some sleep,” I said, watching the way Niamh stared at Aodhan over the shoulder of her dance partner.

For a moment, Deaghlan didn’t respond. “Would you like an escort?” he asked, his words smooth and tantalizing like honey, but with a touch of something sharper.

Aodhan snorted softly. “It’s no trouble for me to take her to her room. I’ll be going too.”

“Very well,” Deaghlan responded.

I was more than a little afraid of the unhappiness of his tone.

Gram sits on the couch, her hair pulled back in a bun that’s coming undone. Her eyes are downcast, and she’s holding a picture of my mother in her hands, worrying the edges with her fingers.

I can see Pop is sitting in the kitchen, staring off into space as Aunt Jessie tries to talk to him. His eyes look sunken in, his skin so pale. His eyebrows knit together, and he closes his eyes tight. His hand flies to his chest and Aunt Jessie shouts at him, asking him what’s wrong. His eyes slacken, and his mouth opens as he starts to slip out of the chair.

I woke with a start. The bed was so comfortable, but I knew I wasn’t at home. Memories began flooding back to me. I was in Tír na n’Óg. Liam had been stabbed. My mother was herself, if only temporarily. And Ethan was captured by sadistic faeries who wanted to do all kinds of bad things to him.

Then, the memory of the dream hit me: my grandfather was having a heart attack.

I jumped up out of the bed, just as Niamh walked into the room. Her expression wasn’t the typical haughty one I was used to. She looked like she had something to tell me.

“I saw your dream,” she began.

“Oh?” I asked as grabbed my clothes off the table next to my bed.

“Not all of your visions will come true, you know.”

I froze after popping my shirt over my head. “That hasn’t happened?” I asked.

Niamh shook her head. A huge weight lifted off of my shoulders. That meant I might still have time.

“Now I just need to get Ethan away from the seductress fairies at Aoife’s brothel or whatever it is, we can figure out what is needed to break the geis, and we can all go home,” I said, yanking a sock onto my foot. Frustration was setting in—I was surprised I hadn’t snapped sooner.

“Don’t worry about your grandfather, Allison. My mother has sent decoys to take your place while you’re here.”

“What do you mean by decoys?” I asked, scrunching my face around the word.

“Two of my handmaidens and one of my guards are glamoured to pass as you, Ethan, and your mother.”

I stared at her for a second, unsure how to respond.

She huffed a little and waved dismissively. “We have to keep up appearances. I know it feels like you’ve only been in Tír na n’Óg for a single day, but in your world it’s been about three weeks.”

I shook my head and stood. “Aodhan mentioned the time difference. That is so bizarre.”

“Maybe, but it’s true.”

As she was speaking, I caught a glimpse of Aodhan standing just outside the doorway. Before last night I might not have picked up on the pinprick of emotion in his eyes as he watched Niamh. As it was, I wasn’t sure I was reading the whole situation correctly, but something was there.

“We should be going,” Aodhan said firmly. Any emotion I thought I’d seen burned away as fast as it had appeared. Niamh gave me a tiny nod and quietly slipped past him.

“We’ve been given provisions to last two days,” he said without another look at Niamh.

His face screwed up as he muttered under his breath, “However long that really is.”

I’d never really been able to achieve comfortable silence with anyone other than my family before. For whatever reason, people feel this innate need to fill the silence with meaningless chatter, but Aodhan led me down the hill quietly. I wasn’t sure exactly why he hadn’t offered to run, but I had a feeling it was because he needed some time to think too.

Seeing my mother the way I’d always heard her described—smiling and radiant—had been one of the best moments of my life. Leaving her so soon was hard, especially after learning that as soon as we set foot out of Tír na n’Óg she’d go back to the way I’d always known her.

The memories of Ethan with all of those women and what they could do to him burned my eyelids. I couldn’t let him become like my mother. His family would be devastated, and I still had a chance to prevent it from happening. I didn’t know how, but Saoirse’s words made me hopeful that she had seen a future in which I’d saved Ethan.

I heard chattering then as I walked past a smattering of ash trees. On a low branch, a squirrel watched me with intelligent eyes. I thought of how Aodhan had said the vines were curious about me. Apparently, this critter was also.

Aodhan walked several paces ahead, tense and alert to every sound and movement. The way he moved reminded me of a panther. I wondered if he had always been this agile, or if it was the effect of being in Tír na n’Óg for so long.

“Aodhan,” I called ahead.

He stopped and turned. “Aye?” he asked.

“I was just wondering what your gift is?” All the Danaans had some kind of ability, but he hadn’t mentioned his yet.

He snorted, turning his head away. “My gift,” he muttered as he started walking again.

“Sorry,” I said, embarrassed for having brought it up.

“I suppose the gift you speak of would be my strength. I’m stronger than most of the others, faster probably, too.” He slowed his pace so that we were walking side by side.

I nodded, but he wasn’t done.

“I can do a little of everything they can do, I think. I can use glamour to stay hidden—so that would be the mind control. And I can sometimes, but not often, move things with my thoughts. It’s sort of like singing. Anyone can sing, some just do it better than others.”

To hear him speak openly like that was surprising and wonderful. He had such a deep accent, too. I wondered what his life had been like growing up in Ireland so long ago. And what had made him decide to come with me.

“You want to know why I agreed to help you,” he said as he rubbed one hand across the fuzz growing on his chin.

I laughed nervously. “Did you read my mind?”

Enough time passed that I didn’t think he would continue, but he surprised me again.

“I had a family once,” he began, looking over at me. “Three brothers, two sisters. My father was the chieftain of our clan. I spent most of my life dreaming of ways to make the English pay for what they were doing to my country.

“We fought for our freedom, but in the end we were forced to leave our home, made to flee like thieves in the night. Once my family had made it to safety, I took one last sweep of our camp. I vaguely remember being shot in the back,” he closed his eyes, remembering. “I can still see the English scum spitting on me as I lay face-down in the mud. All I could do was lay there and wait to die.

“After the English left, I heard a voice whispering in my mind. I opened my eyes, and Niamh was there. In that moment I forgot about pain, forgot about my family. There was only her.

“By the time I met Liam, hundreds of years had passed. Everyone I’d ever known was dead and gone.” He shook his head slowly. “It hadn’t even occurred to me to care.”

I didn’t say anything in response—no words would be enough.

“There’s a stream just ahead, we should stop for a drink.” Aodhan started off the path, and I followed, my heart aching for all that he’d lost.

Everything in Tír na n’Óg felt like it was the way nature intended: bright blue sky during the day, soft misty rain at night. The grass was a lush green carpet rolling over the hills and smoothing out over the plains. Flowers and fruit grew everywhere you looked, all bursting with color and crisp fragrance.

But when we came to a wall of twisting brambles, it didn’t feel anything like the beauty I’d seen so far. There was a sense of foreboding seeping out of the thorny vines.

“I don’t remember this being here,” Aodhan said as he paced the wall, looking for a way through. He attempted to loosen the snarled vines, but they wouldn’t budge. He pulled a dagger out of his belt and began sawing at it.

“It’s tedious,” he said. “But these vines are immovable, and I can’t see another way through.”

I slid the dagger out of the scabbard that hung on my hip. The vines felt like dry bones rattling together as I cut them away. The thorns bit at my skin, and the smell coming out of the vines caused black dots to blur my vision, but I kept hacking away.

Aodhan cut a small path ahead, and I struggled to keep up with him. Thorns snagged my sleeves, and I wrestled the dagger through to free them. My hands were sliced and stinging, and when I looked up Aodhan was moving farther and farther away from me.

I willed my feet to move faster and stumbled forward. I landed hard on the thorny ground. My vision swam, and I squeezed my eyes closed.

“Aodhan,” I gasped, but there was no response.

Panic blossomed in my chest. I had to keep moving forward. I needed to find Aodhan. But my joints were locking up, making it difficult to do anything more than draw ragged breaths. I tried calling out to him again, but my voice came out as little more than a croak. I couldn’t let it end like this, curled up in a web of brittle vines and thorns.

As I finished that thought, I heard a low moan come from ahead. I pushed my leaden legs up from beneath me, moving as best I could toward the sound.

When I found Aodhan, he was tangled in a mass of coiled vines. His arms and face were sliced open even worse than mine, and his bloody lips were parted. I knelt beside him, carefully cutting away the vines that ensnared him. It was like trying to cut down an oak tree with a butter knife.

I could feel him watching me as I worked, and after a few minutes, he became more coherent and wriggled his arms free.

“Get back,” he whispered. I scrambled away as he tore himself free of the net of branches and vines.

I leaned back on my elbows and inhaled the sickly sweet air. The edge of the thorny forest was only twenty feet away.

I started to tell Aodhan how close we were, but he didn’t give me a chance. “Come on,” he said, holding out his bloody hand to help me to my feet. “It’s time.”

Beyond the briars and thorns, the ground was covered in dry, brown grass that crackled when we walked over it. Trees with no leaves dotted the landscape, their limbs reaching up to the sky in a silent plea for mercy. The ground turned rockier, and the trees were replaced by stout bushes that resembled steel wool.

The sun was hot and unforgiving in the jaundiced yellow sky, but we didn’t even stop for a drink. The scent of salty sea air mixed with sulfur got stronger the farther we walked. We came to the edge of a steep cliff before Aodhan spoke again. His voice was barely audible over the crash of waves below.

“The entrance to Aoife’s house is on the face of this cliff. The path is steep, so stay alert.”

I looked over the ledge and down the narrow path, the wind whipping strands of hair in my eyes. I saw the gaping mouth of a cave halfway down to the rocky shore. Aoife had chosen the perfect place to live if she didn’t want visitors.

I followed close on Aodhan’s heels. As I walked, I leaned my body into the rocky wall.

When we reached the cave, I could only see about five feet inside before the path was swallowed up by darkness. Aodhan walked in, and after three steps, a chain of fey lights blinked on in a domino effect, lighting the cavern within.

I hurried after him. The cave entrance was charcoal gray and smooth, but as we walked deeper inside, we came to a corridor carved with intricate scrollwork, like trees with long curly-cue branches. The corridor came to an end with two crescent-shaped wooden doors. Aodhan opened one side with no trouble—we must be expected. I shivered at the thought.

Inside was a high-ceilinged entryway, lit by dozens of fey lights lining the walls. Beautiful spiral designs were carved into every surface. It didn’t smell like the sea in here; there wasn’t really a smell at all, just clean air. But it was quiet, and each step we took felt like the beat of an ominous drum.

Three doors led out of the entryway. I looked over at Aodhan for instruction, and he headed for the one directly in front of us.

A gasp escaped my lips as we entered the room. I remembered this place from my dream of Liam and Aoife. A man sat casually across the room—the same one I had dreamed of standing there with a black bird on his arm, smirking at me.

Breanh.

“Welcome, Allison. I’m so pleased you came,” he said, a wicked grin spreading across his features. His black hair was shoulder length, framing his angular face.

At first I couldn’t think of anything to say. I just stared at him until I sensed how much he enjoyed my discomfort. I looked up at Aodhan, but he just stared blankly at Breanh.

“Where’s Ethan?” I asked, my voice as firm as I could make it.

“Oh, Ethan is fine. More than fine, you might say.” The look of delight on his face increased as he spoke. Breanh took a step toward us, and I shrunk back, which only seemed to add to his pleasure.

“I must tell you…I’m impressed you made it through those nasty vines. They tend to be such a problem,” he said with mock sincerity. “It’s just too bad Aodhan wasn’t so lucky.”

Before I could say aloud that this guy was a total lunatic, Aodhan’s form wavered beside me. I came close to screaming when I realized the man by my side was not Aodhan at all, but a complete stranger wearing a glamour.

Icy cold panic ran through me as Breanh looked on with another cruel smirk.

“What have you done with him?” I whispered.

He leaned forward on the balls of his feet, as though he was savoring my fear. “Aodhan took a terrible fall into a pit below the vines. I do hope he’ll make it out soon. I’d love to see him.”

“You’re a monster.” I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus on the fact that Aodhan was still alive. I needed to find Ethan before he was completely enthralled by any of those women, then I would somehow find Aodhan in the thorny vines.

“This doesn’t have to be painful, Allison,” he said, speaking each word slowly.

“I just want to bring Ethan home,” I said, hating the way my voice sounded so small.

“Of course you do.” His words dripped with false sympathy. “And you will have him just as soon as Aoife is returned here.”

“You think I know where Aoife is? Last I knew, Liam and Niamh captured her in a fey globe and gave it to Deaghlan.”

With a flick of Breanh’s wrist a curtain at the opposite end of the room lifted. “I believe you can be persuaded to find out more.”

Behind the curtain, my nightmare came to life. On a low bed covered with silky sheets lay Ethan. Tangled up in his limbs were the women from my dream. They all ran their hands along his naked body, making sounds of lust and longing. His eyes were closed, and his lips were parted as they kissed his arms and stroked his thighs.

The girl who had been glamoured as me ran her tongue from his navel to his clavicle and turned her head to smirk at me.

My knees went weak, and I held onto the wall to keep my balance. If he slept with one of them—I shuddered at the thought—he’d end up addicted to her, the way my mother was addicted to my father. He could end up schizophrenic, too, or worse. The room grew hotter as I struggled to breathe.

“As you can see, Ethan is a bit preoccupied. I’m sure while we wait, you and I can come to an arrangement of some sort.”

“Ethan!” I shouted, my chest starting to heave in panic. “Ethan, look at me!”

Breanh laughed, slowly clapping his hands. Ethan didn’t open his eyes but rolled his head back as the women continued nipping and tasting his skin.

Unable to watch anymore, I ran toward the bed. “Ethan, listen to me!”

Before I made it halfway, Breanh grabbed me. He chuckled in my ear as he gripped my neck. “You actually think Ethan would prefer you?” He laughed. “I can be very patient, Allison. And you have no idea how much I will enjoy getting you to cooperate.”

The sound of footsteps behind us surprised Breanh. He turned around, taking me with him.

“Just what do you have in mind, Breanh?” The woman standing there had her eyebrow arched up over one of her bright azure eyes as she waited for a response. Her black hair was loose and cascaded over the shoulders of her deep navy gown. At the base of her throat was a silver amulet on a delicate silver chain.

Breanh’s hold on me loosened, and I sucked in a deep breath.

“Aoife. You’re here at last,” he crooned to her.

“Answer the question,” she said, not moving.

“I would do anything to get you back where you belong, of course.”

“I see,” she said coldly. “Then let her go.”

Breanh’s arms fell to his sides. Without pausing to consider what was happening, I ran to Ethan. He lay alone on the bed now—the females had apparently scattered when Aoife arrived. His head was on a pillow, and his eyes were closed. Fingers trembling, I pulled the sheet up to cover his body before turning back to Breanh and Aoife.

“Aoife,” Breanh began, glancing over to where I sat.

“Don’t,” Aoife cut him off. “How could you bring her here?” She flung her hand toward me.

Breanh’s eyes widened as he struggled to answer her. “I-I told you I would have done anything...”

“The last thing I want is for Liam to know about her,” she said.

“But…” The glare she shot him silenced him.

I secretly enjoyed watching as Breanh transformed from a ruthless brute to a whimpering coward as Aoife paced in a slow circle around him.

“Every time the responsibility to take charge falls on you, you create more problems than you started with. First with Liam and the human, then with the imbeciles in Canada.” She shook her head and came to a stop directly behind him.

Breanh swallowed hard and waited for her to continue. Aoife moved in closer to him, standing flush against his back, and trailed one finger up his arm. His eyes fluttered as he inhaled a shaky breath.

“If Liam finds out he has a daughter, do you know what that means?”

“But, I didn’t—”

She tapped his chest with her finger. “Answer the question.”

Breanh inhaled as she trailed her hand from his pectoral muscles down to his abdomen.

“It means I lose everything,” she whispered. “Again.”

Breanh let out a grunt and swayed on his feet for a moment before collapsing into a heap on the floor. Sticking out of his back was the jeweled hilt of a dagger.

I squeezed my eyes shut, once again grasping in my mind for a way out of my current predicament. I was within an arm’s length of Ethan, although he was still in some eerie lust-filled oblivion, and Aodhan was trapped in a forest of vines and thorns.

Aoife sidestepped Breanh and walked over to the bed where I sat beside Ethan’s still form. She tapped her lip thoughtfully and narrowed her eyes.

“You will be easy enough to get rid of. Provided we have no more problems.”

I didn’t think she was actually speaking to me, but rather thinking out loud. I stood, hoping that I looked braver than I felt. I clasped my hands behind my back to hide the trembling.

“How did you get out of the fey globe?” I asked, struggling to keep my composure.

Her eyebrow arched again. “It seems my mother doesn’t subscribe to the whole imprison Aoife plan.”

“Saoirse let you go?” That made no sense. Why would Saoirse let Aoife just go free? She’d admitted to the trouble her daughter caused and the harm it did.

“Tell me where Liam is”—with a frustrated huff, Aoife’s eyes flickered to Ethan—“and I won’t harm a hair on this boy’s pretty little head.”

“Liam is lying in a bed unconscious right now because one of your crazy guards stabbed him with an iron blade.”

A flash of concern showed in her eyes before she rearranged her features into a coy smile.

“I must admit, Samantha…this is an exquisite human you’ve got here,” Aoife said as she ran her eyes down Ethan’s exposed chest.

“Samantha?” I asked. “Who’s Samantha?”

Her eyes darted to mine. “Isn’t that what the humans named you?”

“My name is Allison.”

“Hmm, no matter.” Aoife blinked. “Come, we must get you back home to Thunder Bay before Liam wakes up. I’ll deal with him then.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“I need you out of Tír na n’Óg before Liam wakes up. Breanh was a fool for bringing you here, but once you’re back in Thunder Bay I can straighten everything out.”

“Straighten what out?” I asked. “I don’t understand.”

“I have lost the upper hand with Liam. He can’t find out about you, too. Humans are sentimental about their children. He’ll wonder why I never told him about you.” She waved her hand dismissively.

A faint buzz began in my ears at her words. I could hear Eithne sobbing that I must forget everything she had said, and then it all clicked. Aoife had given birth to Liam’s child. Another child. And, like Eithne, Aoife thought I was her.

A pinpoint of hope ignited in my heart as I looked at Aoife’s waiting expression. “I don’t live in Thunder Bay. I’m not your daughter, either. My mother is Elizabeth. And she is with Liam right now, nursing him back to health.”

Just as her lips parted in understanding, Aoife grabbed me by the throat. I struggled against her, but she had a firm grip as she pulled me to her face.

“I will enjoy killing you, then.”

I tried to speak, but her fingers were crushing my windpipe. Frantically, I fumbled along my belt for my dagger. Stars were dancing in front of my eyes as I pulled it out of the sheath and, with all my strength, stabbed it into her side.

Aoife cried out, and let go of my throat. I coughed and gasped, my lungs desperate for air. She tilted her head to one side and laughed cruelly.

“He’ll never love you if you kill his child,” I croaked. I knew it was a stretch, but I had to use her obsession with Liam against her; it was my only chance.

Indecision played across her features. “He’ll never know it was me,” she hedged.

From somewhere close I could hear the pounding of footsteps and a deep voice calling my name.

Aoife’s eyes grew wide with panic as she scanned around the room. “Who else knows you’re here?”

“Aodhan came here with me.” I barely recognized the sound of my own voice.

Aoife grabbed a fistful of my t-shirt, pulling me toward her again. “You won’t say a word of this to anyone,” she whispered, her eyes boring into mine.

I licked my lips and nodded, feeling a little strange as I watched her pupils dilate. A word, never a word to anyone.

Then, with a glance over her shoulder, Aoife disappeared.

Seconds later, Aodhan charged into the room, looking around in alarm. When his eyes settled on me, I sunk down onto the bed. The adrenaline that had been coursing through my body had fled, leaving me drained.

Aodhan looked down at Breanh lying in a heap on the floor and back up at me. I let him draw whatever conclusions he would. It was easier at that point than trying to come up with a story of my own.

“Well,” he said, a tiny smile playing at his lips as he walked over to where I sat with Ethan. “It looks like you didn’t need me after all.”

I sat in the chair like my mother had the night before to watch my father sleep. Ethan now lay in his place.

His eyes were closed, and his breaths even. There was a shadow on his cheeks. I’d never seen him with stubble before—if I didn’t know better I’d think he was just sleeping.

But I did know better.

Aodhan had carried him all the way back to the Bruidhean. He’d used mind magic to get Ethan to sleep, but the glazed expression on his face was still vivid in my memory. I forced myself not to think about the Danaan woman tracing her finger down his jawline.

Aodhan stood guard at the door while we waited for Deaghlan to come alter Ethan’s memories. It felt very wrong to let them tamper with his mind, but there wasn’t much of a choice. If we let him go back to Stoneville as he was, he’d think the women were just a dream, but he’d also be missing a three week chunk of memories. A day and half in Tír na n’Óg meant we’d missed nearly a month back home.

A dark brown curl fell over Ethan’s eye, and I reached out to smooth it back.

Saoirse and Niamh had been here a little while ago. Niamh had showed me, what had happened while we were away from reality so I could play along when we returned. Saoirse’s watery basin was pretty handy when you needed to get caught up to speed on what you’d missed in your life.

The story was that I’d found my mother sitting by the Duck Pond halfway between our house and the house Joanne had grown up in. Life had gone back to normal after that, or as normal as life can be when it’s a bunch of faeries disguised as you and the people you care about. Both Ethan and I had come down with “mono” to keep our interactions with others limited. I could just imagine all the jokes about us both coming down with the kissing disease.

Pop had spent a lot of time going to the doctor. He’d been feeling some discomfort in his chest, and I watched Gram tell fake-Allison that Pop would be fine, that the doctor visits were “just to be on the safe-side.”

Aodhan cleared his throat, announcing Deaghlan’s arrival and breaking me out of my thoughts.

As soon as he entered the room, Deaghlan’s eyes found mine. He walked toward me, and I couldn’t make myself look away. I could feel each step he took in my pulse as he got closer. Aodhan had said Deaghlan was like a wolf, but to me he was more like a tiger. Every move he made was a smoldering combination of intimidating and enticing.

His lips curved up, he knew exactly what he was capable of. I squeezed my eyes shut, pushing together the tiny threads of my mind that hadn’t come completely unglued.

“Allison,” Deaghlan said. His smug expression confirmed that, yes, he absolutely knew the effect he had on me.

My face screwed up into what I hoped passed as a pleasant smile. I drew my knees up under my chin and wrapped my arms around my legs. Tearing my eyes from Deaghlan wasn’t easy, but I managed to somehow focus on Ethan lying on the bed.

Deaghlan stood in front of me, and with one last smirk, he leaned over the bed and placed a hand on Ethan’s forehead. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, not making a sound.

After several minutes, he opened his eyes and stood. I glanced over at Aodhan, still standing by the door. His face was completely blank, but I didn’t miss the way his jaw stood out or that his knuckles were completely white.

“He’s done,” Deaghlan said, clasping his hands in front of his waist.

I looked down at the white tips of my sneakers. “Thanks.”

I heard the sound of footsteps as Liam walked into the room. We all watched quietly as he paced for a moment.

“Liam, what is it?” I asked, unable to keep quiet for long.

He stopped pacing and leaned against the wall. He met my eyes briefly before rubbing his hands over his face.

“Your mother is adamant about not going home. But we don’t have the amulet yet…we can’t break the geis.”

“Not going home?” I said. The rest I had already had to accept.

“She’s panicking about going back to the way she was. I can’t even talk to her.”

I dropped my feet to the floor and stood, not even looking in Deaghlan’s direction. “Where is she?”

“In the gardens,” Liam said. “But Allison, once we get her home safely, I’ll figure out how to break the geis. I will. This will all be over soon.”

Something cold trickled down my spinal cord. “To break the geis,” I said,“we need Aoife's amulet, don’t we?”

Liam shifted. “Well, yes.”

“And where is Aoife?” I looked over at Deaghlan.

I hadn’t said anything about the incident with Aoife to anyone, but Deaghlan and Saoirse must have known she’d somehow escaped the fey sphere.

“You make things so much more interesting, Allison,” Deaghlan said. He arched his brow, a slow smile spreading across his features.

“Aoife will be dealt with,” Saoirse said from the door. “But, now it’s time for all of you to go home.”

“I’ll talk to my mom,” I said, and I slid out the door, happy to let Saoirse and Deaghlan handle the rest of that conversation.

My mother sat alone on a stone bench in one of the many thriving gardens. This one was filled with what smelled like herbs.

Her head hung limp as she stared at her hands folded in her lap. She lifted her chin as she heard me approach, though, and a hint of the mother I was used to stared back into my eyes. Not the Elizabeth from the stories my grandparents told, but the despondent mother I’d known most of my life.

I knew better than to be angry with her. None of this was her fault, I was well aware of that, but something snapped inside of me as I looked at her. Years of frustration and guilt bubbled up in my chest, bursting out in my words.

“You can’t stay here,” I said.

My mother nodded, looking back down at her hands. Her silence fueled my growing anger. Where was the strong, independent woman I’d heard so much about over the years? The rational part of my brain was appalled that I could feel this way, but the irrational side was much stronger at the moment.

“Do you remember my first day of kindergarten?” I said.

Her eyes jerked in my direction. “Yes,” she said. “I was still lucid back then. Sometimes, anyway.”

“I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay home with you and Gram. Do you remember what you said to me?”

My mother pressed her lips together and for a second I didn’t think she’d answer me.

“No, not exactly. I just remember telling you that you had to go to school.”

“You told me that you’d be right there waiting for me when I got off the bus. That’s what got me through the day, knowing you’d still be there when I got home.

“No matter what happens Mom, I will be with you.”

She took a deep breath and stood, looking at me with bright green eyes. I held my hand out and together we walked back inside.

I tapped the steering wheel in time with a love song on the radio as I pulled into my grandparents’ driveway. The song itself was upbeat, but the message was that two people in love were lost without each other.

I shifted into park and climbed out into the oppressive mid-August heat, my thighs sticking to the seat. This was the kind of heat that kept my grandparents in the house all day, especially since Pop had started having the discomfort in his chest. I hadn’t had a choice, though—the graduate program I would be starting in the fall was holding orientation, and I couldn’t miss it. I reached across the seat to grab my backpack, the words to the song still echoing in my ears.

The sound of Ethan’s laughter came through my open window from Nicole's pool area, causing my heart to hiccup in my chest. I stood, grabbing the top corner of the door, trying to ignore that sound I loved so much. I hadn’t seen him in the week we’d been back from Tír na n’Óg as we’d both been laid up with “mono.” I’d only convinced Gram I was feeling better two days ago.

I shut the car door and looked over at the fence surrounding the pool area. In a split second, I made a decision. I was tired of lying to myself and to everyone else. It had been a mistake to tell Ethan I didn’t want him. That much was clear after everything that happened in Tír na n’Óg. I couldn’t even remember a time in my life when I didn’t want him.

The thought of him not giving me that stomach-tightening grin every time I saw him made my chest feel like a black hole. I couldn’t be his friend, not now that I knew what it was like to be more.

I couldn’t get to the gate fast enough. I fumbled with the latch, and it creaked as it swung open. I felt a ridiculous grin spreading on my face as I imagined telling Ethan how I really felt.

Nicole stood on the diving board, waiting to see who was coming in. Jeff was holding himself up with his arms resting over the side of the pool, and Ethan sat with his legs in the water of the shallow end. He was still laughing at something a petite blonde said as she stood gazing up at him from the water between his legs.

Dizziness flooded over me, as if all the air had been stolen from my lungs, and I froze as her hands moved suggestively up his thighs. When he turned my way, his smile fell, and for just a second we stared at each other.

“Hey, guys,” I said, looking at Nicole and Jeff. “I just wanted to...let you know that I’m back from orientation.” I tried to back away but stumbled, and my elbow hit the gate in a way that jarred my entire body.

Tears burned behind my eyes as I spun on my heel, and let the gate swing closed behind me. I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could but skidded to a halt when I saw the three familiar men standing by my SUV. Liam, Aodhan, and Deaghlan watched as I made my walk of shame back from my cousin’s house.

“Liam?” My mind registered that they must be waiting for me. Immediately my thoughts went to my mother. She should be in the house; I hadn’t heard anything otherwise from Gram. “What’s wrong?”

I vaguely heard the groaning of the gate opening behind me, and a voice calling out to me, but I was caught in Deaghlan’s blue stare again, and he was pulling me toward him like a tractor beam.

“Al?”

The trance was broken when I realized it was Ethan saying my name.

I turned and saw him walking toward me, raking both of his hands through his damp hair.

I couldn’t trust myself to speak, so I turned back to Liam, avoiding Deaghlan completely.

“Hello, Allison,” Deaghlan said anyway as he sauntered over and kissed my forehead. As he pulled back, he stared hard at Ethan.

I peered back over my shoulder to see Ethan’s eyes widen with surprise. He quickly looked over at Liam, his gaze questioning.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Why are you here?”

Liam cleared his throat, looking down at the ground. When he raised his eyes up to mine, his face was ashen.

“Aoife has escaped.”

Liam{Lee-um}

Niamh{Neev}

Aoife{Ay-fuh}

Breanh{Bran}

Diarmuid{Der-mott}

Niall {Neal}

Blaithin{Blaw-heen}

Tagdh{Tag}

Eithne{En-ya}

Aodhan {Ay-den}

Saoirse{Sare-shuh}

Deaghlan{Deck-lun}

I may be the author of The Forgotten Ones, but I could never have done it alone.

I would like to thank editing goddess, Rebecca T Dickson, for spending hour after hour in the trenches with me, pushing me to Just Write!

My developmental editor, Danielle Poiesz, for helping me see through the chunk of stone that was draft one to the novel I present to the world.

My conceptual editor, Erin Reel, for spending time talking with me about my beloved characters and learning who they really were.

Diane J Reed for inspiring me to dig deeper into my soul.

Joanna Penn and Marie Forleo for teaching me that I could be creative and business savvy.

Autumn from Autumn Review, Andrea from The Bookish Babes, and Taryn Celucci from My Secret Romance for helping me understand the right way to approach Book Bloggers.

My amazing team of Super Sekrit Ninjas Peggy, Amy, Anna, Tobi and the entire gang for having faith in me before reading a word I wrote, and sharing my story with the world.

My Indie Girls for giving me a shoulder to cry on when I wasn’t feeling like I could make it: Allie Brennan, Nikki Jefford, Liz Long, Suzan Tisdale, Raine Thomas, Bethany Lopez and many more.

A special thanks to my husband and four incredible kids for not giving up on me when I’ve basically been AWOL this past year.

And lastly to my Mom and Dad for instilling in me that I could do anything if I believed in myself and didn’t give up.

Laura Howard lives in New Hampshire with her husband and four children. Her obsession with books began at the age of six when she got her first library card. Nancy Drew, Sweet Valley High and other girly novels were routinely devoured in single sittings. Books took a backseat to diapers when she had her first child. It wasn’t until the release of a little novel called Twilight, eight years later, that she rediscovered her love of fiction. Soon after, her own characters began to make themselves known.

The Forgotten Ones is her first published novel

For more information about author Laura Howard and her books, visit:

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Paradox – The Angels Are Here

By Patti Roberts

If life seems to have more questions than answers,
try to be the one who asks the questions.

Charles Schulz

For Audrey Dunn—my Mum.

Who Is Walking With The Angels—without her walking stick.

* * *

And for all those that have ever suffered the pain of a broken heart. This is for you.

Cover Design – Patti Roberts

Edited By Ella Medler

Two Worlds. One Ancient—One New.

Long ago, in an almost forgotten Realm, a race of fallen Angles called the Grigori clash with a ruling house of Angels Called the Bulguardi. Their battle changed events in the Ancient World and the New World forever. A Realm where a year can last centuries and an Ancient magical people still rule, even the immortals face danger. Rising up from their imprisonment underground on Altair, evil has returned and the Grigori are on a destructive path of revenge. When their preferred food source becomes scarce, Earth, a world teaming with humans, becomes their target.

Trapped in the middle, between the old world and the new, a little girl is cursed with horrific visions from the past she does not understand.

From an Ancient world to the new world on Earth, this is a tale of myth and legend, mayhem and magic, birth and death. A tale of families torn apart, souls searching for lost loves.

You can run, but you cannot run forever. My name is Juliette, and this is my story.

The Definition Of Paradox:

A seemingly illogical or self-contradictory statement
or suggestion, that may in fact, be very true.

Prologue

Nine hundred years ago, my world was a different place… But one thing, regardless of the passing time and unimaginable distances that separates us remains unchanged. And that is–Love.

My name is Juliette, and I would like to tell you my story, a story that stretches out over a vast passage of time.

I was created long before spoken language was used for communication. A time when magic existed and myths, legends, and the gods roamed the planets and walked freely among us. Long before the great floods consumed the Earth. Long before the Tower of Babel was built, or the stairway to the Gates of Heaven. When a passage of time on Earth was determined by observing the sun, the moon, the stars, and the rise and fall of the great oceans.

Human age was not determined by numbers, but rather by one’s wisdom and knowledge. The lines drawn in the palm of the hand prophesized the soul’s age, not the lines etched on the human face.

And when the immortal soul had come to the end of its human experience, that passage of time — age being irrelevant — was determined by a force of pure energy. Some have called this energy force—God. This is when the Angel of Death would reveal herself and save your mortal soul.

For billions of years every living thing resonated as One.

Then everything changed. Life, death, mortality, and immortality as I knew it changed. War does that. It changes everything. And by the end of the first Great War eons past, ancient texts, along with immeasurable knowledge, were destroyed, leaving the human race damaged and adrift.

But I can tell you this without any doubt, that you are not alone in this ultimate struggle for survival. I can see you still, through the eyes of another.

And this is something else you should know, with great knowledge, comes great responsibility - and death. There is always death.

But just as spring follows winter, life follows death.

In the blink of an eye, it seems little Grace’s world has fallen apart. Her father is gone and her mother isn’t coping well at all. If it weren’t for the sensitive, quiet Officer Wade and her new neighbor friend, Grace might not find her way back from the heartbreaking grief that threatens to destroy her world. But there’s more to Grace than meets the eye, more than she even knows. What ties does she have with an ancient, timeless world? What role do the angels, good and evil, play in her life?

A World where there are more questions than answers, a saga that crosses over two worlds. One Ancient—One New with a little girl trapped in the middle. A world where lost souls are being drawn precariously together over countless centuries.

When your destiny has been written in blood—and you are left with one burning question—is your Guardian Angel from Heaven or Hell?

Chapter 1—The Fall

The Imperial City of Altair—Aquila.

Year: 1080 AD

The sickly stench of death curled silently through majestic arched windows and coagulated, forming a thick grey cloud of wretchedness.

Burning torches hung randomly along high stonewalls, illuminating the deserted Royal Palace. Stray swirls of smoke danced gracefully around elaborate marble columns that lined a black aisle. At the end of the aisle was an elevated dais that had formerly held four golden thrones.

Behind the one remaining throne hung a massive shield revealing a serpent entwined on a gem-encrusted dagger. A masterpiece extolled in bronze depicting the Grigorian Coat of Arms.

The remainder of the chamber devoid now of the lavish furnishings that had once seated royalty in the Imperial City of Altair.

A lone male figure, eclipsed by the overwhelming size of the chamber, glared at the deserted throne as he paced. He waited - something he did not like to do - for the imminent arrival of the others.

His impatience was evident in every knotted muscle on his chiseled face. Raised black veins pulsated on his muscular throat; hands formed clenched fists by his sides. His eyes were yellowy, like the color of cat’s eyes, with a minuscule black speck for a pupil. They transcended pure evil.

The long dark cape that he wore swept the floor behind him as he glided, ghostlike, across the marble surface. He walked over to a tall arched window and stopped, folding his arms across his broad chest.

His white open-necked shirt displayed a segment of a black inked serpent. It quivered across his chest, as though it were alive. The remainder of the serpent, hidden by clothing, encircled his torso before continuing its rippling passage down his arm. The fanged head revealed itself from beneath the ruffled shirt cuff on his left wrist. Crimson blood dripped off one of the razor-sharp fangs. Human blood.

He looked out into the dark night and watched as the city below continued to burn out of control. High on The Mountain of Seven the illuminated dome, the centerpiece of the Pinnacle Sanctuary, was slowly starting to fade. Only flames from the fire cast light on the towering stone enclosure that safeguarded the crystal-domed structure.

Soon, the dome would be in complete darkness, he thought confidently, smiling to himself. He stood rigid and conceited in his indulgent arrogance. His body, the immortal body of a perfect twenty-eight year-old man, flexed with desire.

He felt indestructible and drunk on his own self-image.

The Imperial City, all but deserted after another day of fighting, lay broken, burnt and twisted below. The city that he looked down on had once been lined with the most exquisite architecture in the Aquila Constellation.

Now, it stood darkened and scarred by the fires that continued to burn into the night. Ornate fountains and statues in the Gardens of Tranquility were now piles of rubble on the scorched ground.

Nothing had been spared, only rubble and ashy remains lay littered and smoldering across the ground. Embers floated in the smoky air, carried by random gusts of wind. Beauty no longer represented in the burnt remains of the Imperial City.

A small hooded figure darted vigilantly over the rubble, searching for signs of life among the torn and bloodied bodies. Her sorrowful pursuit was swiftly becoming a fruitless one.

Soaring flames roared into the night sky, lighting her way, as they licked, teased and devoured the remainder of the Imperial City, the home of the Seven Pinnacles. The Keepers of Mortal Souls.

Thousands of souls had already perished during the past ninety-nine days of war. Thousands more would perish during this battle fought between good and evil. The war would rage on between the two most powerful houses of the Imperial City until only one remained: The House of the Bulguardians; the Royal Guard of The Imperial City, or the rebellious House of Fallen Angels - the Grigorians.

The Grigorians, following the expulsion of their elders from the City by the Royal Imperial Guardians, were forced to flee Empyrean. Now, after centuries spent underground, the Grigorian were bloodthirsty for revenge—at any cost.

During the March equinox, under the dark cover of night, the Grigorians rose silently from the depths of their underworld lair, attacking the Royal Palace as it slept.

About time, Abaddon thought angrily, as he turned swiftly toward the towering arched entrance.

Seconds later a female stood regally in the stone entry. “Abaddon?” the exquisite woman queried as she entered the great chamber, hands clasped at her waist.

His expression was unsettling as she advanced toward him cautiously, her tight deep purple gown almost hid the long black cape that trailed behind. Her fair hair, adorned beautifully with gemstones, was entwined in a continuous braid crowning her head. Her eyes, a mirror image of his, catlike, were traits of the Grigorian bloodline.

His arms remained folded across his inflated chest. “Cousin, where are the others, your sister, your brother?” he demanded.

“They are…they have other things on their mind, they will be ready when the time comes, I can assure you,” she replied, pausing at a safe distance from him. She knew he could read her mind, all of their minds, if he chose to, with direct eye contact. Without direct eye contact however, he could only sense one’s presence, but not their thoughts. His violent temper was also no secret. She had been a victim of it herself on many occasions.

“Oh, I am sure I can imagine what they have on their minds,” he said, circling her.

“Your attendance here, however, is a testament to your commitment to the cause, Siena.” A sly smile crossed his lips. He liked knowing that she feared him. He reveled in being feared. It made him feel more powerful, superior.

His slit eyes flashed to the entrance, as he sensed another’s imminent arrival. He turned in greeting as a girl, his younger sibling, no more than thirteen, entered the smoky room and ran toward him.

“Ah, little sister, how divine you look, my child.” He swung her up into his arms as a groom would a new bride, and kissed her hard on the mouth. She did not resist, he knew she welcomed it.

“Abaddon,” she chirped through smiling, rose colored lips, running her fingers through his dark shoulder length hair. “Always an absolute pleasure of course. Now, please put me down…and…I am not a child!”

He laughed and released her to the marbled floor, running his hand down her flowing red hair. “You will always be a beautiful, voracious child to me, Theria.”

She slapped his hand away, obviously infuriated by his comment. A snarling hiss broke free of her lips. “Don’t mock me, Abaddon. If I recall correctly it wasn’t that long ago that—” Her words were abruptly interrupted. She snapped her head around; something, someone else, had distracted her.

Abaddon and Siena followed Theria’s line of vision toward the massive stone archway as another prepared to enter the torch lit chamber. The dainty red head darted forward in a blur to prevent the imminent intrusion. Her black cloak sliced through the rancid air, parting the obnoxious smoke with the sheer ferocity of her swift movement. Rage was evident in her penetrating, catlike eyes. Eyes that had the ability to paralyze her victims instantly if she desired, rendering them useless. She glared directly into the crystal blue eyes of the unwelcome impostor.

The newcomer was stunning. Her unflinching blue eyes held those of the child’s. “Well, well, what do we have here, a family meeting? How sweet.” She walked around the child, and turned her back on the others as she walked graciously along the black marble floor toward the single golden throne.

Their piercing gazes watched as they followed her, stalking her. They all knew Pandora could feel their stabbing eyes on the back of her neck as she walked up the seven steps leading to the Royal throne. She rested gently against the velvet armrest, implying possession.

“Why wasn’t I invited to this family meeting? I am heartbroken, how will I ever recover from the pain of rejection?” She chuckled, glancing now toward Abaddon who had paused at the bottom of the steps, obviously pleased that he was unable to read her thoughts. None of their powers had any effect on her—except Theria’s.

“Why, Pandora,” Theria hissed through clenched teeth, “I’m sure you will recuperate in bed by wrapping your thighs around Cerberus’s neck. You may have a ring on your finger and whore your body to my brother at every opportunity you get, but don’t you ever dare to have the audacity to think for one second that you are family, that you belong. You are nothing! You were dragged off the streets because of Cerberus’s moment of weakness for your beauty, and your obvious willingness to please him. He is infatuated by your kind, nothing more!” The child’s hatred was evident on her pristine face. If Theria could not have the love and devotion from her elder brother, Lord Cerberus, then no one would.

Pandora’s crystal laughter bounced off the cold stone walls that surrounded them. She stood, raised her hands, palms up, and slowly turned, displaying herself. Her golden ringlets fell effortlessly to her slender waist; her exquisite beauty was undeniable to all who saw her. She was clothed in a blood-red floor length gown. The low cut strapless bodice, that displayed her perfect breasts, was embedded with countless diamonds, pearls and rubies. A diamond-encrusted necklace resembling a spider’s web sat effortlessly around her throat and cascaded down her slender shoulders.

She was perfection, the quintessence of beauty. Cerberus did indeed have a reason to worship her. Many envied him his position as Lord of the House; his title enabled him the freedom to bring a foreigner into the Grigorian clan. No one would dare question his decisions.

Theria had objected angrily to her brother…once. However, she had quickly realized that Cerberus only found humor in her objections. He had tossed back his head in laughter, humiliating her, calling her childish. She had sulked from the room, angry; he had never denied her anything before. Theria had left Cerberus sitting on his newly acquired throne, one of his leather-clad legs thrown up over the velvety armrest, his laughter ringing in her ears. He had never put a human’s needs before hers. She would devise of a plan to dispose of the human Pandora. She was not welcome in Theria’s world.

“Jealous little one,” Pandora whispered now in condescending tones, taunting her. “It is no secret that you would like Cerberus all for yourself. The fact that he is your brother means nothing to you, does it? poor delusional Theria. You will only ever be a child in his eyes, never a real woman—” Pandora froze mid-sentence, unable to move or breathe. Her eye’s opened wide with absolute terror as Theria appeared by her side. Pandora remained frozen as the child hovered around her. Theria laughed and glanced at Abaddon still standing at the bottom of the stairs, as if seeking his permission.

Abaddon, abruptly aware of his little sister’s intentions, leapt forward in one bound and grabbed her tiny wrist that was concealed beneath her cloak. A small silver dagger with an emerald and diamond encrusted handle slipped from Theria’s grasp. The sound of the blade echoed around the room as it clattered to the cold marble floor by her feet.

“Release her,” he hissed at the girl.

Theria’s piercing eyes reluctantly released Pandora. She dropped to her knees and painfully sucked in a heaving breath, filling her burning lungs. Pandora slowly rose to her feet, took a step back, and wrapped herself securely in her arms.

Abaddon watched from the doorway. She knew the girl had enormous powers, that she could paralyze her victims on a single whim. She had been foolish to taunt the girl. She knew Theria had despised her the moment they had met. Theria was jealous of her, but would she actually kill her? He wondered if she would try to make sure that that would never happen.

Pandora regained her composure. “Don’t you ever do that again you vile little bitch or I swear that Cerberus will…”

“Get out of here Pandora,” Abaddon roared. “Leave us. And please,” he implored, “do not bother my brother Cerberus with this tiff. He already has much to concern himself with in this war.”

Pandora glared at him and shrugged. “For you, Abaddon, you have my word. This will be our secret. But I warn you both,” she began, her eyes turning from Abaddon to Siena. “Keep that incestuous little beast away from me, otherwise she will have Cerberus to contend with, and not in the manner her loins long for.”

She swept quickly down the stairs, along the black marble aisle, past Siena, and out of the chamber, smoke swirling around her gown in a flurry as she departed. Theria was most certainly proving to be a threat to the future Pandora had planned for herself. She would undoubtedly have to come up with an arrangement to have The girl disposed of.

“What were you thinking?” Abaddon boomed at Theria, glaring at her, reading her. “Is it not enough that we fight the Bulguardians, while the city burns below us, that you feel the need to fight, kill, within our own family?”

Theria struggled and broke free from his grip. “She is not family or one of us, and I will kill her, drag the lecherous bitch back to the gutter where she belongs. Have you forgotten how this war started?” she hissed at her brother.

Abaddon turned sharply and walked down the black stairs. He had not forgotten.

Siena moved forward and looked up toward the child now sitting tall in the massive throne. “Cousin, there is a time and a place. This is not that time, nor the place.”

Theria materialized beside her, listening.

Siena gently caressed Theria’s face in her hands. “When that time does come, and it will, little one, I shall stand by you, you have my word. I will happily cut the whore’s throat for you while you watch the blood she is not worthy of drain from her veins and watch her face and body decay into nothing more than dusty remains. Although…I do think it more fitting to let her live out her lifetime trapped eternally in the body of a shriveled up old woman. That would be far more painful for her to endure than death. Imagine, little one, when her reflection in the mirror is no longer immortalized in the eternal beauty that Cerberus has bestowed upon her, but instead the face of a sagging old hag.”

Theria was euphoric with the images Siena conjured up in her mind. “Thank you cousin Siena, you are correct of course, your thoughts are—”

“Ladies, enough of this,” Abaddon roared. “We fight a war with an enemy far more threatening than my brother’s whore. You must leave now, Siena. Track down and destroy our enemy. They have all but left the city now. Many have fallen to Earth, they are scattered far.”

“Hunt and destroy the Royal Guard first, their beloved Pinnacles will be no match for us without their protection. The Royal Guard will blend in very well on Earth; the mortals will be unaware of their existence among them. I sense only a handful of Guards in Altair now, and those, I will contend with myself. The City of Altair will then be ours, once and for all. Our forefathers’ demise will eventually be revenged.”

“Who will join me in the fall to Earth, Cousin?” Siena asked Abaddon anxiously.

Abaddon watched her as thoughts of the hunt began to quicken her steady pulse. Adrenalin raced through her veins, distracting her elegant poise. Her slender fingernails grew quickly into long yellowy talons. Her attuned hunter instincts awakened within. She restrained herself against the sensations that pulsed through her veins. Closing her eyes for a moment, she relaxed. Her yellowy talons slowly recoiled back into perfectly manicured fingernails. He smiled.

“Take as many as you need, Siena,” Abaddon answered, pleased at her hunger for revenge. “Your sister, Raven, and your brother, Tyler, take them both. Tyler has become lazy, weak. He needs the hunt to become stronger. You will teach him.”

“I will go with you, Siena,” Theria announced. “I look forward to entertaining myself with the mortals, I have missed that. They make for an enjoyable sport, not to mention an excellent source of sustenance while I hunt and destroy our enemy on foreign lands.”

Abaddon was jubilant knowing he would not have to contend with the ongoing self-indulgent battle between Pandora and his sister. His life would be less stressful. He would have further time to indulge himself with other pursuits that were far more pleasurable.

“Good girl, Theria. Cerberus will be pleased with your enthusiasm and commitment.”

Theria was obviously not pleased with his ‘good girl’ remark, but disregarded it. She was still swept up in the ecstasy of Siena’s plan for Pandora.

“Let it go!” Abaddon implored Theria as he willed the silver dagger up off the floor and into his outstretched hand.

He sliced the cold blade effortlessly across his palm. A pool of black dense blood oozed from the wound in his hand before it healed. He extended his bloodied palm to Theria, and she kissed it. Siena did the same. “To family,” they chanted in unison.

Abaddon placed the bloodied dagger into Theria’s small hand and wrapped her fingers around it. All traces of Abaddon’s blood vaporized into the silver razor-sharp blade.

The dagger was a bequest to Theria from her grandfather. “You will be needing this on your journey, little one,” he had said, handing the dagger to her moments before he died years ago in their dark underground lair.

Abaddon kissed them both; he could taste his blood on their dampened lips. At another time, he would have found the sensation arousing and acted upon his urges. However, he knew they must go, time was of the essence. Abaddon would seek out Cerberus’s wife, Pandora. She was always happy to please him, and in so many ways that delighted him.

Those thoughts he kept locked away from all prying minds. Should Cerberus discover the tryst he had with Pandora in his absence…he could not bring himself to imagine the wrath his brother would bestow upon him. He pushed those thoughts far from his mind. He would plant them in someone else’s mind if the need arose. Let someone else be the bearer of Cerberus's deadly wrath.

Abaddon accompanied Siena and Theria out of the smoky chamber down a long wide black marble hallway to a pair of solid floor to ceiling wooden doors. The stone walls were adorned with masterpieces depicting the beauty that was once bestowed upon the Imperial City. Abaddon spoke in hushed tones as they floated effortlessly across the cold marble floor.

“When the House of Bulguardi has been completely overthrown, and Empyrean City has been rebuilt to its former glory and ruled by our own, you will both be well rewarded. I will see to that personally. One House, The House of Grigori will reign supreme. The Bulguardians and their precious Pinnacles will cease to exist, extinguished. Without their guidance mankind will turn on each other and eventually obliterate themselves from existence.”

At the end of the long hall, two guards, dressed completely in black, stood at either side of the massive double doorway. Their unmoving faces portrayed their Mongol heritage. Black inked symbols adorned their smooth foreheads, a testament of their eternal pledge to guard Lord Cerberus and the House of Grigori. The guards turned, bowed their heads, and pulled open the massive timber doors. A squall of grey smoke from the burning buildings and souls below billowed through the doors and swirled around them.

Abaddon, flanked by the two silent guards, halted in the massive doorway as he watched Theria and Siena continue down the torch lit stone hallway hand in hand. Onward toward an illuminated grand staircase carved entirely from white polished marble. An exquisite diamond-encrusted candelabra hung above them. They stood at the top of the staircase and looked down toward a crowded foyer. A large assembly of Grigorians, of various ages and nationalities, all dressed in black, had gathered silently below in the dimly lit foyer. Their glowing catlike eyes turned upward in unison toward the two women. The assembly had been patiently awaiting the arrival of the two women that now prepared to descend the elaborate marble staircase. Soon, they would be given their destructive orders.

Abaddon called to them. “One more thing before you take leave…” The two women halted on the staircase and turned to face him. “I want the girl alive!” he demanded.

They nodded and continued down the curving staircase, grey smoke cascading around them.

Abaddon turned and made his way quickly back down the long hallway. The huge doors closed silently behind him. He knew where to find her. She would be waiting for him, as usual.

Pandora was bored frequently now that her husband Cerberus was constantly distracted fighting this gruesome war. She was often eager to find ways to meet her needs, alleviate her boredom. Abaddon met those needs perfectly. Should her husband Cerberus become a fatality to this war, Abaddon would become the next Lord of the House. Her title ‘Lady of the House’ would remain intact. She had no intention of becoming a mere mortal again, standing by hopelessly as she watched her youthful beauty fade with old age. The thought sickened her. She shivered at the appalling thought.

As for Abaddon’s needs, he would make do with his brother’s wife, for now, until the girl he desired to please him was found and brought to him. The fact that the girl he desired despised him meant nothing to Abaddon. He did not love her; he did not understand the meaning of real love. His kind was not capable of that emotion any longer. He was mad with the desire to posses her, to taste the pure blue blood that pumped graciously through her silky youthful veins on his hungry lips. Then, none could rival his strength, not even his brother Lord Cerberus. He, Abaddon, truly would reign supreme. He would no longer be bound by the Principle Laws of the Seven Pinnacles. All would fear him, bow at his feet. Empyrean, the Imperial City of Altair, would be his.

The dark mass of followers in the foyer began circling the woman and the child.

“Are you ready, little one?” Siena asked.

“Yes, I am ready,” the girl replied with an evil smirk spreading wide across her face.

“Then so it shall be.”

And with that, the masses closed their yellowy eyes, bowed their heads, and were gone.

The Fall had begun….again.

Chapter 2—Reflections

Darwin, Northern Territory Australia

Year: 2001 AD

A dainty eight-year-old child sat in the back seat of a restored sky blue Holden HX Station Wagon as it drove along the hot bitumen road toward the city.

Toward torture, she thought unhappily as she concentrated hard on her unsmiling reflection in the shiny glass window of the vehicle. The scenery through the window was nothing more than a vapor of undistinguishable images rushing by in a hurry to go nowhere.

She was on her way to ballet lessons. She knew that most little girls her age loved the ballet slippers with the satin ribbons that laced up their legs and the pink net tutus. However, she was not one of them, she hated ballet lessons. She sighed and the face in the glass reflected her emotions. Distaste.

She listened to her parents sitting in the front seat of the car casually discussing the weekend that lay ahead. Her concentration remained glued to her reflection on the glass window.

She was momentarily hypnotized by how ghostly it looked floating in the window looking back at her. The flashing scenery outside was nothing more than a mass of non-descriptive blurs.

An apparition, she thought to herself, she liked that word. Apparition, apparition, apparition, she said the word to herself over and over. Then suddenly she stopped, aware that something had changed.

The reflection in the glass had transformed somehow. The face looking back at her was no longer hers. The face in the glass smiled at her. The reflection wasn’t unlike her own, but it was different. The reflection had blonde hair, like she had. The girl was about the same age as she was.

She put her hand up to her mouth, testing. The reflection did not; it just continued to smile at her. Then it giggled, imitating the entrancing sound of crystal wind chimes being stirred by a flutter of tiny wings.

“Who are you?” Grace asked the giggling reflection in a whisper. She glanced at her parents quickly to see if they had heard her. No response. Her parents continued on with their conversation.

“My name is Hope,” the reflection answered silently. “Why are you so sad, Grace?” she asked with gentle concern and in a voice only Grace could hear.

Grace answered silently in the same manner, only her lips moving to form the words. “I have to go to ballet lessons, and I don’t want to. I don’t have any friends there, I don’t belong. I hate it...’ She frowned and lowered her gaze.

“What if I go with you, would that make it better, make you happy?” the reflection asked.

Grace’s face lit up as if it was Christmas morning. “Yes... would you, really?” she responded silently.

“Of course, but you know that you are the only one that can see me, hear me, you have to remember that. It is our secret.”

“How come?” she asked out loud.

“How come what, sweetheart?” her father asked, looking at his daughter’s reflection in the rear vision mirror with a big smile on his friendly face.

“Oh nothing, Dad, I'm just thinking out loud,” she replied quickly with a tight smile on her face.

She hated to lie, but how could she explain…this…Hope.

The reflection giggled again. “I’m only here for you, Grace, for as long as you need me.”

The station wagon pulled up outside the small dance studio. A group of other little girls had gathered outside waiting for class to begin. They twirled, hopped, and bowed in little pink leotards; satin slippers adorned their tiny feet. Coordination, obviously, had yet to be learnt.

Grace Connors frowned momentarily as she watched the other girls, then she quickly gathered up her ballet slippers, backpack, and slid out of the car. Perhaps today would be fun for a change, she thought. Perhaps today she would fit in. She shook her head; she didn’t want to get her hopes up too high.

“Bye, Mum, Dad, see you later,” Grace called over her shoulder as she skipped and giggled all the way to the entrance of the dance studio.

“See you in an hour,” her mother Kate called back, shaking her head in confusion.

“And I thought you said she didn’t really like ballet lessons?” Brian said as he watched his daughter with all the other little girls.

A bright light reflected off something his daughter held in her hand, it shone in his eyes; he frowned as he watched his daughter disappear into the foyer with all the other future prima ballerinas.

Kate smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “Normally she doesn’t, maybe she’s made a friend?”

“Yes, probably…” He nodded. “Well, that is good then. I was wondering when that was going to happen. I’m sure she will make more friends soon.”

Kate looked at her husband with a questioning frown. “I’m sure she will...”

They drove off silently down the street, deep in thought, Kate, happy that Grace had made a friend, at last and Brian, happy that she would be safe.

Chapter 3—Hallelujah

“Goodnight, little one, sweet dreams,” Brian whispered in Grace’s ear that night as he tucked her up in bed and kissed her goodnight.

“Goodnight, Daddy,” Grace cooed, releasing her tight grasp from around his neck. He tickled her and she giggled.

He made his way to the door, then paused to reach out and touch his daughters pink ballet tutu that hung on the back of her door.

“Goodnight,” he whispered, knowing only one would hear him. “It’s Hope, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s Hope,” came the silent reply.

He walked through the doorway, turning the light off as he left the room, confident in the knowledge that Grace was in very safe hands. But for how long? he wondered. His confidence wavered, a frown creased his forehead. They had all heard whispers. And with the sudden arrival of Hope, although welcome, it was an indication that the enemy was hovering somewhere, and not too far away.

When the door closed behind Brian with a click, the light from the hallway evaporated, leaving Grace’s bedroom in darkness.

Hope materialized from the darkness and sat on the end of Grace’s bed. A soft glow emitted from her dainty body, dimly illuminating the room. Grace smiled at her and sat up a little, resting on her elbows, and listened intently as Hope spoke.

Grace fell asleep that night listening to stories that her new friend Hope told her. The stories were from another time and place, a very long time ago. Stories that would stay hidden within her, locked away safely in her subconscious until it was time… time for her to remember them.

A gentle breeze danced through the bedroom windows, billowing the sheer pink curtains. Hope slid off the end of the bed, walked over, and covered the sleeping child, tucking a white stuffed rabbit called Bugsy under her slender arm. She walked over and peered through the window and out into the darkness of the night. There was a full moon. Bright stars shone through the rolling grey clouds above.

She stood silently, closed her eyes, shrugged her shoulders, then took a long breath, and exhaled. Slowly, like a flower coming into bloom, small white feathers started to unfurl between her shoulder blades. By the time her magnificent wings had completely bloomed they dwarfed her small frame. Hope’s eyes remained closed, seeing, hearing.

She could hear Grace’s rhythmic breathing as the child slept peacefully in the bed behind her. She heard a news broadcast being televised down the hallway in the lounge room.

“A 7.6 magnitude earthquake has hit El Salvador,” the news reporter announced, “killing at least eight hundred people and leaving thousands homeless. Many still fear for their lives as more quakes are predicted...”

Crickets chirped outside the bedroom window. A frog croaked in a downpipe signaling rain. Five houses down the quiet tree-lined street, K. D. Lang sang Hallelujah on a radio.

Hope heard a child humming to the same song three blocks away. She could see the small redheaded girl resting peacefully in the crook of a dying old man’s arm… waiting.

His room was dim, lit only by a small bedside lamp and the moonlight that eased its way through dusty floral curtains. An old framed wedding photograph of a happy couple sat on the table beside the lamp. Meager furniture lined the walls. Old family photographs filled dusty picture frames on a set of drawers. The old man slept on a double bed covered with crumpled sheets. An old wheelchair, its paint faded and scratched, sat empty on the left side of his bed, the grey rubber tire tread worn down with use.

The child looked intently at his old weathered face as he stirred and opened his tired eyes; tired eyes that had seen plenty of this world. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead from the stifling humidity in the tiny room. She reached over and brushed away a lone tear from his crinkly grey skin with her tiny velvety fingers.

He looked into this stranger’s brilliant blue eyes.

“I’m dying aren’t I?” he asked the child in his frail voice, frightened by the understanding of his own words. Is this beautiful child sitting on my bed Death? he wondered.

“Yes,” she whispered softly. “But don’t be afraid, Abel, I will be here with you, I promise,” Tia answered, placing her hand on his heaving chest as he fought back his tears, fears.

He nodded gratefully, consoled by the knowledge that when he exhaled his last breath on this earth, on this night, he would not die in this bleak room alone.

“Would you like me to tell you a story, Abel?” Tia asked gently, sitting up, taking his big crinkly hand, and squeezing it tightly in her tiny ones.

His hand trembled in hers. These were strong hands once, he remembered, looking at them now. Hands that had lifted his son up high, so he could climb the big flame tree in the backyard. Hands that had taught him how to catch a ball and swing a cricket bat. Hands that let go when he taught his son how to ride his first red two-wheeler bike and catch his first fish. He missed his son, so far away now. He wouldn’t get the chance to say goodbye. That was the hardest part. Regret crossed his face when he remembered their last conversation seven years ago. Seven years ago, seems just like yesterday, he mused.

“Yes, I would very much like to hear a story,” Abel said, closing his eyes. He dragged long painful breaths into cancer-blackened lungs as he listened to Tia’s soothing voice.

Wind chimes, he thought to himself.

Tia chanted quietly in his ear, her breath soft against his skin. She squeezed his hand.

“Take my hand, light of day diminish. Fades the sight to hearts held dear. Blue star shine jewel in night. Altair Aquila luminous light. To guide no fear near and far. To sight of Angels a death held dear. Amun.”

Images of Abel’s long life flashed through his mind like a movie on fast forward on a big widescreen television. His own birth, bright lights, his mother’s sweat-drenched crimson face as he was placed into her outstretched arms.

When he was seven, sitting on his favorite grandfather’s deathbed with a small redheaded girl, the same age that he had been.

More thoughts came quickly. His beloved wife Rose, giving birth to their beautiful son David—a birth and a death, happiness and pain jumbled together in a time span of moments. His wife’s dying breath following the moments that their son David had drawn his first.

He thought now about the girl that sat beside him. He had seen her face before, sitting on his grandfather’s deathbed all those years ago. He looked at her flawless ivory face, perfectly framed by her long red hair, then further, into her crystal-clear blue eyes. They appeared to glow like gems in the darkness of his room. She had held his grandfather’s hand, seventy years ago. Now she held his.

He searched Tia’s face for answers and found an infinite depth of peace there. Yes, it is her, she looks exactly the same, he realized. He closed his old eyes, knowing that it would be for the last time. He had found the answers to the questions he asked when he looked deep into Tia’s hypnotic blue eyes. She heard his thoughts. He sighed and exhaled a painful breath. There would not be many more to be endured. The constant pain that wracked him was now subsiding, leaving his wretched body limb by limb.

Back in Grace’s bedroom, Hope lifted her head slightly, the sultry breeze played with wisps of her fair hair that danced across her face. She smelt rain in the air. The sky lit up outside, thunder crashed, the rain fell, bringing with it instant relief from the stifling humidity. Her thoughts went further still. Away for a moment from the bed where Tia held Abel’s dying hand. Further. Thousands of miles away, across vast oceans to the sterility of a New Jersey hospital maternity ward.

Hope heard a woman’s guttural cry of pain. It was type of pain that only women suffer during the hideously long hours of childbirth. Her husband tried helplessly to comfort her and wiped her hot brow with a cool water-soaked cloth. Beth had never felt such searing pain.

“Just one more push, Beth,” the doctor encouraged in his Scottish accent.

She had pushed with every uterine contraction for the last forty-five minutes. She had endured over twelve hours of labor before that and now truly felt she had no more to give. Within seconds of these thoughts, Beth could feel her womb torturously squeeze and rise forward within her. Her face contorted as she screamed through the tearing pain as another contraction engulfed her abdomen once more.

Instinctively, she stifled her scream, closed her mouth, and bore down using what she believed to be her absolute last drop of energy. Immense burning pain caused Beth to lose her focus, her control. She hissed through clenched teeth, her clawing fingers gripped aimlessly at bed linen, her husbands arm, marking him. Her entire body stiffened in sheer agony.

Suddenly the burning, the tearing sensation and the pressure were going. Her baby was being born right at that moment and she knew it. She exhaled and opened her once tightly closed eyes just in time to see the doctor smile and her tiny purple baby unfold into his strong and guiding hands. The infant’s face was covered in a thin filmy membrane, remnants of the amniotic sac.

“Right on cue,” the doctor announced, examining the ticking clock on the wall. It was six a.m., the thirteenth of January, 2001. Outside, snow fell, blanketing New Jersey in a thick layer of white.

A cold chill ran down Beth’s spine, her face drained of blood.

“What’s wrong with him?” she gasped, terrified that her child had been born dead.

“Ahh, not to worry, Beth,” the doctor replied in a jovial, reassuring voice. He wiped the membrane from the child. “Some babes are born a caulbearer. Some consider it a lucky omen to be born with a veil, a hood as it’s sometimes called, over the wee bairn’s face. It tends to run in the family, in the bloodline, so to speak. Nothing to be alarmed about, I can assure you.”

The doctor clamped the umbilical cord and with the confidence borne from experience, cut the cord with scissors, separating mother and infant. A few gentle spurts of fetal blood trickled over the blades of the sharp scissors. The fetal blood was the perfect color on the blades before slowly turning the customary crimson color in newborn infants. He passed the child carefully into the hands of a young African American nurse named Lucina standing by his side, and grinned at her confidently.

The child gurgled and gasped in her hands as he drew his first long breath deep into unblemished lungs. He cried out fearfully when the frigid air filled his new lungs, burning them.

He was ‘pinking-up’ before her eyes, and she knew he was healthy. His tiny lungs just seconds before squashed by the birth canal, were now inflating with oxygen-rich air. His heart now pumped his own blood throughout his entire perfectly formed body. His grey eyes blinked rapidly as he tried to adjust his blurred vision to the light-filled room. It was so bright in contrast to the soothing, watery darkness of his mother’s womb.

Lucina smiled down at the frowning child, all arms and legs kicking in the air, before passing the infant into the outstretched arms of the weeping mother.

After thirteen hours of labor, Beth was exhausted but elated at the tiny miracle she now held tightly at her swollen breast. Both mother and father wept tears of joy for their first-born son.

“He’s beautiful,” Lucina said as she lent in and soothed his cheek with her warm palm. Comfort filled his fearful mind, relaxing his tiny pink face. “What will you call him?” she asked in a soft voice.

“Abe, after David’s father, Abel,” Beth said looking up into her husband’s beaming face. He was in awe, overwhelmed by this tiny miracle that lay squirming in the arms of his wife. His son.

David kissed Beth’s forehead gently, stroking her sweat- drenched hair.

“As soon as Abe here is up to travelling, we are going to Australia, so he can meet his grandfather, Abel. We haven’t spoken to my father for a while so I, my wife and I, thought this would be the perfect time to mend fences, put the past behind us.”

Lucina nodded as she watched the joyful parents counting tiny fingers and toes on tiny pink feet. She pushed her hands into the pockets of her nurse’s uniform. “Your father is so proud,” she said softly.

Back in Australia menacing clouds continued to clash. Lightning flashed, fracturing the darkness.

“Godspeed, Abel,” Tia whispered into his ear. His trembling lips grew into a peaceful smile. The last image that crossed his closed eyelids was that of the newborn child. The Image of his only grandson, Abe and the child’s parents, Beth and David—his beloved son.

“Goodbye, my son,” Abel whispered. Tia took his big hand; blinding white light engulfed his frail body and lit up his dark room like a beacon. Abel’s body vibrated in the stark light as he lay on his bed. Quickly the wrinkles of old age smoothed on his weatherworn skin, the firmness of chiseled muscles of youth returned to his withered limbs. His mind vision flicked, like a florescent light coming on behind his eyelids. He was twenty-five again. He was standing on a sun-streaked beach at dawn holding hands with a young woman. Her long windswept fair hair blew across her face, concealing her identity from him.

He pushed her hair back so he could see her. His hand paused on her cheek. Her eyes were the prettiest green he had ever seen. But he had seen these eyes before, a very long time ago.

“So, we’re grandparents,” the woman said, her radiant face smiling up into his handsome one.

“At last,” Abel said looking back at Rose, taken from him so many years ago. “I have found you—hallelujah!” he shouted, then ever so lightly, kissed Rose gently on her lips. His vision flicked again, he held his wife tightly in his arms. He would not let her go again. The image in his mind began to slowly fade. He held her tighter. Gone...

The New Jersey hospital room was still now, all but for the cooing of proud parents for their son. David stopped counting tiny toes and looked up, confused by what the young nurse had said.

“What do you mean, my father is so proud?” he turned and asked the young nurse, Lucina, but the room was empty.

Just then an older nurse burst noisily through the swing doors. She carried a medical chart and a folded blue baby blanket.

“Hi, Beth, David, and this I believe is baby Abe,” she said, marching over to the bed and stroking his little cheek.

“My name is Dorothy,” she continued. “Now let’s wrap your Abe up, shall we, keep him warm, it’s another freezing day outside today.”

“The other nurse… where is she?” David asked Dorothy as she quickly wrapped his son.

“Lucina, not sure, could be anywhere on the ward, lots of babes being born here today,” she said, not taking her eyes off the child that now rested quietly wrapped firmly in his warm blue blanket at his mother’s breast.

David kissed Beth’s forehead. “I’ll be back soon sweetheart, I’m just going out to let everyone know it’s a boy.” He left the room as Dorothy chatted quietly with his wife.

“I have a son,” he announced proudly to a group of his friends that had gathered in the bustling waiting room. They congratulated him. The women hugged him; the men slapped him on the back and offered him the customary cigar. He declined, remembering how the nicotine had ravaged his father’s lungs over the years.

He glanced up and noticed the doctor discussing a medical chart with a young male intern further down the cold hall.

“Gotta go talk to the doc,” he said to his friends, excusing himself. “I’ll be back.” He rushed off down the hall toward them.

“Here he is, the proud new father,” the doctor said, taking David’s hand and shaking it firmly. “No big nights out for you for a while,” the doctor said, smiling jovially.

“Doctor…”

“David, how many times have we been drunk in the same pub?” the doctor asked his good friend. “You can still call me Sammy, even here,” he said, his arms indicating the hospital surrounds.

David nodded. “Yeah, I know, sorry. It’s just that, the nurse in our room, Lucina, she said something and I just wanted to ask her about it.” Sammy watched David intently but remained silent. “Lucina, where can I find her?” he asked, looking around.

“Just saw her leave,” Sammy said, turning to point down the corridor toward the clean glass exit doors.

“When will she be back?” David asked, glancing over Sammy’s shoulder toward a window. He noticed that the snow still continued to fall gently on the rooftops and earth outside. Momentarily he thought about the hot humid Januarys he had experienced this time of the year growing up in Australia. He longed for some of that natural warmth now.

“Won’t, today was her last day,” Sammy said. “Is there something I can do, another nurse maybe?”

David averted his eyes away from the cold outside. “No, no, nothing like that, it’s nothing really, just something she said. I should get back, got tons of calls to make.” He took Sammy’s hand and shook it firmly. “Thanks Sammy, I owe you big time, my friend. Gotta go call my dad in Australia, we have decided to name our son after him.”

Sammy pulled David toward him and gave him a friendly hug. The smile on Sammy’s face faded momentarily. “That’s great, now get back to your wife and child, I’ll be in to check on you all soon.” He pulled away and gave David a friendly slap on the back. “Take good care of that son of yours, Dave, I have a feeling there’s something very special about your lad.”

David nodded and headed back down the long white corridor, reaching for the phone in his back pocket as he walked. His father would be so proud when he heard that they had named their son after him and that they had made plans for their son Abe to grow up in Australia.

He liked the idea of his new son growing up with a Grandfather. Maybe they could both teach Abe how to swing a cricket bat. He dialed his father’s number. After all these years he couldn’t wait another moment to speak with his father, hear his voice. “Come on Dad, pick up.”

Chapter 4—The Rainbow Room

Darwin, Northern Territory, Australia

“If bluebirds fly over the rainbow, then why can't I?” Grace sang softly to herself. She walked over to her father who was sitting at the kitchen table; he was reading Saturday’s newspaper and drinking coffee from a large round mug with the words, ‘Golden Eagle Home Delivery Service,’ written in bold print on the side.

The breakfast dishes were still on the table, he had promised Kate that he would do them while she was out grocery shopping. He figured they could wait until he had finished reading the sports section of the paper. He picked up a piece of discarded bacon off a plate and popped it in his mouth.

Grace stopped and stood by her father’s side for a moment looking up at him, a frown creasing her brow. Then she asked, “Daddy what is a mortaree?” She didn’t pronounce the word correctly, but her father knew what she had meant.

A boy in her school, Patrick Wheat, had died, and she had overheard a conversation the older students were having about it during lunch break.

Brian folded the paper and put it down, stalling. He thought about what he wanted to tell her, something an eight and a half year old would understand. He pushed back his chair, it screeched in protest against the tiled floor. He picked Grace up and sat her gently on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and looked down into her piercing grey eyes. Their mutual devotion for each other was obvious.

“You know Grace, in some hospitals they call mortuaries,” he pronounced the word slowly for her, “the place you go before you go to Heaven to be with the Angels, the Rainbow Room. That is where the little children go that have died, so their parents can sit with them and say their goodbyes. That is where the Angel waits for them. That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

Grace rested her head on her father’s chest and contemplated his explanation. It didn’t sound so bad at all. She smiled and gave him a quick hug.

“I love you, Daddy,” she said, sliding down off his lap to return to her position in front of the television to eat her biscuits. I like biscuits; I wonder if they have biscuits in Heaven. They have angel cakes, fairy bread… She pondered on the idea of living on biscuits, Angel cakes, and fairy bread. Then, with a different line of thought, she wondered if parents went to a Rainbow Room and waited with the Angel when they died, so the children could say goodbye.

She considered this notion carefully until Bugs Bunny jumped up on the television screen and said to her, “What’s up doc?”

She giggled and looked over at Hope, who was curled up quietly on a lounge chair; she smiled back as she twirled a loose strand of silky blonde hair in her fingers.

She wished she could tell her father about her friend Hope, wished he could see her, how pretty she was, and smart. She wanted so much to share this secret with him, even if Hope was just a figment of her imagination. But still, she agonized over not telling him.

Hope, sensing Grace’s anguish, hopped down off the lounge chair and made her way over to sit by her friend. She crossed her legs beneath her, smoothed her crisp white Venetian lace dress over her knees, then leaned across and put her arm around Grace’s shoulders.

“Grace, your father will understand you not telling him, honestly. He has his secrets too, everyone does, and that’s okay.”

Grace nodded and felt a rush of relief wash over her, believing Hope when she said that her father would understand this secret. And Hope was never, ever wrong.

Another thought passed through Grace’s mind.

“Are you my Angel, Hope, are you waiting to take me to Heaven?”

“No Grace, I’m not that kind of Angel.”

“Oh good, because I’m not ready to go to Heaven yet. I’d miss Mum and Dad too much.”

“Are you worried about Patrick?” Hope asked.

Grace pictured Patrick with his messy blonde hair and the splatter of freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks. He had always been nice to her, and sometimes he would give her one of his biscuits.

“Was he scared, when his Angel came to take him to Heaven?” she asked.

“Not at all, he was very brave, he was just sad for his parents, he knew how much they would miss him.”

Grace handed Hope a Teddy Bear biscuit. “Teddy Bear biscuits were Patrick’s favorite; he always had two in his lunchbox everyday at school for recess.”

Hope took the biscuit and put it in her pocket. “I’ll make sure Patrick gets it okay.”

Grace handed Hope another one. “I think he would prefer two.”

“Then two it will be, and I will make sure he knows they are from you.”

Chapter 5—Accident

Year: 2004

The word accident is derived from the Latin verb accidere, signifying: fall upon, befall, happen, chance.

It was a beautiful sunny day in April; April the 22nd to be precise. The sky was the bluest blue, not a cloud was in sight. Mothers pushed baby strollers along the footpath as they walked the older children home from school, listening to their stories. A fresh breeze blew through the trees, loose leaves fluttered to the grassy ground below. The wheels on an abandoned pink bike still turned.

Grace was almost twelve and she had just finished another day at primary school. She abandoned her bike under the big tree in the front yard and flew through the screen door, letting it bang shut loudly behind her. She dropped her school bag on the tiled floor. She moved as if she had tiny wings on her feet, her insides bursting with pure exhilaration. She could barely wait to share the good news with her mother.

Her father, Brian, wouldn’t be home today, he was still on a three out of a four-week shift at the mine site where he was presently working. He was a consulting mining engineer, he loved the job, but missed being away from Kate and Grace a month at a time. Occasionally, his work took him across continents and Grace would miss him enormously.

She would have to wait and tell her father all about her exciting news during their father and daughter phone call tonight. They never missed a night, not even when he was far away. She would sit patiently, perched on the tall stool by the wall phone in the kitchen until the phone rang, her thin legs swinging freely beneath her. At six-thirty p.m. on the dot, the phone would ring. She would answer it on the first ring.

Today, when she ran through the front door, she found her mother in the kitchen as usual.

“Mum, guess what, there’s a new girl in my class. Her name is Angela and she has just moved into the Palmers’ house next door and she has a dog and…”

Grace came to an abrupt halt, as if she had just been hit hard in the stomach, leaving her winded. She bent slightly from the impact of the imaginary clenched fist. The blood drained slowly from her face. An icy chill froze her spinal cord, paralyzing her where she stood. The moment she saw her mother’s face, she knew something was wrong—dreadfully wrong. Grace thought she might throw up at any second; she could taste the burning bile making its way up her throat. She swallowed hard to force it back down, it tasted bitter. She pulled a face.

There was a solidly built man in a police uniform standing next to her mother, his voice gentle in an effort to comfort her. It didn’t look like it was working. Not at all. The pain that distorted her otherwise pretty face was resolute.

Kate was seated at the pine kitchen table with a vase of flowers sitting in the middle that Grace had picked for her the day before. Kate was crying. Her eyes were red and swollen, as though her tears had burned her. She looked like she had been crying for a while. She was clenching a tissue in her hand as if her very life depended on it. There were several more scrunched up and discarded tissues on the table. Perhaps her life did depend on it.

Before that day, Grace didn’t think she could ever remember her mother ever crying, not like this. This was serious, deadly serious. Her gut lurched.

“Grace…” her mother said, as she failed in an attempt to stand. She continued speaking in a whisper, patting the chair beside her, gesturing that Grace come sit with her.

Grace dragged one foot after the other; it was harder than it should have been, but understandable since her shoes had just turned to solid lead. Her skinny little legs were barely capable of this usually simple task.

She hoped that the longer it took to reach her mother, the longer she could avoid knowing what her mother knew, what her mother was about to tell her. By the look in her mothers pleading eyes, Grace knew that whatever it was, she wasn’t going to like it. Not one bit. She sat down cautiously by her mother’s side, when all she really wanted to do, what her body screamed out to do, was flee. Run as fast as her legs could carry her, to be anywhere but here. Her mind felt numb. Her subconscious mind nagged at her, pushed at her. She forced the thoughts back.

Hope reached out for her, but Grace closed her eyes and continued to push her away, until she had completely faded out of vision. She had no time to play with an imaginary friend, not at a time like this. This was serious... this was real.

“Grace, there’s been…” Her mother paused, gulped back an urge to cry, still unable to say the words.

Grace shook her head in an effort to clear her mind. She tried to focus on her mother’s voice, only taking her eyes off her mother intermittently to glare at the stranger standing by her side, the bearer of bad news, which had made her mother cry. Her small hand fumbled absently at her shirt until she found and held the small golden eagle that hung around her neck in her trembling fingers.

She closed her eyes again, thinking back to a better time.

“To keep you safe, Grace,” her father had said on her eleventh birthday, only nine months ago.

“What keeps you safe, Dad?” she had asked as he placed it around her slender neck.

“You do, Grace, you keep me safe,” he had replied, scooping her up under her arms and swinging her around and around the room until she had felt giddy and begged for him to stop in between her giggles. Kate had laughed too, as she watched them, bringing with her into the room a chocolate birthday cake with pink icing, ablaze with eleven birthday candles.

“Make a wish, Grace,” her parents said in unison as they watched her, lovingly wrapped in each other's arms.

She blew out her candles and closed her eyes to make her wish. “I wish that we will always be together, oh, and I need a new bike…” She exhaled; the candles flicked until dancing flame became nothing more than a whispery swirl of rising smoke.

A giggle echoed through the room, making her smile. Only Grace saw the cross-legged Hope sitting on the far end of the kitchen table, clapping. Grace glanced over at her and mouthed a silent ‘thank you’.

An unfamiliar male voice crashed through her happy memories.

“Grace,” The stranger spoke in a gentle soothing voice, dragging her back reluctantly from the happier time. His gentle voice was wasted on her. All Grace was conscious of hearing was her heart beating against her chest, trying to escape, and fighting the long imaginary fingers that squeezed forcefully around her throat. She fought for breath. In, out, in, out, she told herself. She thought she might pass out at any moment from the lack of oxygen in her lungs.

“Grace,’ he repeated, “my name is Officer Wade. Your father -”

Kate held her hand up to stop him from continuing. She closed her eyes for a moment to compose herself. Kate opened her eyes and looked up at Wade, then at Grace.

“Let me,” she said. “Grace, your dad…” Kate’s throat made a groaning sound. “Your dad was in an accident, it was a really bad one… There were men trapped in the mine. He went to help them, but he didn’t make it out, Grace…I’m so sorry,” she said, reaching for her child.

Grace sat there unable to move, unable to believe, unable to respond, unable to touch the ground with her feet. If she did any of those things, she knew that it would all become horribly real. The words would become…a reality…forever. She would be unable now to ever go back to a happier time, when everything was perfect. When her father was still alive.

Her face was emotionless, still, her eyes wide, unblinking. She stared at her mother and watched on hopelessly as she saw a piece of her mother start to fade away, sitting at that kitchen table.

Grace thought that her mother looked smaller, fragile, like a child—like her. They sat hunched together folded in each other’s arms in a dismal effort to support their frail grieving bodies. She blinked. It was real. She cried.

Kate pulled her closer into her arms with the last of her strength. They stayed that way at the pine kitchen table - with its vase of flowers from the garden and the mounting pile of tissues - until the day turned pitch-black outside. Ghost-like black and gray clouds, heavy with rain, quickly engulfed the night sky, blocking out millions of stars from the heavens.

Bolts of forked lightning cracked through the vast darkness of the night, the increasing rumble of unleashed energy rattled the glass louvers violently in their frames. Then the rain started to fall, slowly at first. Then faster, harder. Heavy raindrops, like fists drumming ferociously on the corrugated tin roof overhead. It rained persistently all that night. The stars had closed their brilliant eyes that night and wept, too. Next door, in a brightly lit bedroom of the Palmers’ old house, a small dark-haired girl looked across at the house that sat in darkness, before she turned her face up toward the thundering sky.

Office Wade let himself out the front door, locking it silently behind him as he left. He pulled his coat closed over his broad chest and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. He walked slowly toward his car as the wind and rain lashed at his sullen face.

His senses told him he was being watched. He glanced up and saw the small dark-haired child scrutinizing his every move from the house next door. He lowered his head and continued to walk through the slashing rain toward his vehicle. He opened the door to the black four-wheel drive that he had parked in the street earlier that day and climbed in. He stayed there all that night while the unyielding storm consumed the night as he sat guarding the darkened house and its grieving occupants. He noticed that the small dark-haired girl in the window kept the same steadfast vigil.

At daybreak, the bleak rain continued to fall. He scanned the house through the rain speckled car window, all quiet inside. The girl in the window next door was gone. Satisfied, he turned the key in the ignition and drove slowly away down the deserted wet street. Rainwater sprayed up over the pavement as he drove the vehicle through overflowing street gutters.

Grace awoke from a restless night’s sleep cuddled up close against her mother in the big bed her parents usually shared. She had slept on her father’s side. She had fallen asleep tearfully; the scent of her father on his pillow reminding Grace of her painful loss. It was morning now, she realized as she rubbed her eyes. Her eyes felt grainy, as if someone had sprinkled sand under her eyelids. She heard the rain still beating on the glass window, blurring her vision. She heard the sound of a car driving slowly away down the street. Soon all that she heard was the rain and the soft rise and fall of her mother’s fretful breathing.

This was the first day of the rest of her life without her father. Her heart had never felt the unyielding weight of such a heavy burden.

She remembered a night only a few months earlier, before her birthday, when her father was still alive. He was at home on one of his breaks. There had been a bad storm that had struck in the middle of the night.

The night had been dark; her room had been even darker.

She could hear her parents’ hushed voices talking in the small Formica kitchen, trying not to wake her. She turned on her bedside light and pushed herself up on her elbows to listen. Did she hear other voices too in the wind as it stole through her bedrooms windows? The curtains lifted in halfhearted objection. Maybe not, she decided.

She heard her mother rush outside and take down the hanging pots that were tangled and overflowing with foliage from the creeping roses. They were covered with soft pink buds that had yet to bloom. They were swinging back and fro violently in the sudden bursts of wind. Her father was bringing in outdoor furniture, and anything else that was in danger of being blown around the backyard and into the neighbor’s yard. Last time they had a storm like this, they had to fish their outdoor furniture out of the neighbor’s swimming pool.

Grace was glad to be tucked up safely in her bed listening to the shrill of the wind through windows, slamming doors. A flash of lightning made the lights flicker on her bedside table. Moments later the lights went out permanently, a power blackout. The storm had taken down some power lines nearby. She reached for the red and blue Spiderman torch in her top bedside drawer and turned it on, shining it toward her bedroom window. Trees and shrubs were bending and scraping at the glass with their thorny talons, trying to get in out of the wind and torrential rain.

Storms like this were common for this time of the year. Soon the storm would pass, and in the morning the sun would be burning brightly for the weekend. She turned over and turned off the torch to go back to sleep. She loved falling asleep to nature’s orchestra of wind and the rain as it drummed on the corrugated roof overhead.

Suddenly, a surge of power engulfed her small body, shocking her, forcing her to sit bolt upright, wide-awake. She threw off her sheets and ran to her bedroom window and stood there unmoving. She had no idea what she was doing. The static surge of energy ripping through her was so powerful that she could not stop herself. She had no choice but to obey the electric unnamed entity that had completely possessed her small body, demanding her attention.

She stood motionless at her window as she watched her father in the dark outside, drenched from the rain. He was retrieving her bike from under the big tree where she had left it in the front yard that day after school. She should have listened when her mother told her to put it away. A rush of guilt pulsed through her.

She tried to move but couldn’t. She was frozen from the inside out and in a voice she had no control over, she screamed as loud as she could. “God, somebody help me!”

She had felt stupid as soon as the words had fled from her mouth. She had no idea why she had said that. Bewilderment had her rooted to the spot.

Her father, hearing her distressed scream for help, spun around to face her. He dropped the bike, letting it crash to the ground. He ran toward the house as fast as his legs would carry him. In that same second, a bolt of lightning tore through the massive tree, boom, shattering it, spraying the ground with jagged and splintered branches, crushing her bike. Missing the intended target... Her father.

Kate reached Grace seconds later and pulled her urgently into her arms. Grace shivered against her mother. All she could think about was her bike, her father.

That could have been my father.

Whatever ‘It’ was that had taken complete control of her body for those few moments, she realized, It had saved her father’s life.

The memory of that night was still so vivid in her mind. It still gave her goosebumps to think about it, she rubbed her arms. If only her father could have been saved this time too, he would still be here with her. With her mother. With her family.

Instead, his broken lifeless body was in a bag, in a cold stainless steel room, on a cold stainless steel slab. Cold and all alone while her and her mother shared a big warm bed. A sudden sob broke free from her throat. A tear ran down her face with the thought of her daddy all alone and cold. All completely alone in that horrible cold place.

She wiped the tear from her face. It was her fault, she realized. She had failed her father. She was meant to keep her father safe, wasn’t she?

“You do, Grace, you keep me safe.” That is what her father had said. And after the night of the storm, she had been foolish to believe she really could. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Her birthday wish had not come true, only part of it, and she would have traded her new bike for her father in a heartbeat. She had not kept him safe. Would he ever forgive her?

Kate stirred in the bed beside her but did not wake. Grace looked over her mother’s shoulder at a photograph of her parents taken on their wedding day sitting on the bedside table. They looked so happy. They always did, she thought. They both wore matching white gold wedding bands on their left thumbs. When Grace had asked her mother why they wore their wedding rings on different fingers to other people Kate had explained that they just decided that they wanted to be different from everyone else; that their marriage, their union, was special.

She thought about her father’s ring. She knew he wouldn’t have been wearing it at work. It had something to do with safety in the work place, so she figured that it would have been safe in his donga with his other personal belongings. She wanted it. It would be her little piece of him to keep forever.

There was a gentle rapping on the front door. Grace looked back at her sleeping mother. She quietly dragged herself out of the bed, wiped the tears from her face, and went to answer the door. She closed the bedroom door quietly behind her, making sure she didn’t disturb her mother. She knew that she hadn’t had much sleep last night either. She went over to the lounge room windows and peeked through the curtains. Dark clouds were still hanging pregnant in the grey sky outside. The quiet street was empty. The rain was still falling, breeding puddles of despair on the muddy earth outside. She opened the front door a crack and peeked out.

It was Mrs. Terran from down the street with a glass dish in her hand, meatloaf, covered tightly with cling wrap. She held her three-year-old son’s chubby hand in the other. He had chocolate cake smeared across his chin. Grace stood still and studied them for a moment, then force smiled. She opened the door wider and let them in. Hope stood by Grace’s side.

“Mum’s still sleeping,” Grace said in a whisper.

“That’s okay dear, no need to disturb her,” Mrs. Terran replied in the American accent that on most days amused Grace. But not today.

“I’ll just put this in the fridge for you,” she continued. Baby Abe gripped his mother’s dress and toddled to the fridge behind her. Hope followed them and smiled at the boy. The child studied her intently, then grinned back.

“Are you okay by yourself, is there anything I can do for you until your Mama gets up? Mrs. Terran asked.

“I’m not alone,” Grace replied, glancing at Hope sitting up on the kitchen bench beside the fridge. “I mean, Mum will be up soon,” she added quickly.

“Well, as long as you are sure. Your Mama has my number if you need me.” She looked around the kitchen, scooping Abe up into her arms. He reached out and touched Hope. She held his fingers for just a moment.

“Mama, Angel,” Abe said exuberantly.

His mother smiled down into his big round eyes.

“Let’s get you home and cleaned up, shall we,” she said, touching his button nose with her finger. “You take care, Grace, and don’t forget to call if you need anything…” She let herself out the front door, listening to Abe chatter on about another one of his Angel stories.

Grace and Hope stood in the kitchen watching them leave. They waved playfully at the grinning Abe.

Chapter 6—Music Box

It continued to rain all that weekend and the week that followed. It rained for nearly a month straight without any hint of stopping anytime soon.

Grace thought about death; it consumed her since her father’s accident. Death haunted her. Death punished her. Other than a conversation with her father once and the occasional dead gold fish that had been flushed down the toilet, Grace had thought very little about death.

Dead gold fish—that was all she really knew of death. Grace liked to believe that a flushed gold fish was happily on its way to a watery fish heaven. The death of a fish was bearable, replaceable by a trip to the corner pet store.

Her father’s death, however, was immeasurably different. It was unbearable and he was irreplaceable. Her father’s death had left her adrift. It punched a hole in her so big that she could hardly breathe. Later, she would refer to her father’s accident as the death of her childhood innocence.

The days that followed Brian’s death was made up of a continual blur of acute microscopic seconds, minutes, hours. There were the endless phone calls, flowers, cards, funeral arrangements.

Funeral.

The only other constant were tears and constant rain.

The days on the kitchen wall calendar rolled over quickly to a miserable Monday morning, the 26th of April. And under the cover of a dense grey sky, a child attended a funeral to say her tearful goodbyes to a father whom she had adored her entire life.

She felt like she had been abandoned in a tiny paper boat and left adrift without paddles or an anchor in a bottomless, unforgiving ocean of wretchedness.

A mass of mourners - some she recognized, some she did not - huddled together under an array of umbrellas in the drizzling rain. Grace saw Mr. and Mrs. Terran holding hands in the front row. The Palmer family, who used to live in the house next door where Angela now lived, was there too, dabbing their eyes with white tissues. They all gave her mournful smiles, even the people she didn’t know.

Did they all think of her now as the poor girl with the dead father? The little girl lost at sea in the sinking paper boat? Why not? She did. She did not comply with the formality of returning their sad desperate smiles. She simply lowered her head from prying eyes and squeezed her mother’s hand tighter.

A small redheaded girl caught her attention twenty meters away. The girl walked toward a stone park bench under a big tree and sat down on the wet slab. She was barely visible under the big black umbrella she held above her head. Grace wondered which of the mourners she belonged to. The girl looked up at Grace and smiled. Not a sad mournful smile but with a smile that radiated joy.

Grace was swept up by an incredible feeling of lightness and peace. She felt like she was floating. She could see her father smiling at her in the clouds above. She was on the verge of smiling back when a tall thin priest spoke, startling her. Stealing her away from the redheaded girl with the infectious smile and the promise of a life filled with joy and happiness.

She felt heavy now—pulled back down a life wrapped in sadness and death. Back to her tormented life without her father. Back into the tiny paper boat, bobbing up and down on a savage ocean.

She looked back toward the stone bench, but the girl was gone, just the priest now, as he raised his voice over the din of the pelting rain. And the louder the priest spoke the harder the rain insisted on falling. Grace didn’t want to listen to his words, words, words.

He continued. “In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ…”

She didn’t want to hear any more.

“We commend to Almighty God our brother Brian and we commit his body to the ground…”

She wanted to scream. You did not know my father, he was not your brother, he was my daddy!

The priest pushed on. “Earth to earth; ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”

Instead, Grace concentrated on the rhythmic drumming of the rain as it pounded heavily on the canopy of umbrellas and the white marquee that sheltered her father’s coffin and an array of floral tributes. But the rain merely mimicked the priest’s words. Earth, earth. Drip, drip. Ashes, ashes. Drip, drip. Dust, dust. Drip, drip.

“The Lord bless him and keep him, the Lord make His face to shine upon him and be gracious unto him and give him peace. Amen.”

“Amen,” mimicked the swarm of mourners.

Atop Brian’s coffin sat a wreath of red roses and white lilies, her father’s favorites.

“Grace…” She heard her name whispered as the wind swept through the tree branches somewhere in the distance; it was her father’s voice.

Blah, blah, blah. More shouted words from the priest as he moved toward her father’s coffin. Her mother sobbed gently by her side.

Hope was there now, standing at the head of her father's mahogany coffin. Raindrops glistened on the tips of her outstretched wings. They fluttered gracefully in a gentle gust of wind. Grace knew it was time to say goodbye to Hope, too. It was a day for goodbyes. A day to say goodbye to imaginary childhood friends. This was a day to grow up. Her mother needed her now. Hope would understand that, wouldn’t she? “I’m sorry, but you have to go now,” she whispered to Hope.

“Grace?” her mother asked, “what is it, who are you talking to?”

Grace glanced up at her mother, into her red-rimmed eyes. “No one Mum, just talking to myself.” She turned back. Hope was gone.

Torrents of rain continued to run off the fabric edges from the ocean of umbrellas and to the muddy earth below. The priest stopped speaking. At last, Grace thought. Just the rain now.

All stood silently by and watched as the flower-adorned casket jolted and then commenced its slow journey down into the sodden gaping hole in the earth, devouring the coffin that held her father’s lifeless body.

Kate wept for her husband and best friend. A little girl wept for her adoring father. Officer Wade stood solemnly by her mother’s side, sheltering her, supporting her.

Suddenly Grace panicked and made a quick dash toward the lowering casket.

Her mother gasped and tried to reach out to stop her but Wade took her hand and shook his head. “Let her be.”

Grace reached down and with her fingertips snatched up a long stemmed red rose off the lid of the casket before it slid completely out of reach.

Wade drove them both back home afterwards, in silence.

It had been a miserable day; it had suited the occasion of death perfectly, Grace decided.

When they eventually arrived home, Grace slid quickly off the backseat of the car and straight into a puddle. Muddy water splashed up onto her leg; she didn’t care. She went straight to her room. She needed to be alone, for just a while, she told her mother. Her mother had nodded. Grace went into her room and closed the door quietly behind her.

She sat down on her bed next to a box she hadn’t seen before and opened it. She lifted out a small ornate music box with blue birds on the front and unlocked the lid with a tiny silver key. A small ballerina twirled. Tears ran down Grace's face as she listened to the melody it played.

‘Somewhere over the Rainbow, blue birds fly’.

Grace closed her eyes and said a prayer. “If there is anyone listening…I just wanted you to know that I’m just a kid. I’m not meant to know about this stuff…death. And I didn’t think it was too much to ask to keep it that way, until I’m a grown up, like when I’m fifteen or something. All I want is a mum and a dad. Birthday wishes that come true. It’s very hard to believe in blue birds and happiness without my dad. I just wanted you to know that. But most of all, please, please, please look after my dad. Keep him warm, he doesn’t like the cold much.”

Grace placed the music box down on her bedside table and curled up on her bed as she listened to the familiar melody. The mud on her leg left a brown stain on her pink bedspread. By the time the music box had wound down and the melody had stopped, she was sound asleep. She dreamt of her father and the time that he had spun her around and around in her pink ballet tutu. She dreamt of a beautiful angel who held their hands and danced along with them.

Hope pulled the bedspread up over Grace’s shoulders and wiped a tear from Grace's cheek.

“Goodbye my friend,” she whispered. “I shall miss you. But I will never be too far away from you.”

Her wings bloomed as she slowly faded, and was gone. Just a distant memory in Grace’s mind would remain of an imaginary childhood friend with wings, called Hope. One white feather is all that remained on the carpet beside Grace’s bed.

A few hours later, Grace awoke to voices, lots of voices. She rubbed her eyes, sat up and listened for a while. It must be the wake, she thought to herself. “Stupid word.”

She got up, brushed some of the dried mud off her leg and walked slowly down the hallway toward the voices. She lent against the wall, just out of sight. She smelled brewing coffee and the perfume from lavender candles. Her mother was sitting on the sofa, talking quietly with well-wishers. She looked awkward, as if she didn’t want to be there—Grace knew exactly how she felt. Officer Wade stood quietly behind her, protectively.

A gathering of people stood around the lounge room talking, eating. Some had spilt into the kitchen. Mrs. Palmer and Mrs. Thomson were making coffee and tea and passing them around the room. The kitchen table was pushed up against another one to accommodate various plates of food, flower arrangements and more candles. The tables were covered in an ivory lace-trimmed tablecloth. All prerequisites for the wake ritual Grace imagined.

A photograph of her father, in an elegant gold-frame, was the centerpiece.

Grace recognized it; it was the picture of her father taken on his last birthday.

Mr. Terran walked over and sat down beside her mother. His wife, he began, had gone home to take care of their son, Abe. Her mother nodded in response. “Kate,” he continued. “Beth and I are so sorry for your loss. Brian was a good man. And we shall all miss him.” He picked up Kate’s tightly curled up fist and held it. “If there is anything you need, anything, please don’t hesitate to call. We are here for you, and Grace, anytime you need us.”

Kate’s other hand choked a white linen handkerchief with her fingers. “Thank you David, I appreciate that. Please thank Beth for the food. I meant to call and thank her but…” her voice trailed off and cracked as she blinked back a fresh wave of tears.

“Beth understands that, Kate. She’ll come back tomorrow, help you tidy up and help you with anything else you might need.”

Kate nodded. “Tell Beth thank you for me.” A tight smile flashed across her lips, and then quickly faded.

David stood and pumped Wade’s hand. “I’ll head off now; I’ll be back over the weekend sometime to mow the lawn, weather permitting.”

Mrs. Palmer walked over to Kate with a mug of steaming coffee in her hand and a small plate of food in the other. Kate thanked her and took the mug of coffee; she declined the food with the shake of her head.

Grace turned away and headed back down the hallway to her room.

She saw the white feather on her bedroom carpet and lent down to pick it up, stroking it gently with her fingers. She lay back down on her bed, clasping the feather in her hand. “Hope?” she said in a small whisper.

‘Yes, Grace,’ she imagined.

“Nothing,” she replied, closing her eyes. And as the day turned into the darkest night, she waited for her nightmares to begin.

Chapter 7—Tick, Tick, Tick

The clock kept ticking on the lounge room wall—a constant reminder of the quickening time. Hours became days, the days turned into weeks, enforcing the knowledge that her father was not coming back—ever.

Grace wanted everything to stop, just for a minute, so she could take a breath. So she would have time to remember her father, before her memories of him spun too far away and out of her reach. But nothing stopped. Everything kept going and going and going.

She had the same nightmare every night. She was living on a spinning carousel. Dead flower petals fell from the sky like rain. Brightly coloured horses were racing faster and faster around her. The organ grinder’s music became louder and louder. She was losing her balance, grasping the thin air trying to hold onto anything fixed in place to balance herself. However, everything she grabbed onto kept slipping out of her hands.

There was a six-foot circus clown with a wide grin and gleaming yellowy barbed teeth riding one of the carousel horses, laughing at her. In a blink, he would vanish.

Then he would reappear, floating above her with narrowed yellow eyes glaring down at her. Then suddenly he fell, straight toward her. She spun around; it took forever that simple task. And then she ran—in slow motion.

She screamed out for her father, who was standing off in the distance, to stop the carousel, so she could get off. But he couldn’t hear her screams above the music and the laughing clown, so he never came to her rescue.

Every turn of the carousel bought a faceless, shirtless man carrying a bunch of balloons on a golden thread a step closer to her. The balloons were the most beautiful she had ever seen. They glistened like giant soap bubbles that reflected all the colors of the rainbow.

Finally, when he was close enough to the edge of the carousel she would reach out and grab the bunch of balloons from his outstretched hand. The glistening balloons would carry her up into the sky, out of the falling petals and into the clouds, away from the laughing clown.

She would look down from her vantage point above at the faceless man below as he walked away. On his bare back, she could see a fearsome eagle with outstretched wings.

She was too heavy for the balloons to carry her very far away, and one after the other, they would burst, and she would begin her descent toward an earth that was covered in a layer of dead petals. She would wake up just seconds before the deadly impact to find herself twisted in her bed sheets, completely exhausted.

With the passing days, the beautiful flower arrangements delivered following her father’s death started to wither and die. Petals faded, shrunk, let go and fell onto the kitchen bench. Then further still, until they rested on the tiled floor below. One after the other, they gave up their fight for survival, until all that was left was twisted, shriveled stems. Grace gathered up the dead flowers and put them in the trash outside and tipped the foul smelling water from the vases down the sink.

Blobs of the soggy stems and leaves clogged the drain. She jabbed her finger at them, pushing and squishing them until they had all passed through the plughole.

She could imagine her father’s body progressing in a similar state of erosion under the mound of dirt that separated him from her.

She collected up the horde of sympathy cards covered in angels and flowers and put them in a shoebox with a signed booklet from the mourners that had attended the funeral. Her mother would want these. She tied up the box securely with a white satin ribbon that she had removed from a decaying bunch of flowers.

Kate had thanked her and put them in the bottom of her wardrobe for safekeeping. She would read them at another time, when she was stronger.

The days continued on regardless. Tick, tick, tick shouted the clock on the wall as she sat and glared at it. She wanted to stand up on a chair and smash it. Instead, she remained seated and watched her mother dish up her dinner that had been supplied by the neighbors—again. Her mother did not prepare a plate of food for herself. Grace could not remember the last time she saw her mother eat. She chewed on her bottom lip; she started to worry about her mother.

Although Kate was now getting out of bed most days, she still didn’t appear to be coping with her grief. Even with all the extra food in the house, Grace noticed that her mother continued to grow thinner and started to fear that her mother might die, too. She began taking mental pictures of her mother for safekeeping. She paid more attention to the little things. Like her mother’s scent, the sound of her voice. Her laugh, if she was ever to hear that again. The warmth of her mother’s arms as she wrapped them around her, pulling her close. She would memorize them all, just in case her mother was taken from her, too.

She would imagine coming home from school one day, and as she came through the door, standing by the kitchen table, would be a policeman. He would say to her, “Grace, there has been an accident.” And she would just let herself fall to the floor, wanting to die, too.

Grace slid off the kitchen chair and walked over to her mother who was washing dishes in the sink. She wrapped her arms around Kate’s slender body, squeezing her, a little tighter than usual, just in case. “I love you, Mum,” she said, forcing back tears. A few still managed to spill over and run down her cheek. She quickly buried her face in her mothers un-ironed t-shirt to wipe them away, hiding them.

Kate dried her hands on her jeans and put her arms around her daughter’s shoulders. “I love you too, sweetheart. You and I, we’ll be okay, you know that, right?”

Grace squeezed harder, a frown creasing her forehead. She didn’t know that. She didn’t know anything, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t pretend to, so as not to worry her mother. She would do anything if it would help stop her mother from leaving her, too.

There was a rap on the door. Kate kissed Grace on the top of her head and headed toward the front door. Through the screen door, she saw Officer Wade standing on the doorstep with a box in his hands and a solemn look on his face. She pushed back the screen door and ushered him in. She offered him a coffee and a seat at the kitchen table opposite Grace. He pulled out a chair and sat down, declining the coffee with a shake of his head.

He placed a brown box on the table hesitantly, stalling. Scrawled on top of it in bold handwriting ‘Brian Connors—deceased’.

Kate sat down rigidly at the end of the table and eyed the box. Wade slowly pushed the box across the table toward her. For a moment Kate just looked at it, re-read the words. A tightness gripped her throat, her stomach lurched. She took a deep breath and held it. Slowly, she removed the lid to reveal the precious contents neatly packed inside. She reached in slowly and ran her fingers over the items. She let out her breath, let out her tears, silent tears that ran down her face shamelessly.

She took out folded t-shirts and jeans and placed them on the table beside the box. She found Brian’s gold wristwatch and turned it over in her trembling hand. She silently read the elegantly engraved words, ‘My eternal love always, Kate.’ She placed the watch carefully on top of the clothes folded on the table. Underneath another t-shirt was a mobile phone, toothbrush, hairbrush, Bvlgari aftershave, and a black notebook. Her eyes darted around the emptying box. Her frenzied fingers probed eagerly between the folds of fabric, the corners of the box. She began to search more urgently, searching pockets, seams. Nothing.

Kate’s search was proving fruitless. Her husband’s wedding ring was nowhere to be found. A sudden sob escaped her lips and she covered her mouth with her hand to stifle those that would follow.

Wade raked his fingers through his hair, feeling guilty for making her cry again. He so badly wanted to reach over and console her, but he refrained, fearful of what might happen if he did.

Grace walked over to her mother and put her arms around her in an effort to protect her against the fresh, consuming grief.

Kate nodded. “Its okay, really…I just need to…I’m sorry…” she said, standing. She quickly refolded and placed Brian’s belongings back in the box and replaced the lid. She stood there a moment, willing herself to be strong.

Wade stood and took a step toward her. “Kate-“

“Don’t,” she snapped, then felt instantly guilty for the bitterness in her tone. “I’m sorry, I can’t…” she dragged the back of her hand across her wet cheeks, picked up the box, walked out of the kitchen and down the hallway to her bedroom.

They stood there and watched her go, watched her disappear into the darkness of the room as she closed the door quietly behind her.

Kate sat down on her bed and placed the box beside her. After a moment, she pulled a folded shirt from the box and buried her face in it. She pulled in a long breath, filling her lungs with Brian’s familiar scent. She could hear him teasing her for being silly. Like when she would cuddle up next to him on the sofa, burying her head in his chest, because she had been crying at a sad movie. “I can’t do this without you,” she sobbed into his shirt.

Wade wrestled with the urge to follow Kate, put his arms around her, hold her close to his heart, and tell her he would be there for her. Instead, he walked over to the kitchen bench, picked up the plate of food that Kate had prepared for Grace and put it on the table. “Here Grace,” he said gently. “Sit down and have something to eat.” Grace sat down submissively, picked up a fork and watched as her tears dripped, then ran down the lip of her plate.

Grace never thought to question Wade being there. And why would she? She needed someone – anyone - that would care for her while her mother could not.

Wade busied himself with making coffee, then sat down opposite her and watched as Grace pushed the food around on her plate with the fork. It looked enormous and cumbersome in her tiny hand. Her little face with the big watery grey eyes broke his heart. He knew he deserved to suffer the pain that tore through him. He alone had broken the hearts of this mother and her child.

That was when Wade, against his better judgment, decided to stay, for just a while. He would try, as best he could, to put some of the broken pieces back together again. He owed them that much. The truth though, could only do more harm than good, so that, he would keep to himself.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there like that. Listening to the heartbreaking sounds of Kate’s sobbing drifting softly down the hall.

Chapter 8—Kali and Bongo

It was a cold wretched Sunday morning in June when Grace woke to yet another wet colorless day. It had been raining consistently for weeks without any hint that a change was drawing any nearer. Grace felt agitated by the smothering grey sadness that had shadowed her constantly since her father’s death.

She decided that she had had enough of her miserable existence behind the cold steel bars of grief. And that it was up to her alone to make the necessary changes to rectify this problem.

She pushed the blankets away and swung her legs enthusiastically over the edge of her bed. Her pathetic life, coupled with the gloomy weather, had become too depressing and predictable.

But something was already a little different about this morning, Grace sensed, with a hint of trepidation. She frowned when her stomach growled. She felt, something she hadn’t felt for a while. Really, really hungry, with an unyielding urge to find food and eat.

Grace felt instantaneously sick with hunger as she stood; her legs trembled uncontrollably. She crouched down onto her haunches to steady herself and grasped her stomach. She looked up toward the ceiling that started to vibrate and blur. Snowy white dots, like a television that had just gone off the air, filled her vision.

“Oh no, not again,” she whispered in a frightened voice just before her legs gave way and she collapsed on her bedroom floor.

As Grace’s eyelids flutter close and her mind drifts into a fitful dream, my own eyes open and I realize that I am not the Juliette that I remember, but a younger girl from an earlier time and place.

My mouth and tongue are parched, devoid of saliva, and it hurts when I try to swallow. My lips are dehydrated, cracked and resemble an old worn-out brown leather belt. A kitten meows on the ground beside my filthy bare feet.

“Bonga?” I say in a small raspy voice as I reach down to stroke the skeletal animal. I study my hand; it is bony, like it doesn't belong to me. I try to rub mud off my hand with equally dirty fingers. I gasp when I realize that it isn’t dirt that coats my body.

I search my memory for answers and realize that I have returned to Bengal, and it is 1769. I am re-experiencing the wretched suffering of myself as an eleven-year-old brown-skinned girl. An obnoxious stink assaults my nostrils, making me gag. I don’t smell good. Nothing, in fact, smells good. The soiled walls surrounding me emit a foul-smelling stench of excrement, urine and rotting flesh. I cover my nose and mouth with my grubby hand, but it doesn't help.

“Kali, stay here with your mother, I will return with food by nightfall,” a man says to me in a foreign language that somehow I understand.

I nod obediently. Maybe tonight he would bring home a rat and we would eat like kings. He is tall, softly spoken, and rakish thin, dressed in rags. Starvation has robbed him of his looks and his strength, leaving him haggard and defeated. Only the love and devotion he feels for our family keeps him alive, day after day. I know this truth about him, and it makes me love him even more. My heart is bursting at the seams with love, my stomach bloated but empty.

I remember a time, not that long ago, that he was handsome, strong, well-dressed and wealthy for a man of his station in life. A prosperous and respected merchant trader, trading in textiles, tea and exotic spices throughout India and foreign lands. We had wanted for nothing.

I watch him now as he prepares to leave; intuitively, I know that I will never see this man again and it saddens me. A dirty tear runs slowly down and over my protruding cheekbone.

“Goodbye, Father,” I say weakly to his retreating back. “I love you.” He doesn’t hear me, the bustling noise outside has already swallowed him up whole.

My kitten Bonga shrieks loudly in protest behind me. I spin around in time to see a girl snatch the kitten up from the floor by its oversized head. The girl snarls and threatens me with her wild yellow eyes, her teeth bared. In one swift movement, she twists the kitten’s scrawny neck, breaking it. It dangles silently in her hands as the girl turns and flees quickly out into the dirty alleyway. My kitten, Bonga, will be an appetizing meal for four this evening.

A woman’s voice behind me says, “Kali, come.”

This woman who summons me, I know instinctively, is my mother. My heart swells with unbounded love for her. She is lying on dirty rags on the floor and looks like a beautiful skeleton draped in satiny brown skin. By nightfall I know my mother will be dead, and I will be alone in this place.

So would ten million other men, women, and children. They will starve to death during one of the worst famines in history during the 17th century. It will happen again.

I lay down beside my mother and close my eyes. I pray for a quick walk through the valley of the shadow of death. The Gods smile down upon my mother and me this night. We do not have to wait long before the child-like Angel with her crystal clear blue eyes and long flowing red hair that shines as though it is on fire, holds our hands and walks us home to a beautiful place far from here.

Grace slowly blinked and opened her eyes; she was lying on the carpeted floor in her familiar bedroom. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and thought about the thin brown-skinned girl, Kali, with her bloated tummy and her parents. They were all dead now; their brown bodies had decayed into the parched cracked earth over three hundred years ago. She thought about Bonga, the Bengali kitten, dangling from the hands of the yellow-eyed girl, its neck limp and broken.

Grace rubbed her eyes to erase the brutal images and memories floating in her mind. The dreams and visions that Grace had experienced from an early age were occurring more frequently now. The visions and dreams that had once dissolved as quickly as they had manifested now started to linger a little longer in her memory.

I need to eat, Grace thought to herself standing slowly, her legs still trembling.

She inspected herself carefully in the mirror from head to toe. She pushed the long flannel sleeve up to her elbow, examining the color of her skin. She was clean, white, she was back — she was Grace.

Chapter 9—Angela Oaks

Before food, Grace decided she had to deal with the incessant rain that had become her jailor. The constant rain had trapped her, and then aided her in a watery prison of self-pity.

She realized that this was not how her father would have wanted her to exist. Not at all. She had served her time with the demons in purgatory. She had to do something, had to chase the demons away, be free. There was a path out there somewhere that she was supposed to be on... she knew that. She also knew without any doubt that this was not it.

“You can do this, Grace, I know you can,” her father would have told her. “Come on, get up, try again.”

“Okay”, she said to the voice in her head with vigor. “I can do this!”

She ran barefoot outside into the pelting rain in her pink polka-dot flannelette pajamas. She would make a change. Her father would indeed be proud of her. She sprinted through the front door and out into the yard. Then she went down, hard, tripping and falling on her hands and knees, splattering mud up over her face.

She looked up into a grey sky that loitered persistently overhead.

“Enough, stop raining!” she demanded. Then passively, “please.”

A contemptuous flash of lightening, followed by the heavy rumblings of thunder, pulsated through the angry sky in response to her plea.

The rain continued falling, flowing over her. Plastering her long fair hair to her muddy face. Rain streaked down her face and dripped endlessly off her dirty chin.

She dragged herself to her feet, hung her head down and plodded through murky puddles back into the house, defeated.

She closed the front door behind her with an angry shove, and trudged down the hallway, leaving muddy footprints in her wake. Her grand plan to create ‘change’ in her life, an undeniable failure.

By the time Grace reached her bedroom, pinpricks of sunlight flickered, then punched their way through the ominous grey clouds, scattering them in all directions like bowling pins. Then, slowly, the rain began to subside until just heavy droplets of rain fell haphazardly to the ground from the tree branches outside.

Grace peeked out of her bedroom window and marveled at the brightest rainbow she had ever seen. The luminous colors were dazzling as they arched high across the blue skyline.

“Skies from heaven Dad,” Grace said out loud as she place her hand against the window.

That is how her father would have described the phenomena to her when he observed the skies looking like this.

Grace’s lips rolled up slowly into an ever so slight smile. Maybe dad sent the rainbow, to let me know he’s in heaven, she thought wistfully to herself.

A sudden movement closer to earth caught Grace’s attention. She noticed Angela, her new neighbor, walking expertly along the high timber fence that separated the two yards. The girl glided effortlessly along the top of the fence, like a model on a catwalk. Then she paused, pivoted, and jumped down to land elegantly on the ground like a gymnast exiting parallel bars. She landed perfectly on the ground beside a small white dog and began walking toward Grace’s backdoor. The dog followed obediently at his master’s feet.

Grace rummaged through her drawers until she found a pair of faded denim shorts with rhinestone studs along the pockets and a bright yellow t-shirt. She dressed quickly then scraped her wet hair off her face and secured it with a large sunflower clip. She snatched up her saturated pajamas from the end of the bed, wiped the mud off her face and hands, and then tossed the pajamas onto the floor.

Her stomach growled again, reminding her that she desperately wanted something to eat. She darted to the back door and propelled it opened. Angela and the white ball of fluff stood rigidly on the doorstep—waiting to be invited in.

Grace grabbed Angela’s arm and pulled her urgently inside.

“Are you hungry? Good, let’s eat,” she said to the bewildered Angela in a hurried voice, not waiting for an answer. She kept a tight grip on Angela’s pale arm and dragged her along the hallway into the kitchen behind her. She deposited Angela down in a seat at the kitchen table as one would a rag-doll. Hurrying over to the fridge door, she hauled it open and marveled at the delectable bounty filling the shelves. “Bonanza!” Grace shrilled, throwing her arms up into the air with jubilation.

Grace had never seen so much food in the refrigerator. The shelves were crammed with food from the neighbors. She gathered up an assortment of food and shoved loaded plates on the table in front of Angela.

“Dig in,” she said. “Are you starving too? Here, have something to eat,” she said pushing bowls of food toward Angela. The dog yapped, so Grace gave him some chicken, there was plenty to go around.

“No, I am not starving,” Angela replied promptly with wide eyes. “I eat food regularly that contains nutrients, vitamins, and minerals to prevent starvation and malnutrition.” She eyed the streaky mud on Grace’s face. “You have…” she said pointing a finger at Grace’s face. “Mud.”

Grace looked over at Angela; she was almost hidden from view by a large slice of watermelon sitting on the platter in front of her. “Yeah, it’s nothing, have something to eat.”

Angela picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and nibbled at it. Like Bambi, Grace thought to herself and smiled.

“What kind of dog is that?” Grace asked as she eyed the small dog sitting at Angela’s feet with his pink tongue dangling out.

“Champ is a West Highland Terrier, a native of Scotland and commonly known as a Westie,” Angela answered, and then continued. “The breed was used to seek and dig out foxes, badgers, rats and…”

“Okay,” Grace said interrupting her, “I got it; Champ is a West Highland Terrier, Westie for short.” Then, “I’m so hungry I reckon I could eat a rat...”

Angela raised her eyebrows. “That is hungry, but you shouldn’t. Rats carry numerous parasites and germs.”

Angela had big round innocent fawn-like eyes with long dark lashes. But instead of having brown eyes, her eyes were the most amazing shade of violet. She had thick silky hair that fell like a veil of black satin to her slender shoulders. Her oval face was ivory smooth with a suggestion of color on her cheeks. Rosy Cherub lips formed her spoken words perfectly, too perfectly. Words that you could imagine hearing from someone much older. Not from an eleven year old child.

“It’s just an expression,” Grace said. “I’m not really going to eat a rat.” But she couldn’t say the words with any kind of conviction. Had she eaten a rat before, she wondered? She shuddered with the ghastly thoughts that suddenly flashed through her mind.

Grace stood a good head height taller than Angela. One could easily be mistaken for thinking that Angela’s elf-like build indicated a vulnerable child. However, one would be very sadly mistaken about that.

They sat eating quietly for a few moments until Grace said, “do you want to watch a movie? I’ll put one on. I’ve got lots of DVDs.”

Angela stopped chewing and frowned, not sure how she should respond to this question. Or was it a statement. Humans, so many rhetorical questions. “Is that a rhetorical question?” she asked anyway, just to clarify.

“Rhetorical question? I’m eleven, I don’t even know what that means,” Grace said, then continued with a mouthful of food, making it hard for Angela to understand her. “Do you own a bike? I know a really cool place, if you would prefer to go for a ride?” She paused for a moment to swipe a piece of chicken off her chin then continued.

“My bike is new, the last one I had got smashed during the thunderstorm. The tree in the backyard fell on it…Boom!” She clapped her hands together for effect then gently persuaded a piece of meatloaf into her mouth with her thumb.

Angela, momentarily startled by Grace's sudden clap of hands, looked up from behind her apple. “A movie sounds splendid; I am not in the possession of a bike, nor do I like bikes,” she said, placing the barely eaten apple back on the table.

Grace nodded, and swallowed another piece of meatloaf. “Okay then, a movie it will be. I’ll go find one and get it started while you bring the food over.”

Grace hopped off her chair and went into the lounge room to search for a movie. She left the motionless Angela staring hesitantly at all the uneaten food still piled in front of her on the table.

Does she really want all of this food? Angela wondered, contemplating her present predicament. She realized that she was totally unaware of just how much food this child would need to appease her evident feeling of starvation. By all accounts, her body did not look like it had been undernourished.

Grace came back to help with the food. “Come on, get a wiggle on,” she said grabbing various plates of food from the table. Angela slid off her chair and followed Grace, without the wiggle.

They placed the plates of food on the carpet in front of the television and sat cross-legged watching movies for the next three hours. They watched, listened, and learned. Angela did most of that. They ate, talked, and giggled. Grace did most of that.

Grace learned that Angela’s parents were both shift workers, so Angela was left to fend for herself most of the time. This fact didn’t seem to upset Angela as she spoke of it; in fact, she appeared to prefer her solitary existence. Angela spoke with an unexpected knowledge and confidence, and then at other times, she became distant and withdrawn, like she wasn’t in the room anymore.

Angela, Grace decided, was a little odd, almost like an old person in a young body.

“An assortment of fascinating contradictions.” That is how her father Brian would have described Angela.

Angela smiled occasionally while she watched Grace intently, learning about her. She learnt about things that made Grace happy, what made her sad. How her forehead would furrow as she wiped a tear away with the back of her hand when she spoke of her father. How much she missed him. She learnt how much food Grace could consume before she declared that she was stuffed. She took this to mean, that Grace had eaten an adequate amount of food to ward off her feelings of starvation, for now.

Grace chatted about her mother, who still cried herself to sleep each night. The ballet lessons, that she had quit going to now that her father had died. She didn’t feel like dancing anymore.

Grace thought briefly about Hope, random images of her friend fleeted through her mind. Her attention shifted, the images fled. Like a feather swept quickly away in an impetuous flurry of wind along a deserted sidewalk.

Grace focused her attention back to the present - to Angela - and talked about Parap Primary, the school they would attend in the morning. They would both walk, she had decided, because Angela didn’t own a bike.

“You’re in my class at school you know, I saw you when you came into the room and Miss Bell introduced you to the class.”

“Hmm.”

“Maybe you could sit next to me on Monday, if you want to.”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s just that I don’t really have any friends, and you’re new so… maybe we could be friends, what do you think?”

“I concur,” Angela responded, and then tried a smile; it seemed like the appropriate response.

“Concur?” Grace said, squishing her face into a frown.

“Oh, yes, I mean yes, I agree, friends would be good, we will sit together.”

Angela made a mental note to try and think like an 11-year-old child. It wasn’t going to be easy. Nothing about being human was easy. Mortals, she decided, were such a complex race of beings with so many illogical inconsistencies and idiosyncrasies.

“Great, I’m so glad,” Grace said, beaming. Having a friend, she decided, would make the long school hours more bearable.

“Would you like me to paint your fingernails?”

Angela studied her nails; they appeared to be the correct color. “Yes?” she replied. More in the way of a question than an answer.

“Great, what color? I’ve got lots,” Grace said running off to her room to find her box of fingernail varnish.

Grace sat and busied herself with coloring Angela’s nails while they watched their movie. “There, what do you think?”

“Well,” Angela said hesitating, and trying not to look too mortified. “This is very colorful isn’t it?” She looked at each one of her painted nails and cuticles in turn. Each one a different color from the first. In the centre of each brightly coloured nail Grace had stuck a small round smiley face. “Not at all what I expected, but thank you… I think.”

“Mum says that I’m very creative,” Grace said, studying her workmanship.

“Creative… yes, that is one way at looking at it, I suppose.” Angela sniffed the strong smelling liquid on her fingers and screwed her nose up. “It doesn’t smell very nice, does it?”

“Okay, your turn to do mine,” Grace said thrusting out her hands out toward Angela.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I don’t do creative,” Angela said with a horrified look on her face.

“Oh come on, I did yours, now it’s your turn to do mine. Or,” Grace said unfolding her legs out from under her, “you could paint my toenails.” She wriggled them enthusiastically at Angela.

“Fingers,” Angela announced, unscrewing a bottle of pink glitter varnish.

So, it was on this sunny Sunday, while watching television with Angela and painting nails, that Grace’s heart began to heal. It was also from this day forward that Grace and her odd little friend Angela became inseparable best friends.

“I’m pretty creative with hair, too,” Grace said, admiring Angela’s satiny shoulder length hair. “Do you want me to-”

“Definitely not,” Angela said shaking her head frantically.

“Oh, come on… let me just try this one thing,” Grace said picking up a pair of scissors.

“Woops,” Grace muttered as they both watched a clump of Angela’s fringe fall to the floor in front of them.

Chapter 10—A Secret Bond Bound by Blood

The roles between Kate and Grace changed dramatically during the days that inevitably ran headfirst into the weeks, then months, that followed Brian’s death. Grace comforted her mother, as though Kate had been the frail child suffering from the loss of a beloved father.

Then, when Wade disappeared, leaving her alone to cope with Kate’s and her own crippling grief, Grace’s demons began to circle again.

Grace missed Wade’s comforting presence during her tortuous nightmare-filled nights. She missed him watching over her like an Angel rising up from the depths of her darkest shadows to protect her, guard her from her hungry demons. He had been there for her, when her dreams had made her scream out into the still of night. He had held her heaving, broken body tightly against his chest until her tears, and the raging storms outside, subsided.

In the morning, while Kate slept in her self-induced coma, Wade would prepare breakfast for her before she left for school. She would always wave goodbye to him happily, knowing that he would be there waiting for her when she returned.

Grace would run through the front door after school to find Wade. But on this day, as she ran into the house, he was not at his usual spot at the kitchen table, drinking coffee.

She called out to him, “Wade…” but there was no answer to push the creases from her brow. But denial can clasp your hand at the darndest of times and lead you slyly down the well-worn path to unrequited hope.

“Oh, I get it; we’re playing hide-an-seek…” she called out as she twirled herself around. Mocking faces from photographs smiled out at her from glassy picture frames hanging on the walls.

“You can’t hide from me forever, you know, I’ll find you...” She ran behind the sofa, nothing. She ran through the house searching each of the room’s in turn. All but one. She avoided her mother’s room. She would probably still be curled up in bed, hidden under the sheets hiding, or asleep. She was never sure.

Behind the laundry door, searching. Still nothing... She ran down the hall to her bedroom and leapt inside with her arms outstretched. “Ta-da! I found you!” she squealed out but the room remained unmoved—silent.

No Wade. No hope. Who would tell her now it was going to be okay?

That is when she saw the leather bound book on her bed with ‘Grace’ etched in gold on the front cover. She traced her fingers over the gold letters, then opened it, and read the handwritten inscription inside.

Grace, A secret bond bound by blood.

Forever.

Wade.

She read it again, this time out loud. Perhaps the answers she was looking for would come to her if she read the words out loud.

She opened her palm and looked at the fine lines in her hand, lifelines. There was no visible mark where a small scar should have been. Was that an answer? Or was it just another unanswered question to a riddle?

She sat on her bed and hugged the journal to her chest. She knew then that he had left her; she only hoped that it wouldn’t be for too long. She needed him. She wiped a tear from her cheek. Inside, her soul screamed the scream of a thousand circling demons.

As time passed, Grace did not have to coax her mother out of bed everyday. Occasionally though, she still had to remind her mother to eat, bathe, brush her hair, her teeth.

Angela became the shining beacon that lit Grace’s way along the dark path left by Wade’s unexpected departure. She would come over before school everyday to have breakfast with Grace and sometimes, the lifeless Kate.

After breakfast, Angela would clean up the morning dishes while Grace strode off to her bedroom to dress for the beginning of another school day.

On these mornings, after Grace had finished dressing, she would watch Angela sitting beside Kate on the old sofa in the lounge room. Angela’s tiny frame almost engulfed and swallowed up between the soft, plump cushions. Angela’s little dog Champ, as always, sat loyally at her feet. His round tiny black eyes, almost unblinking, watched his master attentively.

Angela would converse with Kate in soothing musical tones. However, it wasn’t the lyrics Angela spoke, more the way that she voiced them through rose bud lips, which were hypnotically soothing to the listeners’ ear. Harps, Grace thought when she heard Angela murmuring softly to Kate.

Grace never knew what Angela and her mother spoke of, but whatever it was, it was definitely helping. The friendship that grew during this time between Kate and Angela felt somewhat unusual to Grace, misplaced. But the feelings began to pass quickly as her mother began to awaken from the depths of her own darkness.

Grace let out a sigh. “I’m ready for school when you are Angela,” Grace said as she wriggled into the shoulder straps on her backpack. She walked over to her mother, bent down, and kissed her gently on the cheek. “See you after school, Mum.”

Kate gave her a weak smile in return as she brushed her fingers lovingly down Grace’s cheek.

“I’ll be here, waiting. I’ll make something really special for dinner...” She forced an eager smile; it didn’t reach her sad, hollow eyes.

“That sounds great, mum. See you when I get home,” Grace said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” Kate said from the safety of the old reliable sofa. “You two girls have a good day, okay? I’ll see you here after school.”

Champ yapped and jumped up on the sofa beside Kate and dumped his head in her lap.

The girls waved to Kate and trudged out through the door, Grace leading the way. She appreciated her mother’s genuine attempt at sounding somewhat capable. But she knew that it would most likely be beans on toast again that night for dinner. Beans on toast or pizza, both had become the staple evening meal at the Connors household after the prepared meals from various neighbors had run out.

“Your mother is getting stronger every day, Grace, it won’t be long now before she is back to being her usual self,” Angela said gently, running her hand down Grace’s arm. She could feel the fiery crackle of energy burning her fingertips that steadily increased as Grace’s evident despair grew.

Grace sighed, “I thought she was getting better, then…” Her voice was swept away by a brisk flurry of wind that twisted loose leaves around her legs as she walked. A streak of glass lightning, then thunder clapped and fractured the cloudless sky overhead.

Angela pushed Grace along the sidewalk, through the squally of leaves.

“I think sometimes your mum just has days that are worse than others. That’s all. What do people call them, these bad days?”

Grace looked at Angela with a serious frown and then slowly her face broke and she collapsed into fits of laughter. She gripped her stomach to try and contain herself. She had to admit, though, that it felt wonderful to laugh out loud like that again.

“They call them bad hair days,” she said, trying to control herself as she looked down at Angela. A huge clump of hair was still absent from her otherwise perfect fringe.

Angela glared back at her with a stern look that looked misplaced on her angelic face.

Grace held her hand over her mouth in an attempt to conceal the remaining grin.

“I’m so sorry, it’s just that, well, it’s a bit funny you have to admit,” Grace pleaded, trying to pacify her friend.

“So everyone keeps telling me,” Angela mumbled under her breath as she strode forward, kicking the motionless leaves laying on the path with her shoes and swinging her arms fiercely by her side, leaving the stunned Grace in her wake.

“Oh, come on, Angela, it was an accident. You weren’t meant to move your head,” Grace said, jogging to catch up. She threw an arm around Angela’s shoulders. “It’ll grow back—eventually. One day we will laugh about this.”

Angela’s face, although still plastered with a stern frown, hid a secret smile. Grace’s skin no longer burned with the unrestrained energy that had, only moments ago, radiated dangerously from her body.

The wind had completely settled, leaving random leaves scattered on the ground in their wake. The sun shone encouragingly in the clear blue sky above as they walked down the footpath toward primary school. Sunshine sliced through the dense blanket of despair that had draped itself uninvited over Grace’s world.

Grace watched as a boy walking a few meters up ahead of them rounded the corner, and gave Angela a little nudge with her elbow.

“What was that for?” Angela asked rubbing her arm, checking for a bruise she knew she wouldn’t find on her ivory skin.

“That’s Joshua Deneb.”

“Yes, that’s Joshua Deneb. I know that. What is the point you are trying to make, Grace?”

“He likes you,” Grace said factually with a grin on her face. “Should we run and catch up with him?”

“No, Grace. I am perfectly happy to walk at this pace, which by the way, should get us to the school gate approximately seventeen minutes before school commences.”

Grace laughed and shook her head. Angela was always so funny. Seriously funny, she thought—in a non-intentional way.

Angela continued with her spiel. “As long as we are all heading to the same destination we will all, eventually catch up.

“Okay, Angela, we can do it your way,” Grace replied happily.

Angela was, of course correct. She usually was. They arrived at the school gate sixteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds before the school bell sounded.

Josh was kneeling at the gate when they arrived, waiting and pretending to tie his shoelace. He blushed profusely when they came to a halt in front of him.

Angela, with her arms folded, glared at him and said, “why are you untying then retying your shoelace, Joshua Deneb?”

He rose, shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugged, and then failed in preventing the infectious grin that whipped itself across his boyishly good-looking face. Joshua gazed upon Angela, transfixed by her dazzling violet eyes. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He blushed as she returned his gaze, a frown creasing her brow. “Come on,” Grace announced, tugging on Angela’s arm. “Lets get to class.”

The three new friends turned in unison and headed toward their waiting classroom. Joshua’s gaze still transfixed on Angela.

The days continued to slip by unnoticed and Grace began to see glimpses of a future where she could be happy again. She felt energized by the sun as it bathed her skin. She immersed herself in its comforting strong arms of warmth.

The sunshine offered up a portal into a new life, a new life with the promise of new beginnings. Grace started to feel that maybe this new life was going to be okay after all. Surely the dark painful shadows from the past had gone from her life, never ever to return.

Even Kate had begun getting up much earlier and was cooking breakfast in the mornings again, or heating up leftover pizza from the night before. And, now and then, Asian food, now that Asian takeaway food menus had been added under the magnet on the refrigerator door. But Grace didn’t mind; it was still a beginning and she welcomed any new beginnings with open arms. She still missed her breakfasts with Wade though; Wade had made breakfast fun.

On the weekends, Kate cooked pancakes and drenched them in maple syrup and whipped cream, just the way Grace liked them. Just the way her father had liked them.

“Maple syrup from Canada,” Grace informed Angela. “Dad said the Canadian maple syrup was the best in the world. Didn’t he, Mum?”

“He most certainly did,” Kate said, flipping a pancake in the sizzling hot fry pan. She pressed it down with an egg flip and waited for the edges to turn a perfect golden brown before she slid it from the pan and added another scoop of batter.

Grace frowned. She was thinking about her father. “Pancakes were dad’s favorite. We used to have them every weekend, when he was home…” She chewed her bottom lip as she thought about the last time she had eaten breakfast with her father. It felt like such a long time ago, now.

“Okay, here we go,” Kate said, bringing a loaded plate of pancakes to the table. “Dig in while they’re hot, folks.”

She passed the bottle of maple syrup across the table to Angela. “I see your fringe has eventually grown back, Angela.”

“Yes, no more, um, bad hair days,” Angela responded, combing her fingers through her perfectly satiny straight fringe.

“Yes, no more bad hair days,” Kate repeated, sitting down at the table.

Grace knew that they both thought about Brian while they ate their pancakes, and she knew that was never going to change, no matter how much time passed.

She spooned a heaped spoonful of cream in the middle of her pancake and spread it out carefully to the edges with the back of her spoon. Then she drew a smiley face on it with the maple syrup—just like the way her father had.

She could still feel her father’s presence at the kitchen table, watching over her. Occasionally, she sensed her father’s soft breath on the back of her neck, whispering softly to her.

“Good morning, Grace, I hope you saved some of those for me?” he would say, teasing her. He’d have ruffled her hair with his hand as he passed.

Then she would feel a fresh spasm of despair engulf her when she spun around to discover that no one was there.

Daddy, where are you? she wondered, barely able to restrain the onslaught of fresh grief that tore through her heart like a razor sharp sword.

She held her breath. She had not seen him, but she knew he was still there somewhere; his scent was unmistakable, the scent of Bvlgari, her father’s favorite aftershave hung in the air all around her. She drew in another long breath, savoring it.

Her mother walked past her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Eat up Grace. Before they go cold.” Then she realized, with acute sadness, that it was her mother who was wearing the cologne. She imagined that her mother wore it now to remind her of her father.

So the magical bubble of new hope - that he was still there for just that moment - popped, and was gone again.

Chapter 11—Freakishly Normal

Life was good, well, a lot better than it had been for Grace, all things considered.

She had made not just one friend, but two. And these two friends were definitely not figments of her vivid imagination, like Hope had been. An imagination born from her desperate need to fit in and be normal.

Other children her own age had shunned Grace for most of her young life, leaving her alone and withdrawn.

She had sat with her father. Anguish contorting her pretty, upturned face.

“I just want to be normal, Dad,” she pleaded with her father, as though he could make it so. “Have friends like everyone else. That isn’t too much to ask for, is it?”

Brian tried to comfort her. “Grace, being normal isn’t always what you think it is. It isn’t always a virtue. Sometimes being special is more important.”

“I don’t want to be special or important, Dad. I just want to be normal. I want to have friends, go to the movies, and have sleepovers, like the other kids do at school.”

“We can go to the movies anytime you want, Grace. We’ll all go this weekend. What do you want to go and see?” Brian asked as he flipped through the newspaper searching for the movie times.

“No, Dad, it’s not the same, but thanks,” Grace replied, dragging herself off the kitchen chair and into her bedroom.

Hope sat on the end of the bed with her eyes closed, waiting for her. Her hair fell long and golden to her waist. Her cherub lips mimicked the color of freshly dried blood. Grace sat down next to her and folded her hands in her lap. “Why can’t you be real?” she asked wistfully.

Hope opened her crystal blue eyes and wrapped an arm around Grace’s drooped shoulders. “I wish I could do that for you, Grace, really I do.”

“Dad says I’m special, but I don’t feel special. I feel like a freak, freak, freak! Everyone at school just stares at me as if I’ve got the black plague or something. That’s what being special feels like! I hate it!” she said, with tears spilling from her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Grace, but all I can tell you is that you won’t always feel that way.”

“It’s okay, Hope,” she said, wiping her tears away. It's not your fault. At least I have you, and Mum and Dad.”

But the two new friends Grace had now, Angela and Joshua, were normal and real enough for Grace—made up of real flesh and blood. For once, Grace didn’t feel like a loner, a freak. For once in her life people had stopped staring, and she felt freakishly normal.

She was floating on a blissful cloud of normality. Being normal, Grace decided, really was the most exquisite feeling in the whole wide world. To hell with being special. She wished so much that her father could see how happy she was, being normal.

And to top it off, her mother was back to doing the usual motherly things. Well, Kate’s version of motherly things, that is. So, yes, life was looking up for our Grace.

That was, up until the day Grace found ‘Officer’ Wade standing statue-like at the kitchen table after school one Friday.

Grace was overjoyed with the utter delight of seeing him again. Her whole body was buzzing from head to toe with ecstatic energy. The last time she had seen him, in uniform…

The smile on her face disintegrated as panic and fear ripped through her. Fear grabbed her by the neck. Oh God, not again, Grace thought, trying to ignore the bile burning the back of her throat. She swallowed, forcing the foul tasting vomit back down.

She was incapacitated by the thought that it was her mother who had been taken from her this time. She looked around the room frantically, searching for her mother.

Where are you, where are you, where are you? She wanted to call out but no words escaped from her mouth, only a screeching, rasping sound. The twisted blackened fingers of fear squeezed her throat harder, gagging her.

Grace sucked in a breath between her teeth and held onto it until she started to feel dizzy. Her heart pounded hard against her chest. White, hazy dots began to blur her vision. No, no, no, she begged silently. Yes, yes, yes, her demons spewed back at her as they squeezed her throat tighter. You are damned. Your soul belongs to us; the voices shrieked as they closed in around her.

Chapter 12—The Ability of Coercion

Angela touched Grace lightly on the shoulder, then gave her a little shake with both hands. “It’s okay Grace. Calm down, take a breath, and breathe.”

Kate stepped out from behind the open fridge door with a carton of milk. She was smiling as she went about her task of making coffee in the kitchen.

Grace momentarily closed her eyes and exhaled. Thank God, she prayed quietly to herself. She heard her demons howl in defeat as they released their stronghold grip from around her throat and vaporized into thin air.

“Hi girls,” Kate said in a singsong voice as she beckoned them into the kitchen. Then she frowned. “Grace, are you okay, you look pale?”

Grace nodded mutely, forcing a smile for her mothers benefit. “I’m fine,” she said, after a moment, when she realized that Wade was there as a friend, and not an Officer of the Law.

“You remember Officer Wade, don’t you?”

Grace smiled, then ran and jumped up into his outstretched arms.

“Of course. Where have you been?” she squealed in delight. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too, kiddo,” Wade said, hugging her back, and spinning her around before setting her feet back down on the floor. “What’s been happening, anything I should know about?” he said, tussling her hair.

“Tons of stuff,” Grace said with excitement, beaming up at him, elated he was back. He was back, wasn’t he?

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not going to disappear again, are you?”

“Nope. Not for a while.”

“A while?”

“Not for a very long while.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Wade nodded. “I’m pretty sure about that.” He looked across at Angela. “I notice you’ve made a friend.”

“Yes, I have,” Grace announced proudly. “This is my friend Angela.”

Angela approached Wade confidently, her small frame overshadowed by his tall one. She dropped her bag on the floor by his feet, and, with absolutely no apprehension put her hand out. “It is very nice to meet you, Officer Wade. My name is Angela Oaks. I am eleven-years-old, nearly twelve, and I reside in the house next door.”

She thrust her small hand assertively into his open palm. Wade was prepared for the electric charge that would resonate through their hands as he closed his fingers gently over her tiny ones. He smiled at her neatly trimmed fingernails. Each painted a different color.

The ceiling lights flickered and, with an urgent sense of danger, Angela’s hand recoiled from his grasp. She stared up at him questioningly with unblinking, violet eyes as large as saucers. Her tiny frame tensed. Was this man friend or foe?

“How strange,” Wade said, looking up toward the light, drawing Grace’s scrutiny away from Angela’s response to the electrifying handshake.

A half-smile formed on his lips as he looked back down into Angela’s reproachful eyes. Silently, he said, ‘there is no need to fear me, Angela, I am one of you.’ Then out loud. “It is very nice to meet you, Angela Oaks, eleven-years-old, nearly twelve, residing in the house next door,” Wade replied, mimicking her melodramatic response.

Angela frowned. She still had so much to learn when it came to what would be considered a normal response for an eleven-year-old child. She continued to examine Wade, and responded with a quick nod and a sniff. Once satisfied with her assessment of this being - Wade - Angela stepped back again and stood protectively by Grace’s side. It was wise to be cautious. The enemy had become the masters of disguise. Trust had to be earned.

‘Yes, now I know exactly who you are,’ was her silent reply.’

Wade smiled. ‘We both want the same thing, I can assure you.’

“Angela?” Kate said, as she continued to busy herself in the kitchen. “Are you coming down with a cold?”

“I do not believe so, Mrs. Connors. I am not presently exhibiting any of the pertinent manifestations that suggest I have the cold virus.”

All heads turned to look at Angela. All except for Grace, who was still completely distracted by the light flickering spasmodically in the ceiling overhead.

“You say the funniest things at times, Angela,” Kate said, shaking her head and failing in an attempt to stifle a chuckle.

“Maybe we’re in for a storm?” Grace said, strolling over to the kitchen windows and drawing back the curtains to examine the sky. “There are a few clouds coming over.”

“Forget the Officer title, just call me Wade, less formal,” Wade said, returning Angela’s concerted gaze.

He could hear her methodical brain ticking over, recording, learning, as the cogs clicked quickly into place.

He reached over the kitchen table and extracted a tissue from the box and pressed it into Angela’s hand. A smile played gently on his lips as he watched Angela fidgeting apprehensively with the tissue she scrunched in her hand.

“Well girls,” Wade said, sitting down at the table, “how was your day at school?”

Grace babbled enthusiastically. “Really, really good, Fridays are always excellent, no school for two whole days.” The flickering light, and the pending storm, were all but forgotten as she narrated the day's events happily to Wade. Inside her chest, a cluster of butterflies danced with glee.

“We went on an outing to the abattoir, which was really disgusting. Mum, I’m thinking about being a vegetarian, like Angela, from now on.”

“Really?” Kate said bemused.

“Yes, really, mum, and there's this boy in our class, Joshua Deneb, Josh, and he has a huge crush on Angela. I think he wants to be her boyfriend.”

Grace threw her arm over Angela’s delicate shoulders and pulled her close. “A boyfriend, Angela, how cool would that be, and you’re only eleven.”

Angela cringed at the boyfriend remark and squirmed out of Grace’s embrace, then scowled at her. She blew her nose with the crinkly tissue, after having come to the conclusion that was how it was meant to be used.

Grace giggled at the bereft expression on Angela’s face. “What? It’s a huge deal if you have a boyfriend,” Grace informed the utterly unimpressed Angela.

“I totally disagree,” Angela retorted, staring at the tissue then shoving it in her pocket.

“Mum, can Angela sleep over tonight? Angela and I really need to talk about this boyfriend stuff.”

“There is nothing to talk about, so no, I don’t believe we do have to talk about this boyfriend stuff,” Angela said promptly.

“Oh yes, there is,” Grace said adamantly with her hands on her hips to express the importance of the joyous situation.

Kate smiled and walked over to the kitchen table with a tray loaded with cake, four plates and two coffee mugs. Grace trailed after her, waiting for her reply. “Mum?”she asked again impatiently.

“Of course, you know you are welcome here any time, Angela. Mum and dad working again tonight?”

“That is correct, Mrs. Connors,” Angela replied, drawing out a seat and taking the piece of banana cake that Kate offered her.

“You know I really should go over and introduce myself…”

“No, you don’t want to do that.” Angela responded quickly. ’I will arrange a time and have my parents come to you.’

“Why don’t you have your parents come over here sometime?” Kate said absently as she poured boiling water in the two coffee mugs.

Angela smiled and bit into her cake.

Wade gave Angela an approving nod of his head. ‘Very impressive, Angela.’

“Okay, sure,” Angela replied, as though it had been Kate’s idea all along. “I will have them come over here sometime, to meet you. Oh, and Mrs. Connors,” Angela continued. “Would you please inform Grace, that eleven is much too young for a boyfriend?”

“Of course it is, Angela. You shouldn’t even be thinking about such things at your age, Grace. You will have plenty of time for boyfriends when you are older. Much older,” Kate said emphasizing the last two words.

Grace frowned, picked up the carton of milk and sniffed it, making sure it hadn’t turned. When she was satisfied it wasn’t off, she poured two glasses of milk, added Milo and sat down beside Angela at the table.

Angela smiled with satisfaction. “Your mother is correct, Grace. Eleven is much too young to be thinking about having a boyfriend.”

“Well,” Grace continued, “That is because Mum is… um, well, old.”

“Hang on there a moment, who are you calling old?”

“Well, no offence, Mum, but you are. You’re like thirty now, right? You don’t know what it’s like to be young and in love, like us.”

“I am not in love,” Angela persisted. “And neither are you, by the way.”

“Oh, but I will be one day, Angela, and so will you,” Grace said, pretending to swoon. “Hmm, I can’t wait to fall in love.”

“Well I think you have a way to go, Grace,” her mother said. “Now eat your cake.” Kate sat down and handed Wade a plate. “I hope you like banana cake?”

“I do, very much,” he said taking the plate. “One of my favorites, in fact.”

Angela sat hidden behind her glass of Milo as she watched the comfortable interaction between Wade, Grace and Kate.

“So, I suppose you think I’m old, as well, Grace?” Wade asked as he took a bite out of his cake.

Grace scoffed. “Of course, you’re older than Mum.”

“Oh, but look at that, we’re old enough to drink coffee,” he said, holding the mug up to her.

“Yeah, whatever. Only three years to go,” Grace said.

“Three years?” Kate asked.

“Before Grace is old enough to drink coffee. We made a deal a little while back that she shouldn’t drink coffee until she turns fifteen.”

“Good plan,” Kate nodded happily in agreement, but feeling guilty, too, for her recent absence in her daughter’s life. “Thank you, Wade.”

Wade smiled, understanding, then added, “Looks like we’re on our way to the glue factory, Kate.”

“Speak for yourself,” Kate laughed. “I’ve still got a way to go before anyone’s putting me out to pasture, or turning me into glue.” Then she looked at Grace and said, “And you better remember that, young lady, next time you want a lift somewhere.”

“Gee, Mum, I didn’t say you were too old to drive and stuff, just too old to have a boyfriend.”

“Well, I guess I should be pleased that I’m still allowed to drive.”

Angela studied Wade. He was tall, perfectly proportioned, and as far as human appearances went, quite handsome. He appeared to be a little older than Kate, but not much. His eyes were a beautiful green, like Kate’s. Oh, it was all starting to make perfect sense to her now. The pieces to the puzzle were slowly starting to fall into place; just a few missing pieces now. But they, too, would come to her—eventually.

Angela was aware of her own strength and abilities. She also knew now, that Wade’s strength and abilities far exceeded hers. The silver-coloured ring that he wore hidden around his neck, one of twelve, was proof of that—but not always the case.

He was the one who had sent for her only months earlier, she knew that now. He was one of the chosen ring bearers and a Royal Guard. Only four others were more powerful than a Royal Guard, and they were the three remaining Royal Guardians, the fourth Royal Guardian having been slain in the war during the March equinox, over nine hundred years ago, on Altair. These three remaining Guardians were extraordinary powerful beings. Few rivaled their power or abilities.

Wade took a mouthful of his coffee and told them how he had known Brian. They had worked together for a short time at the mine in the Tanami Desert before Wade returned to the police force.

Angela’s mind shifted, allowing her to see the time the two men had worked together. Brian’s accident, in the underground mine, she discovered, had not been an accident at all.

There had been a violent struggle, force against force. The massive stonewalls, no match for the powerful clash, had eventually collapsed. The explosive cave-in had crushed Brian’s body, and that of one of his opponents, as thousands of tons of rocky earth sealed the subterranean chamber.

The enemy had been victorious in this fatal battle, and was a step closer to their target. It was only a matter of time before they would be standing on the doorstep—and not waiting for an invitation to enter.

His eyes burned yellow, his nostrils flared. Abaddon did not take this news well. He swiped the half-naked girl off his lap with the back of his hand, stood and stepped over her. “You failed?” he shouted angrily in disbelief. “There were three of you, and only one of him, and you still failed? You are but useless imbeciles.”

The girl whimpered on the floor behind him. “Oh, for God’s sake…” he groaned, giving her no more than an annoyed glance. “You,” Abaddon said, beckoning the black-clad doorman standing statue-like at the arched entrance. “Get her out of here before I wring her goddamned scrawny neck.”

The doorman bowed and dragged the sobbing girl up off the ground and out of the chamber by her arm.

“Master…” one of the men began.

“Did I say you could speak, you worthless piece of shit?” he shouted, suddenly appearing in front of the man, fingers clenched tightly around his throat, silencing him.

The second man remained silent and lowered his head.

“I send you to do one simple task, and you come back with nothing,” Abaddon roared. “Nothing!”

His other hand came up so fast that the man was oblivious when Abaddon, with one swift movement of his wrist, snapped his neck. He released his grip and let the man fall in a lifeless heap on the marble floor. His skull made a sharp cracking sound as it hit the marble floor. His black eyes, unblinking, stared up grotesquely toward his silent companion. A trickle of blood oozed out of the side of his mouth.

Abaddon turned, his long black jacket slicing through the air like a blade. And to the second man he said quite calmly, “Take your friend and get the hell out of here, before I change my mind.” He stormed back to the long, ornate timber table, snatched up a crystal decanter, and refilled his goblet. He took a sip, scowled, then flung the goblet into the stone fireplace. “Bring me another girl,” he shouted, waking the black inked snake tattooed across his exposed chest. The serpent quivered around his body, down his left arm to his wrist where a forked tongue flickered, then hissed. Abaddon bent is head back at an impossible angle to allow a guttural roar and a flurry of black evil to spew from his mouth. His hunger for blood burned through his blackened veins.

Chapter 13—Being Human

Angela, as though sensing Abaddon’s wrath across the vast universe, trembled. She knew that none here, on this planet, regardless of their abilities, was prepared for the evil that was coming. The innocent souls of men, women and children would be destroyed. Immense knowledge, gathered over the centuries, would be lost again, should they fail. None could possibly endure the powerful onslaught from the unrestrained elements of the Wafes - Water, Air, Fire, Earth – should they be forced into battle here on Earth.

Their title failed miserably in providing the acute enormity of the Wafes true powers. But perhaps that is exactly what the title was intended to do — mask their true strength.

Wade turned to look at Angela, understanding her mounting apprehension. He had felt the burning ripple of evil, too.

Angela returned his gaze and frowned. ‘When are you going to tell Kate who you are, what really happened to… Brian?’ she asked him silently.

‘When the time is right; this can’t be rushed. Timing is of the utmost importance, you know that,’ came his silent reply.

Angela nodded and lowered her head. She could not let fear budge her from her duty.

“More coffee, Wade?” Kate asked, breaking the silence that had crept over the room like a huntsman spider moving closer toward its unsuspecting prey.

“Sure, that would be great, thanks Kate,” Wade answered, shifting his gaze from Angela to Kate.

This was not the time, nor the place for such a discussion—spoken or otherwise. He smiled, what he trusted was a convincing smile at Kate. His smile worked—outwardly. Her frown dissolved into a smile, smoothing her furrowed brow. Inwardly, the knot in her stomach tightened, but she let it go, telling herself not to be foolish. The thoughts that haunted her were just dreams, nothing more. She was a mother, a wife… No, not a wife, a widow. The frown returned.

“I wouldn’t mind another piece of that cake, either,” Wade added quickly.

Kate shook her head, clearing her head and ignoring the darkness that whispered in her ear. “Sure, help yourself. Anyone else?” Kate asked. “Actually, I think I’ll have another piece myself. It is pretty good, isn’t it, even if I do say so myself.”

“Yeah, well done, Mum,” Grace added. Anything Kate cooked from scratch, Grace knew from experience, was an enormous achievement for her mother, and quite often an enormous risk. Eating food that had been delivered in cardboard boxes or plastic containers was usually considered the far safer option on any given day.

They sat making idle conversation and eating Kate's banana cake into the afternoon. All seriousness temporarily left behind—but for some, not forgotten.

The small group gathered around the table portrayed a picture-perfect scenario of a normal family discussing the events of an ordinary day. However, nothing about this group was normal or ordinary—no matter how much they wished it to be.

Only Angela looked increasingly preoccupied by the turmoil of her thoughts. No one questioned Angela about her absence from conversations. Silence, in fact, was considered normal behavior for Angela on any given day.

She could often be found sitting quietly, reading a book, or just contemplating her own thoughts. Completely distracted by another time, another place—the past, the present, the future. It was often hard to tell which time-zone her thoughts were preoccupied with.

And Grace, who was used to her own solitary existence, was never fazed by the lingering silences that stretched out between them. Sometimes, they would sit for hours in complete silence, caught up in their own thoughts. When the silence was eventually broken, usually by Grace thinking out loud, it was a silent reply that was usually forthcoming to answer her wondering mind.

Angela took a nibble absently out of her piece of cake. The imminent events that preoccupied her could quite possibly be documented as a global killer in future records. That was, if any of her kind survived the onslaught to submit them into the ancient leather-bound record books. At the very least, the battle would certainly be categorized as a human — and an immortal — killer.

Grace too, was distracted for a moment. I wish Dad was here, she thought sadly to herself, but continued to smile. Her mother was happy, and she wanted to make sure she stayed that way. And Wade was back, surely that gave her reason enough to be happy? Didn’t it?

Wade felt Grace’s sorrow; he wanted so much to return her father to her, but that would be foolish. More than that though, it would be incredibly dangerous. An enormous risk to her life and the lives of others. So he pushed the idea from his mind. It was most certainly not an option worth entertaining any further. Her sorrow, for now, had to be her knight in shining armor.

They continued to laugh and talk about a diversity of subjects. From a job that Wade was helping Kate get, a waitress-come-bar-maid position at O’Regans Tavern, to how Wade had been called to a break-and-enter.

He had discovered an old woman wedged firmly in a window. The woman had locked herself out and had managed to get herself stuck in a lavatory window, trying to get back in. Mr. Dipsy, her toy poodle, had gone ballistic, alerting the neighbors to the possibility of foul play.

“That was not a pretty sight,” Wade said, flinging his hands dramatically in the air then covering his eyes. “Completely commando, not a scrap of underwear!”

They all laughed at Wade’s entertaining translation of the event. All except Angela, who sat there completely straight-faced. She failed utterly to find any humor in the incident at all.

“Oh, how horribly embarrassing for her. What did you do then?” Kate asked with her hands over her mouth.

“Thankfully, there was a female officer, so I gladly left her there to deal with it.”

Graced giggled. “Thank goodness for the police force, we can all sleep safely in our beds at night knowing that we are safe from knickerless little old ladies climbing in our windows.”

Angela’s eyes widened, elated in the discovery of a plausible reason to this tale. “Yes, safe, now that is very, very important!” she said enthusiastically.

Everyone turned toward Angela, completely baffled by her sudden enthusiasm in the conversation.

Aware now of her under-the-microscope status, Angela picked up her glass of Milo and gulped it down. Then, with a flawlessly straight face, she burped. Her eyes opened wide in mock surprise. She quickly covered her mouth with her fingers. “Oh, pardon me!”

Everyone burst out laughing. And this time, Angela joined in and laughed, too.

“Oh my God, Angela, I don’t believe it. You made a joke!” Grace said, holding her stomach from laughing so hard.

Angela grinned. She was learning quickly how to fit in—how to be human. The situation, she concluded triumphantly, had been perfectly amended—for now.

Chapter 14—Cracks Between Shadows

Kate made another coffee for Wade as she contemplated what to prepare for dinner. After a little deliberation… the evening ritual began.

Kate: “Chinese?”

Grace: “Yep.”

Kate: “Grab the menu.”

Grace plucked the menu for the Golden Eagle home delivery service off the fridge door. It was held in place by a magnetic calendar advertising a Pizza delivery service—also regular visitors at the Connors’ household.

Grace wrote down everyone’s preferences.

The menu was splattered with stains from Chicken Chow Mein, Black Bean Sauce, Vegetarian Stir-Fry, and was curled up at the corners from its frequent use.

“Golden Eagle Take-Away, Tyra Chan speaking, can I take your order, please?”

“Hi Tyra, Kate here, from Bremer street.”

“Oh hi, Mrs. Connors, what can I order for you tonight?”

Kate read out the list over the phone.

“Prawn chips,” Grace called out. “Don’t forget the prawn chips and crispy noodles.”

“I heard her. Thanks Mrs. Connors, that will be about… let me see… half an hour.”

“I think the whole street heard her. Half an hour sounds perfect, Tyra. Oh, and Tyra, no meat in the fried rice, Grace has become vegetarian.”

“Oh, okay. No worries, Mrs. Conners. Anything else?”

“No, I think that’s it. Oh, extra peas in the fried rice. And please say hi to your mum for me.”

“Will do.”

Kate hung up the phone. And that is how the evening ritual usually concluded.

Grace grabbed a pile of plates, and Angela came back to the table with the cutlery.

“Anything I can do?” Wade asked as Grace and Angela darted about, setting the table.

“Nope,” said Grace, sliding a plate in front of him.

Exactly half an hour later, as promised the food arrived. “Hello, Golden Eagle take-away,” an old man announced through the screen door with a heavy Asian accent.

Wade greeted the stooped old deliveryman at the door. The old man’s leathery skin stretched gauntly over every inch of his bent, bony frame. Gold fillings sparkled in his toothy mouth when he grinned.

“Oh good, the food’s arrived,” Grace said, jumping off the sofa from in front of the television to help Wade with the bags of food. “I’m starving.”

Angela shook her head. The expression drama queen, that Grace quite often used was starting to make sense.

“I do believe you are being a drama queen, Grace,” Angela said, feeling proud for using the expression at the appropriate time.

“Well said, Angela,” Kate said, laughing at the girl sitting straight-backed at the table.

“Well, thank you, Mrs. Connors,” Angela beamed, bowing her head in appreciation.

Champ, the dog with the gift of super-smell, materialized on the front doorstep at the same time as the old man and yapped excitedly.

“Arr, you a funny little dog,” the old man said as the pint-sized terrier circled his bowed legs, and then shot through the door to find a spot beside Angela. Champ had an undeniable preference for the taste of Asian cuisine.

The bags of food dangling from the old man’s gnarled fingers emitted mouth-watering aromas. The aromatic scents of jasmine rice, coriander, lemon grass and ginger wafted tantalizingly into the room.

Wade dropped money into the old man’s cupped hand. He counted it, nodded. “Thank you, Mister, enjoy your food, okay,” he said smiling before shuffling off toward his red delivery van with an oversized wok mounted on the roof.

Wade watched the old man slide into the seat behind the steering wheel. For a few seconds their eyes met. Then the old man gave Wade an acknowledging nod. Wade returned the gesture and waited until the delivery van had pulled out of the driveway before he closed the door behind him and joined the others in the kitchen.

They all congregated noisily around the table and dished themselves up portions from the plastic containers.

“Are you sure that’s enough, Angela? A sparrow eats more food than that,” Kate said, settling herself down in a chair at the table.

Angela’s serving consisted of a small pile of fried rice, mainly peas, her favorite, in the centre of her plate. “Oh yes, Mrs. Connors, this is more than adequate, I assure you, but thank you.”

They teased each other joyfully as they fumbled with the wooden chopsticks delivered with the meal. Eventually though, their impatience - and hunger - got the better of them, and they reached for the cutlery. They all went back for seconds, except Angela, of course.

Wade continued providing the night’s entertainment by telling humorous stories about his job as they all busied themselves with kitchen chores. He didn’t think it appropriate to mention the not-so amusing aspects of his job. Like the other kinds of evening rituals that he was encountering more frequently now. Those evening rituals slammed him hard in the chest every time they assaulted him.

Human flesh splattered on lounge room walls—ripe with maggots. The broken limbs found dumped in plastic garbage bags—that had been skinned alive. A family literally torn apart and drained of their blood, which had been presumably used for satanic rituals. Rape victims who babbled on incoherently about monsters who had taken their souls...

“What about dead bodies?” Grace asked with a morbid fascination. “Have you ever seen any of those?”

Wade remained silent, spooning sweet corn and chicken soup into his mouth to avoid answering the question.

Angela squirmed uncomfortably in her chair and looked at Wade.

“Grace, don’t be so gruesome, you’ll just give yourself nightmares. Come on,” Kate continued, rising from her chair. “Dishes.”

The two girls washed and dried dishes as Kate cleared the table. There were no leftovers to store in the refrigerator for tomorrow, only empty containers for the trash.

Grace gave Angela a commentary of why having a boyfriend was so important.

“One, they can hold your hand while you watch a scary movie.”

“Movies aren’t scary,” Angela said, wiping a plate and sitting in down on the bench.

“Two,” Grace continued, unperturbed by Angela’s response. “They can fight the kids at school that pick on you.”

“No one picks on me.”

“What about those kids that teased you about your hair?”

“Humph, that was nothing; I can fight my own battles when I need to,” Angela answered, shrugging her shoulders.

“Three, they can paint your toenails.”

“I have you for that,” Angela retorted.

“Okay, okay, let me think,” Grace said, picking up a soapy plate from the sink. She lost her grip on the plate. It slid from her fingers. In that same second, Angela spun around and caught it just moments before it reached the floor.

“Whoa, great catch. How did you do that?” Grace asked, stunned by the swiftness of Angela’s astute reflexes.

“Lucky catch, Angela,” Wade said.

“Yes, lucky.” Angela nodded, dying the plate and stacking it with the others.

“Hmm, anyway, where was I up to? Four I think? Yes, four,” Grace said continuing with the dishes in the sink, and her list.

In hindsight, Angela thought, she should have just let the plate smash on the floor. Cleaning it up would have been far less painful than listening to the boyfriend narrative.

Wade chuckled under his breath listening to Angela’s thoughts as he collected plastic containers and soft-drink bottles and shoved them into garbage bags. Then he thought sadly, this is what garbage bags were meant for, trash—not human remains.

He hauled the rubbish bags outside, opened the lid to the bin and tossed them in. It was hard to see garbage bags and not think about the ones that broken bodies had tumbled out of. And the stench from the decaying flesh, that had been putrid.

He watched as dark ominous clouds began to coagulate in the night sky. A brisk breeze scuttled through his brown hair, coercing a stray tuft to fall across his corrugated brow.

Curtains billowed in the open windows; tree branches shushed as they stooped then rose. Loose leaves fell aimlessly to the earth below. A lone dog barked. Others joined in on the raucous chorus. A silent cavalcade of flying foxes moved stealth-like overhead.

Wade paused for a moment, listening, and then focused intently on the voices coming from inside the house.

“He does so, Angela. I know it. Can’t you tell by the way Josh looks at you? He can’t keep his eyes off you, and all that grinning, ugh. That's a sure sign.”

“Don’t tease her, Grace; you can see that it makes her uncomfortable. Champ, put that shoe down, no, no, stop, stop, drop it! Oh God, look at it. Naughty boy, Champ! Grace, how many times have I told you to put your shoes away?”

“Is there any ice-cream, Mum?”

“In the freezer. Dish everyone up some.”

“Can we eat it in front of the telly?”

“Sure, but not before you put your shoes away. Before Champ gets a chance to start eating the other one.”

The voices reminded him of another time, another life, another family. His memories collided, Brian and Wade’s both, raced through his mind. Two lives, two souls mingling together as one. The common factor holding them both together—a life force of energy. His. He raked his fingers through his hair, composed himself, and went back in to join this family, Brian’s family.

It wasn’t his family anymore, no matter how badly he wanted it to be. Guilt gripped his heart; he drove the memories from his mind to focus on other things.

The screen door closed slowly behind him with a gentle click. Frogs croaked. Thunder grumbled.

Things that were far more threatening were on his mind. Like the danger that he knew was lurking silently in the cracks between the shadows—waiting.

Chapter 15—The Things That You Don’t See

“We’re going to my room now, mum. Lots of girl stuff to talk about,” Grace said, pulling Angela off the sofa and onto her feet.

“Do we have to?” Angela groaned.

“Yes we do, it will be fun.”

“For whom?”

Grace halted in front of Wade. “Are you sleeping on the sofa tonight?”

“We’ll see.”

“Please,” she begged.

“You miss my bacon and eggs that much, hey?”

“Yes, I miss your cooking, but I’ve decided not to eat meat anymore, remember? The abattoir… I’m a vegetarian now, like Angela.”

“Oh yes, of course,” Wade nodded. “I had forgotten about that.”

“What’s wrong with my cooking?” Kate injected.

Grace stared at her mother and frowned. “Are you serious?” Then she smiled. “It’s just that, well, heating up leftovers isn’t really cooking, Mum…” Then added quickly, “Your banana cake and pancakes are great, though, the best. Honestly.”

“Okay, I get it. Good save by the way. Anyway, I’m not complaining. I could do with a good sleep-in. Wade, the kitchen, and the brats, are all yours in the morning.”

“Sure thing, you know there aren’t going to be too many sleep-ins when you start working, so you may as well make the most of it,” Wade replied, kicking his shoes off and sticking his feet up on the coffee table. Grace stared at him, open mouthed.

“Grace, what’s up?” Wade asked.

Grace glanced at her mother, but her mother was too busy flicking through the channels with the remote control to have noticed.

“Oh Abyss, let’s watch that, I love that movie,” Kate said enthusiastically.

Grace snapped her mouth shut and returned her gaze toward Wade.

“Oh, um, nothing... I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast. Night, mum. Come on Angela, let’s go.”

“See you in the morning, kiddo, night, Angela,” Wade said, withdrawing his feet from the table. Keeping his secret from Grace was going to be a lot harder than he had anticipated.

“Night, Grace, Angela, don’t stay up too late,” Kate echoed, blowing both girls a kiss. “I’ll come in and check on you both a little later. Have you seen this movie, “Abyss?” she asked Wade, making herself comfortable on the sofa.

“Have you got a box of tissues ready?” he replied. “You know you are definitely going to need the tissues.”

Champ sprang off the sofa and scurried down the hall after the girls.

Angela walked a few paces behind Grace. “Are you all right, Grace? Tell me.”

“It’s just something that Wade did, it reminded me of…” She shook her head. She knew Angela wouldn’t understand. Angela hadn’t known her father. How he would kick his shoes off and stick them up on the coffee table to watch TV. “It’s nothing, forget it.”

Grace came to a halt outside her bedroom. She reached her hand carefully around the doorway, feeling the way with her fingertips until she found what she was searching for. The light switch. She flicked it on, then sprinted over to the windows and wrenched the curtains closed.

“You truly are possessed, aren’t you?” Angela said, strolling casually in after her. “Ever since you watched that ridiculous movie about the vampire with the red blinking eyes staring through the window, you’ve been scared.”

Angela sat herself down on the end of the bed and tucked her legs beneath her.

“I fail to understand, Grace, why you watch horror movies if all they accomplish is terrorizing you half to death. Honestly Grace, where is the reasonable logic in that?”

Grace looked at Angela as if she had just been expelled from another galaxy for unquestionable stupidity.

“What planet are you from, Angela? That is the reason why you watch horror movies in the first place, to frighten you. It’s fun.”

She dropped herself down on the bed with a grin and turned on her CD player.

Angela shrugged her shoulders, utterly dumbfounded.

“Horror movies never frighten me. They are just ridiculous fictitious stories that do nothing but discompose the brain. Nothing can be learnt by watching them.”

Real life, Angela knew, when things really did go bump in the night, now that was something to be genuinely concerned about. And it was the things that you didn’t hear, didn’t see; they were the most frightening of all.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know about, decomposing the brain -”

“Discompose; it means upset, muddle.”

“Whatever. I know that when a monster is chasing you, you take your high-heeled shoes off. I’ve learnt that... And you never, ever dangle your legs over the edge of the bed at night... And clowns, well, you get rid of them right away; they are just way too freaky. If the monster doesn’t get you, the clown sure will,” Grace shuddered, recalling her dreams.

“Are you listening to yourself, Grace?

“Well, anyway, forget all that, they’re just movies, for entertainment. They’re not meant to be educational or anything.”

“And do you really think that closing the curtains at night is going to keep them out, these monsters?”

Grace grabbed a pile of magazines off the floor and handed Angela one.

“You’re right, of course. Maybe I should lock the window, as well.”

“I’m here, you’ll be fine.”

“To hell with that, you couldn’t fight yourself out of a wet paper bag. I’m locking the window.”

“Oh, sit down, Wade is here, you’ll be fine.”

“So true, but still, I’ll only leave it open just a crack, just in case he’s a heavy sleeper.”

“I give up,” Angela said, turning the pages of the magazine that Grace had handed her before swapping it with a different one from the pile.

Grace's bedroom walls were a delicate soft pink color. However, that was almost impossible to tell nowadays. Only small slits of paint were visible between the gaps left by large glossy posters of Orlando Bloom, Avril Lavine, Pink, Harry Potter, Star Wars, and Lord of the Rings.

Grace sprawled out on the bed and flicked through Today’s Teenager. Even though she wasn’t quite a teenager yet.

Angela read an article on The Tree of Life, a book depicting the life of Charles Darwin. Darwin had written: ‘At each period of growth all the growing twigs have tried to branch out on all sides, and to overtop and kill the surrounding twigs and branches, in the same manner as species and groups of species have at all times overmastered other species in the great battle for life.’ “How fascinating,” Angela murmured.

Grace studied a quiz on how to determine if a boy had a crush on you—or not. She devoured the column fanatically and wrote her answers down on the edge of the page. Some she deliberated on. Some she circled without hesitation. Then she added up her score.

Angela tensed herself and waited for the in-depth explanation that was sure to follow.

“Ha, ha, I knew it. Josh has got a crush on you.” Grace laughed, throwing a pillow at Angela. Angela’s hand sprang out and caught it. Champ sat up fiercely and retorted with a yap at Grace before resuming his sleeping position in the middle of the bed.

“Sorry, Champsie,” Grace said as she patted his white fluffy head, then looked at Angela, still holding the pillow in the air. “You really are a very good catcher; maybe you should join the softball team at school.”

“I don’t think so,” Angela said, handing the pillow back to Grace.

“Now, according to this quiz, Josh really is into you,” Grace said, pushing the magazine toward Angela.

Angela readjusted herself on the bed, then picked up the magazine. “Well then, I had better study this then hadn’t I? I obviously have a lot to learn about, when it comes to boys.”

Grace nodded. “Well, I have read tons of this stuff, so if you have any questions.”

“I will be sure to ask you.”

“Good.” Grace let herself flop back on the bed. “Josh really is quite good-looking, don’t you think? I wish someone liked me like that.”

Angela sighed. “Joshua is very intelligent.”

“Who cares if he’s intelligent, he’s nice looking too, don’t you think? A bit skinny maybe. But nice looking, right?”

“Yes, I suppose. He’s not as good-looking as—” Angela scanned the walls, searching for a name. “Orlando Bloom. We should hire Fellowship of the Ring this Saturday, have a movie night.”

She failed to understand Grace’s fascination in boys, but she was happy to play along.

This was an important game she knew she had yet to master. Important to Grace, that is, so an imperative factor in maintaining her crucial position in Grace’s life.

And the boy Josh, she had already realized his importance. He, too, was most certainly worthy of her undivided attention. Just not in the way that Grace had imagined.

She knew the elements were drawing dangerously closer, in preparation for what was to come. The fact that the boy obviously had feelings for her was just going to make Angela’s task that much easier.

Angela smiled. “Yes, Josh is good-looking.”

“Actually, a movie night is a pretty good idea, Angela. You want to know another really good idea?” Grace continued. “Maybe Josh can come over, too. He only lives two blocks away, what do you think?”

“You can not begin to imagine what I am thinking. But you aren’t going to let this Josh thing go, are you?” she asked, not taking her head out of the magazine. “I am inclined to believe that it is a pity that you are not this persistent with math. You’d be a lot better at it.” She looked up at Grace. “I am sure you can invite Josh, it is your house… isn't it?”

“Let’s go to his place tomorrow and ask him,” Grace said.

Angela put down the magazine, stood up and pulled her shoulder length black hair up into a ponytail. “I will leave you to mastermind your grand plan for the weekend.” Angela grabbed her pajamas from her overnight bag and disappeared down the hall to the bathroom.

Grace called after her, “I don’t mind if I do. Oh, and Angela?”

“Yes, Grace,” came Angela’s muffled reply from the bathroom.

“He really does have a crush on you, you know?”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Angela muttered, closing the bathroom door behind her.

Grace made a list.

Visit Josh.

Get Wade to drive us to the shop.

Hire movie.

Buy Popcorn, Maltesers, ice cream, soft drink.

Order pizza x 2—vegetarian.

“The perfect weekend,” she said, rubbing Champ playfully on his head. “What do you think, Champsie? Sound like the perfect weekend to you?”

Grace could hear Angela brushing her teeth in the bathroom. She heard a current weather update on the TV in the lounge room, thunder storms predicted for the weekend. She could hear Kate fussing in the kitchen, and chatting about starting her new job at the Tavern.

Kate was looking forward to starting work, earning the much-needed income.

“I’m worried about how much time I will be leaving Grace alone at home in the evenings.”

Wade got up from the sofa and leaned against the kitchen counter. “I can call in after work; make sure she’s okay, if you like.”

“Really, you wouldn’t mind? I would be really grateful, and I know Grace adores you.”

“The feeling’s are mutual, she’s a good kid. I’m more than happy to drop in and check on her. It will give me someone to eat dinner with.”

“Thank you, Wade. Really, thank you. You have no idea what this means to me. Not just this, but everything, the job… You have done so much for us already.” She looked at him with pointed curiosity for a moment. She had no idea why she had trusted him from the very first day he had turned up on her doorstep. He bought her the most horrible news. He told her Brian was dead. However, when he looked at her, with his own sad eyes, she knew she could trust him. She knew that he had felt the same kind of grief. Perhaps, she thought, they needed each other. She had been right.

“It’s okay, Kate, really. I’m more than happy to help out, it’s the least I can do.”

Kate smiled. Then in two steps she was against him, hugging him. “Thank you so much.”

He didn’t return the gesture; he didn’t think he would be strong enough. His own arms hung limp by his sides.

Kate pulled away, and blushed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable… I am just so… grateful,” she said in a small, embarrassed whisper.

“No, I’m sorry, Kate, you just took me by surprise. Here, let me help you put these dishes away.”

In her room, Grace smiled; it was the perfect Friday night, the perfect beginning to the weekend. Well, almost.

“No more school for two whole days, Champsie,” Grace said.

Monday felt like a million miles away. More importantly, Grace felt happy because her mother was happy. And Wade was back. She thought about Wade for just a moment, and then let her thoughts slip slowly from her mind. Silly thoughts, impossible, crazy thoughts.

She picked up her hairbrush and jumped up and down on her bed singing along to Avril, waking Champ from his blissful sleep.

He yapped excitedly, joining in, or was he angry with her for waking him again?

Sometimes it’s impossible to determine one from the other. Masks camouflage the faces of both good and evil. Keeps hidden what is a truth and what is a lie.

A gentle breeze stole carefully through the open bedroom window. The curtains fluttered with the brief interruption, then fell still. A silent prophecy translated by air draws the pending storm, hovering menacingly on the distant horizon—closer.

Outside, the thorny fingers on a crimson bougainvillea scrape angrily across the glass windowpane.

Grace didn’t notice the bedside lamp when it began to dim, and then flicker.

Yes, it was the things that you didn’t hear, didn’t see, lurking in the shadows at night, that you should be most afraid of.

Chapter 16—Boxing Day

Year: 2004 AD

“Tis the season to be jolly, Fa la la la la, la la la la,” Grace sang as she wiped the sleep out of the corner of her eyes and swaggered into the lounge room to join Kate and Wade.

“What’s for breakfast, and how did Boxing Day get its name? That’s what I want to know.”

“Hush, for a moment Grace,” Kate said, her eyes not shifting from the images of destruction on the television screen.

Wade was sitting on the sofa beside her with his elbows resting on his knees. He was wearing his boxer shorts and a t-shirt from spending another night on the sofa.

Kate and Wade were both transfixed by the television screen, hanging off every word spoken by the young TV news reporter.

“There was no warning system in place; thousands of souls have been lost…”

“What’s all this about, what’s happened, what’s been lost? Has Angela or Josh called yet? We’re meant to be catching up at his place after breakfast,” Grace asked.

She walked over to the Christmas tree to tap some of the brightly coloured fairy lights. They started to blink, fast then slow, off then on.

“No. Not yet,” Kate replied, still staring at the television, and shaking her head, shocked by the terrible catastrophe that was unfolding in front of her.

“I love Christmas, so pretty... Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.” Grace pushed herself up on her toes but wasn’t quite tall enough to adjust the Angel sitting precariously on the top. She dragged over a chair and climbed up on it. “That’s better, Hope, can’t have you falling off your perch now can we.” She jumped down. “So, does this mean I have to get my own breakfast?”

“Shh,” they both said this time.

Then Kate said, “There’s leftovers in the fridge, help yourself.”

The National Nine News reporter continued with his ongoing dialogue. “Disposing of the dead to try and save the living… No one saw it coming until it was too late.”

“What’s too late,? Grace asked, pulling the fridge door open to gaze at the vast array of leftover food from Christmas day.

She scooped up some custard on her finger and stuck it in her mouth. “Hmm… custard for breakfast.” She glanced over her shoulder at her mother, then washed it down with a mouthful of water straight out of the jug.

“Shh…” Kate said, then turned the volume up. “And don’t eat all the custard for breakfast. And use a glass.”

Mothers, Grace decided, really did have eyes in the back of their heads.

Images of death and devastation filled the television screen.

“Officials in Indonesia, Sri Lanka and India have all reported death tolls in the thousands, and the figures are expected to rise significantly over the next few days. A UN emergency relief co-coordinator has said that this may be the worst natural disaster in recent history.”

Grace stood frozen at the open fridge door; she felt her hands curl into tight fists. Her nails dug into her palm, breaking the skin. An ice-cold shiver ran up her spine. She trembled and let herself sink slowly down to the kitchen floor. She shoved the fridge door closed with her foot, rattling the contents on the shelves.

“You okay in there, Grace?” Wade called over his shoulder.

“Sure,” she replied from behind the kitchen counter, out of sight. She pulled her knees up under her chin and hugged them tight against her chest.

The reporter continued.

“Other stories tell how a father in Sri Lanka watched on helplessly as his entire family was swept away by the sea. Health experts are now fearing that many more could die as diseases like Typhoid, Cholera, and Malaria spread rapidly throughout the affected areas.”

Grace tucked her head between her knees. Oh God, oh God, oh God. She felt herself being pulled away, back into the past. Back into Juliette’s past. My past. Grace squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to drive away the ringing in her ears. Then came the deafening silence and the blinding white light, whoosh. Grace was gone… and I felt the presence of another life pouring into this body that Grace and I shared.

Chapter 17—Hells Bells Toll for Thee

Year: 1755 AD

My eyes are closed tight, trying desperately to hold on to my wavering sanity. The words of a Christmas carol swim around in my head.

Tis the season to be jolly…

I pinch my arms, hoping that the pain will keep me connected to the present.

Troll the ancient Yuletide carol. Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.

My mind is being torn between two worlds—two parallel universes? I’m not sure. The accumulated energy from the past and the present collide head-on at a million miles per hour in my skull. The persistent struggle for existence in the confined space meant for one.

See the blazing Yule before us. Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.

I can hear the shrill laughter of a child reverberate from my throat. An old man is cussing. Hens are clucking angrily in response.

My vision starts to focus and forms ghostly blobs of light and dark floating in front of me. Then color starts to filter through and the images become more distinguishable.

I hear feet running. Then I realize they are my feet, running weightlessly along a cobbled path. Someone rushes past me, more laughing. I feel the brush of their skin on my arm. Loose strands of dark hair tickle my face as I run. I giggle. My long skirt flaps around my legs.

“Wait for me,” I call out as I run. I run faster, gasping for breath, trying to catch up. I smash into the old man who is fussing over his clucking chickens.

He curses again. I don’t know if he is cursing at me or his squabbling chickens in their small timber crates.

Shame on him, he should know better. There is never a good reason for blasphemy on a day like today. What would God think about that? All hell would surely break loose to punish that man and his chickens.

He could curse all day long, if he wanted, at those bickering chickens—or me, for that matter. I didn’t care, not today.

It was 1755, and Lisbon was preparing for one of the year’s biggest religious celebrations, All Saints’ Day. The city was alive with activity and preparation for this auspicious occasion.

A light breeze tousled my hair as I sprinted down the cobbled path after Leon. He was so fast on his feet; I didn’t think I would ever catch up.

The market place was a hive of activity, teaming with color, people, and livestock. All the usual festivities orchestrated for this day.

Papa used to say, “If you haven’t seen Lisbon, you haven’t seen beauty.” He was right about that, Lisbon was beautiful, especially on a day like today.

Papa is in church today, like so many others, but without Mother. She is unwell with the fever and has stayed at home, in bed. My sister Maria is taking care of her. She was a little annoyed to be missing all the festivities. And she wanted so much to attend the Holy Day Mass.

My mother had told her to go, but Maria, being the saint that she is, said that she couldn’t possibly go while mother was in such a state.

Not me, I wanted to be outside with my brother, Leon, on this glorious day. Even the earth beneath my feet moves and vibrates with excitement as I run. Bells rejoice without the touch of human hand from every Cathedral and Church across the land.

God is in his glory, marveling at his perfect creations on this extraordinary day.

I hold my arms out wide and spin myself around as I gaze up into the bright blue sky. I feel giddy with the joy of being alive. I am blessed, that is what my mother said.

“You are blessed, little one, to have such a wonderful life. We all are, now run off and have fun. Leon, take care of your sister.”

My mother was right. Mother usually was. Later, I will say a prayer for her in church.

“Come on, Tareja,” my brother calls. “Hurry up.”

Suddenly, there is a horrible noise, like an angry roll of thunder. Not from the sky, but from beneath my feet. The ground vibrated again, only more violently this time. Then nothing. But within moments it erupts again with a fierce intensity.

“Leon, Leon, something terrible is happening,” I scream.

He feels it, too; I can see the terror widening his big green eyes as he runs toward me. I run into his arms and we stand there, clutching each other, as the earth trembles all around us.

“I want Mama,” I sob. “We have to find Papa, to take us home.”

Then the buildings around us start to disintegrate. Little bits at first, then whole pieces of walls come down. Beautiful Cathedrals and churches fall, too. The House of God becomes the House of Death. Death, fear, panic - condemnation is everywhere, stalking us.

Huge cracks beneath my feet split open. The bowels of the earth begin to swallow up people, buildings—Lisbon. Nothing, no one is spared.

Everyone starts running, pushing and shoving in a desperate fight for survival. I lose my grip on Leon’s hand. I have lost him. He has been shoved away by the swarming crowd. I see the old man and his chickens. He is being trampled to death by the hooves of a shiny black stallion. The stallion rears up and tosses his glistening head back and forth. His wild eyes bulge in shock at witnessing his own barbaric act.

The man’s chickens, freed from their crates, are flapping madly around him in a panicked frenzy. Some are crushed by a stonewall as it splits in two and comes smashing down. Their round beady eyes pop out of bloodied eye sockets and hold on by just a thread. Some are headless and run around in a panic, in a desperate search for their heads, I imagine.

Voices bellow and cry out in the escalating chaos. A massive church bell flips perilously down the narrow street, relentlessly crushing all in its path.

It reminds me of a parasol that I saw once being tossed down the street by the breeze. End over end it went, cart-wheeling and bouncing into the air, until a dashing young man snatched it up and returned it to his blushing companion.

The bell flips, then hangs above me, vibrating. Everything around me seems to stop for a second, then continues in slow motion. I want to scream but my voice is too slow to respond. I close my eyes and crouch into a ball and fold my arms protectively around my head and knees. It won’t help; I know that. It is purely a reflex reaction, but right now, that’s all I’ve got.

I wait for the crushing impact. I feel the weight of the massive bell get heavier as it slowly comes down on my back. I am paralyzed with fear.

Then I am free. Leon has seized my elbow and pulls me out from under it.

I hear the sound of the bell as it smashes to the ground behind me. The cobblestones erupt from the massive impact and explode into shards of flying missiles.

Leon keeps a tight grip on my arm as we run into the charging crowd. We run as hard and as fast as we can.

“Run,” voices scream out. “Run to the harbor, away from the buildings, hurry.”

If we hadn’t run, if we had just stood there, we would still have been swept up, or drowned, by the swollen river of human bodies as they fled.

We cling to each other desperately when we reach the safety of the harbor. I stand trembling in my brother’s strong arms as chaos shakes, screeches, and crashes beneath and around us.

Then the earth stops. And one by one the bells stop toiling as they too, sit broken and spent, on the ruptured earth.

Dust and smoke billows high in the sky, obscuring the sun, turning the beautiful blue sky into a deathly grey ghost. I cling desperately to Leon’s slender body as tears forge a muddy stream down my face.

The grey cloud slowly disperses, exposing the once beautiful city, obscured now by the ugliness of destruction and death. Giant flames jump and lick hungrily at the heavens, like ravenous demons aroused by the suffering.

I hear cries and gasps from the living. Painful moans from the dying float aimlessly in the smoldering remains.

I worry about Mama, Papa and Maria; what fate has befallen them? What sounds are forthcoming from their lips, if any, I wonder. My heart breaks. My legs crumble. I sob unashamedly at my brother’s feet.

The crowd, exhausted and dirty, falls to their knees, too, and gives thanks to God.

“Oh, God, our Father and Savior, who of thy goodness has watched over us and protected us against the hatred of evil. Let us give thanks and pray.”

Then, instantaneously, an eerie hush descends, and everyone starts pointing out to sea.

A young man jumps to his feet.

“Look, even the ocean runs from death,” he calls out boastfully.

He was right; the ocean, and all that sat upon it, was running away, too. Like it was being sucked down a giant plughole faraway at sea.

“We must go find Papa,” Leon said, pulling me to my feet. We had barely escaped the clutches of hell, and now we walked hand-in-hand toward the Devil's new playground—Lisbon.

But the Devil was not done.

Within minutes, giant waves spewed from the harbor. Few escaped the fury of the massive waves as they surged forward, devouring the city as it lay beaten and burnt in its path.

Leon holds me tight; I hold him tighter as the wall of water pushes, pulls and slams us into walls, bodies. I take a breath of air—and saltwater. I gag and throw up. A fist of water smashes my body against the side of a submerged building then pushes me down. I feel Leon’s hand slipping from mine, and I panic. I try frantically to hold on. I see the sorrow in his pleading eyes, asking me to forgive him. Forgive him for not being stronger, for letting me go. I see his lips forming my name. But only bubbles of dirty water gush from his mouth.

I search in the water, kicking and grabbing with my outstretched arms, reaching for him. But Leon is gone. Debris and a mountainous wall of seawater propels me farther away. I fight for breath and voice. I receive neither.

My lungs are filling with dirty, salty water. I don’t mean to, but I gulp in more water, eager to find oxygen—life.

Dead, broken bodies with faces frozen in terror float grotesquely past me. I feel my soul fighting to escape the confines of my drowning body as it gulps painfully for air. I kick and struggle to hold on to every last moment of my dissipating life.

Images and memories of being a fetus in my mother’s womb wash over me like a warm stream.

I see a girl, an Angel I think, with the most beautiful blue eyes. She is swimming toward me, and I knew then that my time on this earth had come to an end.

I let go of my body and allow it to drift silently away, it rocks to-and-fro gracefully in this watery grave. I thought how peaceful I looked in death. How beautiful, as my hair falls free and hovers placidly around my face. My colorful skirt billows out around me, like a flower coming into bloom. My arms are open wide, longing for a nurturing embrace.

I keep watching my body drift farther away as I float up. Up, toward the bright light that illuminates my heart, my eyes, and my soul. I am gone now, I suspect – forever - from this place, this family.

But I am not alone; I see the faces of thousands of lost souls, young and old, that have also perished on this day. We are immersed in a mass of glistening bubbles. Like a bouquet of rainbow coloured balloons held together by a long golden thread.

This day would be recorded and forever remembered as the Great Lisbon Earthquake of 1755.

I can still recollect this life, this death, as if it was yesterday. I taste the rancid seawater as it filled my mouth, burned my lungs, and choked me to death. I still feel the weightlessness of my soul as it separated and drifted away.

The elements - Earth, Fire and Water - had indeed been unrestrained when they unleashed their fury on their unsuspecting victims.

Astonishingly, the only remaining element that could have assured my survival on this day—was absent.

Tomorrow, on All Souls Day, the Faithful will pray. They will pray for the dead seeking sanctification and moral perfection, prerequisites for Souls seeking entry into Heaven. They will kneel, bow their heads, and say a prayer for me.

For I am dead. Again.

Chapter 18—Edge of Desire

The Imperial City of Altair

Year: 1081 AD

Abaddon ran his palm slowly down Pandora’s silky thigh. She turned on her stomach and purred as he trailed his tongue expertly along the ripples of her vertebrae.

“The spinal cord, so fragile,” he murmured. “So easy to snap.”

She twisted back to face him. “Why so morbid, Abaddon, are you feeling bored?” She pouted as she pulled the white satin sheet up over her divine nakedness. “Maybe you should join Cerberus. He appears to be more content spending his time fighting this—”

“Hush,” Abaddon commanded, standing up suddenly, preparing to dress. Then he stood motionless for a moment. “Get dressed, get out!”

Pandora sat up and glared at him. The sheet fell into her lap and exposed her perfect breasts. A string of shimmering black pearls cascaded down her exquisite cleavage, falling just short of her ruby encrusted bellybutton. “Don’t you dare speak to me—”

“Out, now!” he roared, picking her clothing up off the floor in a blur and flinging it at her. “Theria is back here, and no time to dress, take your garments with you, just go.” He pulled her out of the bed. “Go, go, go!” he bellowed.

Pandora snatched her jewelry off the bedside table. “I don’t know why you are so afraid of that little bitch.”

“Get out now, goddamn you, woman!”

It wasn’t Theria, his sister, who Abaddon feared, but the Grigorian Lord. Lord Cerberus—Pandora’s husband—Abaddon’s brother.

Pandora looked at him with disdain, but refrained from uttering another word. With her arms laden with clothing—and completely naked—she swept defiantly from the chamber, slamming the heavy timber door loudly behind her.

Abaddon raked his fingers through his hair, then continued to dress. He was still holding his white shirt in his hand as the redhead pushed open another door and entered his chamber. “What, never heard of knocking, lost your manners during your visit to Earth,” he said, turning to face her. For a moment, he froze, and was lost completely for words. Then a devious smile twisted up the corners of his thin lips.

Theria stood there, her hands clasped firmly on her hips to accentuate her new womanly form. “For what possible reason, Abaddon?” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “I knew you would sense my arrival.” She drifted around his chamber, scanning the bed, the floor, the logs in the fireplace crackling on the far wall. Two silver goblets of wine on the bedside table, candles. “It looks like I have interrupted you from an evening of pleasure, Abaddon.” She picked up a woman’s lacy camisole from the foot of the ornate four-poster bed and flung it at him. “Anyone I know?”

He studied her, watched her as she moved, dissecting her limb by delicate limb. His yellow eyes stopped on her firm breasts that were just visible through her black silky blouse. A golden cord, twisted tightly around her middle, emphasized her tiny waistline.

“My, my, haven’t we grown? Not a child anymore, Theria. Does this mean that you haven’t been feeding during your visit to Earth? How long has it actually been? I appear to have lost track of time?”

Theria sauntered over to him, her eyes taking in the quivering inked snake tattooed across his chest. “Nine hundred years,” she said. “Give or take.” She ran her fingers up along the vibrating snake as it coiled around his muscular body. So evil and lifelike, she mused, just like you.

He smiled. Knowing that she thought of him as evil pleased him immensely. “Time certainly does fly on Earth. It has only been….”

“A year, for you” she said, finishing the sentence for him.

He caught her hand in his as her fingers hesitated at his heart. He maneuvered her hand slowly but firmly down his rippling torso. “How old are you now, my little Theria, sixteen?”

“Seventeen,” she replied, snatching her hand away. “And you, of course, Abaddon, haven’t aged a day.”

“The advantages of staying in the Realm and being immortal my dear.” He circled her. “So, seventeen. Hmm, very nice.” He pushed her long red hair away from her face to expose her throat. “Sweet sixteen would have been nicer—sweeter.” He kissed her tenderly below her ear. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you in an evening of pleasure? Call it a late birthday gift,” he said, glancing toward the unmade bed.

“A simple, ‘hello Theria, nice to see you again,’ would be more than adequate, my brother,” she said, circling his body now, running her hands across his back, down his arm. Knowing how much it would tease him, please him, arouse him. She glanced at his crotch. Yes, she could see, it definitely aroused him. She dug her long nails in his flesh and dragged them deep across his chest. One body mirrored the other, flowing back and forth, like a slow dance.

He let out a moan of pleasure from the stinging pain. Dark black-red blood blistered, then trickled down his chest before his injuries quickly vanished.

She trailed her fingertips through his warm blood then smeared the sticky liquid slowly across her lips. She could feel his pleasure vibrate through her hand and felt her body tingle in response. She touched the front of his trousers and ran a bloodied finger down the ivory buttons. “Hmmm, maybe another time, Abaddon, I have more important errands to take care of first. Tell me, where will I find our brother, Cerberus?”

He slapped her hand away and retreated across the room in a blur. “And there it is, Cerberus, always the mighty Cerberus. I wondered how long it would take before you got around to asking that question. “You have always been so predictable when it comes to your weakness for Cerberus,” he spat the words at her and shoved his arm into his shirtsleeve. His hand ripped through the delicate fabric in his fury. He pulled the shirt off angrily, crumpled it into a tight ball, held it to the torch flame on the wall, and flung the blazing ball of fire ferociously across the room at her.

Theria plucked the burning missile out of the air and extinguished the flames with a single breath then tossed it on the floor. “Really, brother, a bit childish, don’t you think?”

He glared at her. “Is this why you refrain from feeding, so that you can ‘age’ for him while you are on Earth? So that you can be a woman for Cerberus? Cerberus has a woman, he has Pandora. He doesn’t want you, can’t you see that?”

“You say the word ‘age’ like it is a dirty word, brother. However, being a child for God knows how many generations was humiliating for me. And you will see. Our brother will tire of the human whore soon enough. Truth be told, he has never gotten over that peasant girl from the forest.”

“Oh, please, stop deluding yourself, Theria, it is beneath you. You are only embarrassing yourself by constantly throwing yourself at Cerberus’ feet. To have him, what, laugh at you, yet again. And the girl you speak of wasn’t just a peasant girl. She was a witch.”

Theria Shrugged. Peasant girl or witch, it made no difference to her. “Brother, I haven’t offended you, have I? It isn’t like you to show jealousy, or is it? I’ve not seen this side of you before. I find it quite amusing.”

She chuckled, then proceeded to drape herself provocatively across his bed. Her floor length black skirt, slit high on her thigh, exposed her long silky legs. She drew her knees slowly apart, giving him a clear view.

“I know what you are trying to do, Theria.”

“I know you do,” she purred, taunting him even further. “Maybe some things do change, maybe leopards - or in this case - snakes, can change their spots. And maybe our brother will desire me now as much as you always have. Does that thought threaten you, Abaddon? That Cerberus could desire me?” She twisted her hand in the gold cord from her waist and pushed it down between her thighs.

His greedy eyes took in every part of her.

“Yes, well, you certainly haven’t changed, have you, Theria? Still the little tease, lusting for just an ounce of attention from the mighty Lord Cerberus.” Abaddon sprang across the room and mounted her. He pinned her hands above her head as she squirmed beneath him. “When are you going to give up on that childish fantasy and let me, the brother who does have the desire to fulfill your dirty little cravings, please you?”

Theria struggled in his grasp. “Get off me, you lecherous fuc—”

“Theria. Language, please.” He released his grip on her a fraction. “Hmm, not as strong as you used to be, little one. You really should be devouring more mortal souls on Earth while you have the opportunity.

“Refraining is not only aging you, not that I’m complaining about that, you have certainly matured into a delightful creature,” he said, opening her blouse to expose her ivory breasts. “However, it is making you weak, and you know how much I appreciate a woman with a bit of fight in her.”

Theria bought her knee up swiftly, but Abaddon anticipated her move and leapt back effortlessly from her, laughing. “Let Cerberus dismiss you again. I tire from constantly caring about you.”

“Oh, please, Abaddon. Who is being delusional now? You have only ever cared for yourself.” She pulled her blouse closed across her breasts and rose from the bed. She was not oblivious to the feelings that he had stirred in her. How her nipples had hardened with the brush of his breath. “My needs, food wise and sexual, have been more than adequately taken care of on Earth, I can assure you.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” he said, shaking his head, mocking her. “Your companion, Caleb, is it? That devious little shit is far too selfish to know how to please a woman with desires as insatiable as yours, sister.”

“Caleb is not my only lover. I have taken many others over the years. Hybrids, humans…” she added smugly, her catlike yellow eyes mirroring his.

“Hybrids, ha, surely you jest. Since when have the half-breeds been able to satisfy your needs, Theria? I recall hearing stories about others having to clean up the messes left behind by you after your numerous hybrid escapades on Earth. You play too rough for the likes of them, my dear. They are inferior. You must try to remember that they do not have our strength, or our extraordinary healing powers. You are fortunate the hybrids didn’t hold those little mishaps of yours against you, and take revenge for their deaths.” He paused. “Not that they would dare, I suppose, after having witnessed your so called ‘accidents’.

“And the humans, okay, I get that. Really, I do.” He grabbed his crotch. “I can completely understand that temptation. So sweet, so fragile, so forbidden.” He shook his head fondly. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. You are such a naughty girl, Theria,” he said, waging his finger. “Is it really any wonder why I adore you so?”

She smirked at him slyly and sauntered slowly toward him, taking his outstretched hand.

He pulled her to him and, for just a moment, he held her body firmly against his, breathing in her delectable scent. The human scent that lingered on her skin was still so potent. Then he backed away, tore at her blouse until it slid from her shoulders to the floor at her feet. “Now,” he whispered in her ear as he scooped her up and carried her over to his bed, “Let me give you your long overdue birthday gift.” He dropped her on the bed and began to unbutton his trousers. “Then I want you to tell me all about the girl, how close are you at capturing her.”

End of Book One.

Read excerpt from the first chapter from Book Two in the Paradox Series below.

Paradox—Progeny Of Innocence

Here you will see the return of Abaddon and a host of his most evil consorts that catapult the story to a whole new level of tantalizing wickedness.

* * *

The New World

Grace is not a little girl anymore!

And as a teenager, Grace’s visions have started to become more frequent, urgent, torturing her life further still. The answers she hopes to find in her visions only leave her asking more questions… Who is Juliette?

However, there is something else that Grace now sees in her visions. And she believes that it is these visions that are a clue in curing the cruel infliction that has cursed her since childhood. And that is—finding her one true love.

So when the charismatic Damon Draco captures her attention, it doesn’t take long before Grace falls for his alluring charm.

Then when Riley Rivers, a member of the elite ‘In Crowd’—a small group of students that are just too beautiful, turns up in her class one day, Grace begins to question the feelings she has for Damon.

When three of Grace’s school friends are gruesomely murdered, and their parents are killed in a fatal car accident that same weekend, some start to wonder if it was just a coincidence, or a contrived plan to wipe out an entire family.

And if this were true, would evil strike again? You can bet your soul on it!

* * *

The Ancient World

My name is Juliette. A very long time ago, during a war that tore my world apart, I died.

It was 1080 AD and the Grigorians, under the Rule of Lord Cerberus, had conquered the Bulguardians and seized the Imperial City of Altair. Today, toward the mountainous lands further south, the battle continues.

And although victorious in battle, the Grigorians had failed to secure the one prize that mattered most. Mortal Souls. Altair, all but deserted, had left the favored Gregorian food source all but depleted. And those souls that had remained following the siege during the March Equinox had since fled to the south to join the resistance fighters high in the Mountains of An-nasr, the home of the majestic wedge-tailed eagle, the Aquila Audux, and the natural enemy of the Grigorian race. The Grigorians, that fear naught, feared this massive winged bird that ruled all the skies in the vast southern lands.

The Bulguardians, however, had been triumphant in the ways that did matter.

The three remaining Royal Guardians, with the strength and numbers of the Royal Guard, had been triumphant in safely spiriting away the Seven Pinnacles and their prized possessions of mortal souls.

The four Natural Pinnacles, the Wafes — Water, Air, Fire, Earth - and the three Supreme Pinnacles — Birth, Death, and Emotion - under escort of the Royal Guard, had taken human form and had fallen first. Then, in the safe confines of the Golden Ark, the mortal souls began their return journey to Earth under the watchful eye of Lukita, the most powerful High Priestess in the Realm.

There was, however, a complication that the Royal Guardians had not foreseen. Several of The Seven Pinnacles, including members of the Royal guard, had been scattered far across the Earth for hundreds of years with little or no recollection of who or what they were.

Some were sent to find and protect. Others were sent to track and destroy.

Today, my soul lives on in the heart of a young girl. I faithfully continue to play my part in this war between good and evil. But nine hundred years can pass so slowly, when all you want to do is go home.

Chapter 1—Deliver Us From Evil

For as a lamb is brought to slaughter, so she stands, this innocent, before the king.

Geoffrey Chaucer

Man of Law's Tale, 1386

The Imperial City Of Altair—The Royal Palace

Year—1081 AD

The beast, nothing more than a frail lamb, lay paralyzed and trembling on the glistening silver platter. It lay there, exposed, with nothing to accompany or protect.

“Really, you expect me to feed on this…this pathetic animal?” Abaddon snorted, standing with his arms folded tight across his puffed up chest. He stared down at the animal that had been placed before him. The tiny beady eye of the beast reflected the flames blazing hungrily in the massive stone fireplace. Black eyes rolled to-and-fro frantically in their orbit, searching Abaddon’s private dining chamber in an eager bid to procure a swift path to freedom. Regardless of the desperate animal’s resolve for escaping this predicament, the scales of justice did not offer mercy to this quandary. This creature was surely a lamb to the slaughter.

The young Mongol girl with her black inked forehead backed slowly away from the table with her hands in tight fists clasped behind her back. Her satiny skin glistened in the muted glow from the blazing torches hanging on the high stonewall behind her. Her head remained bowed in a show of fearful respect.

“Apologies, Master,” she offered in an effort to pacify Abaddon’s mounting anger.

He flung an ornate dining chair effortlessly across the room and into the crackling fireplace with a quick flick of his wrist. Flames and a blast of glowing embers exploded across the room.

“This is outrageous; this is a meal fit for a peasant, and yet still you dare place it before me!” Abaddon’s fist smashed down hard on the surface of the mahogany dining table, shattering a lead crystal decanter and a single goblet. The blood red liquid, freed from its crystal constraints, made a slow passage down the deep grooves in the timber tabletop before congealed droplets pooled on the marble floor below.

The girl flinched. “Shall I remove the animal, Master?” she asked, and then quickly continued. “Perhaps you would prefer the taste of my flesh?” She pushed her long black flowing hair away from her shoulders, exposing her throat and barely covered breasts.

“Hmmm,” Abaddon murmured, considering her proposal. “What is your name?” he asked the girl, almost interested.

The blood vessel on her throat pulsated steadily beneath her flawless skin, summoning him closer. It was certainly an offer worthy of his consideration. And one that he thought about now with great consideration, considering the alternative.

He glanced at the animal. A fresh spasm of fear bent the animal’s head back at a grotesque angle. White froth foamed and dripped from the beast’s twisted mouth. Abaddon scowled. The girl certainly was offering him a worthier choice. The scales tipped…

“Temulun,” she answered softly, but with a hint of something resembling pride.

He studied her as one would a bug on a sliver of glass under a microscope, waiting for dissection.

“This would indeed be an honor for your family, if I were to accept this offer, would it not?” Abaddon said, circling Temulun, tracing his finger slowly down her slender throat, then further, beneath the meager brown fabric that only just managed to conceal her child-like breasts. He felt her heartbeat quicken beneath his fingertips and smiled. “Lead us not into temptation, dear girl, but deliver us from evil....” he murmured the words softly in her ear. “Are you evil, Temulun?” he asked admiring her tiny frame.

“No, Master,” she replied. “Your father honored our family once, many years ago, by taking my sister, Cheren, during the last Great War, when food had also become scarce. My family has been grateful for the opportunities that your father bestowed upon us.”

“Ahh yes, my father, the mighty Lord Grig. Before my beloved father’s unfortunate journey into the afterlife. Perhaps your sister was a curse, dear Temulun? She was, after all, the last one to see my father alive. Was she not?” Abaddon feigned a remorseful sigh. Bitter memories still toyed with his memories, burdening him with disappointment and resentment. He was acutely aware that his father had only ever had real affection for his brother, Cerberus, and Theria, his sister. The Gods would certainly not help him if anyone was ever to gain knowledge that it had been by his own hand, that his father had died and not by the hand of a subordinate half-breed bastard son of his father’s.

“I do believe that your brother…,” Temulun began.

Abaddon’s hand snapped up and squeezed Temulun’s mouth shut. “Do not ever speak of that half-breed bastard as being my brother. He is not worthy of that title. Do you understand me?” he said, shoving her away forcibly.

Temulun stumbled and fell backward hard against the massive dining table, but did not fall. The second goblet teetered precariously for a moment, then smashed to the floor at her feet.

“Apologies, Master. I will not make the mistake again,” she said, wiping a trickle of warm blood from her lips.

He eyed her through narrowed yellow slits, but inwardly he was pleased. Pleased that she too thought that it had been the bastard son that had taken his father’s life. The truth about his murderous deed was indeed still safe.

“See that you don’t, otherwise I will have your head on a stick for the eagle,” Abaddon said, stalking away.

He swiped his hand through the air and watched as splintered pieces of timber from the shattered chair and broken shards of glass flew effortlessly into the massive fireplace, forcing a plume of flames and grey smoke to spew out into the room. “Yes, yes, yes, I remember your sister only too well. My father was most pleased with Cheren’s offering. She was a beauty, your sister, as indeed you are.” He glided toward her and lifted her chin abruptly with his finger, then leaned in and slowly snaked his tongue along the side of her face. Tasting her. He had other plans for this girl named Temulun, he decided. Death would not be her fate on this day. “Go, now,” he said waving her off suddenly with his hand. Dismissing her.

“And the beast, Master? Shall I-”

“Leave it,” he demanded. “Doors,” he commanded.

Two black clad Mongols with massive arms heaved the heavy timber doors open wide. Their long thin beards twisted and braided with ivory coloured beads made from human bones dangled below their chins.

Temulun hesitated for a moment, then scurried quickly from the room, past the leering guards, and praying that they had not overheard Abaddon’s rejection of her. She would not tell her family that she had been undesired by the Master. That he had preferred the flesh of the beast to her own. That humiliation she would keep to herself. Perhaps he would allow her to please him in other ways. His unquenchable desires were far from a secret in the Realm. She would have another opportunity, as her sister had, to complete her task. She was determined to fulfill her destiny and make her people proud.

Abaddon waited until the doors had completely closed behind the girl before he returned his gaze to the trembling beast in front of him. He studied the frenzied unblinking eyes as they watched him, then further down to where a beating heart pounded hard against a soft woolen chest. Snow white and pure as the driven snow on the peaks on mount An-nasr. He ran his hand along the beast, petting it, quieting it, soothing it. Then he swiftly pulled his hand away and crushed his taloned fist deep into the ribcage of the animal. He twisted his hand through broken bone and sinew effortlessly and separated thumping heart from beast. He watched it for a moment with morbid curiosity as it pulsated spasmodically in the palm of his bloodied hand. Then he curled his lips back and lunged into it hungrily, savoring it as one would a perfectly ripe blood plum. The animal’s blood was warm and bittersweet on his tongue; it would suffice, ward off his appetite, for now. However, it would not be long until his uncontrollable thirst for human blood and the gratification obtained from the mortal soul returned. The mortal soul, the forbidden fruit, the personification of immortality for his kind.

He swiped his bloodied hand across his chin. Droplets of blood marked the front of his white ruffled shirt. He tilted his head back and let a guttural howl burst forth from his lips. Far below, in the darkness outside, he heard others respond in like.

It was time, he decided, as he let the limp heart fall away from his yellowy, taloned fingers. The animal’s blood drenched woolly chest was still now. Only the flickering flames from the crackling fireplace was mirrored in the black bead of the eye, relaxed now by death. A pink tongue dripping with crimson, bloodied foam hung flaccidly from its open mouth.

Abaddon heaved himself at the massive timber doors and pushed them open wide, startling the two guards standing rigidly at the doorway, outside. He saw no reason to delay any longer. It had been centuries since he had left the Realm.

Pandora sashayed up the arched hall toward him, she was eager to resume their earlier encounter, before Theria’s unexpected interruption.

“Abaddon I-” she began, eyeing the bloodied fabric sticking to his chest.

“Not now,” he said, cutting her off and walking past her without concern, his actions solely driven by his unyielding desire for human blood, and of course, the incredible high attained from the mortal soul. The blood of the beast had only quickened his craving for more.

“Then I will,” Pandora continued.

“Go find someone else to entertain you,” Abaddon replied, irritated by the conversation. “I am sure there is somebody else floating around here somewhere that will pander to your incessant needs. Your husband perhaps? That would be a change now, wouldn’t it,” he smiled, amused by his words. Then he began chanting as he strode away. “My dear beloved Father, which art now in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Yes, on earth indeed,” he chuckled. “For ever and ever…” Then Abaddon descended the curving staircase, five stairs at a time, until he reached the bottom, only seconds later.

Pandora turned away and snorted, “Idiot...” She walked swiftly toward the two men standing on either side of the massive doors and stood for a moment to appraise them. To the larger, taller man, she said, “Come, I have something for you to do.” She ran his twisted beard across the palm of her hand, rolling the beads between her fingers, then she tightened her grip on the man’s long black braid and led him away.

Paradox—Progeny Of Innocence. Book Two in the Paradox Series.

Chapters from Book One that were inspired by and based on actual events in history:

Chapter 3 Hallelujah—7.6 magnitude earthquake hits El Salvador in 2001

Death Toll –944 Souls
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2001_El_Salvador_earthquakes

Chapter 8 Kali & Bonga—Bengal Famine 1769

Death Toll –10 million Souls
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bengal_famine_of_1770

Chapter 16 Boxing Day—Boxing Day Tsunami 2004

Death toll—230,210+ Souls
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2004_Indian_Ocean_earthquake_and_tsunami

Chapter 17 Hells Bells Toll For Thee—Great Lisbon Earthquake of 1755

Death toll—Between 10,000 and 100,000 Souls
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1755_Lisbon_earthquake

R.I.P

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To Rory Tacchi—for breaking my heart and shoving me back on the right track. Because of you, I wrote this book and I thank you—now—from the bottom of my heart! Every cloud has a silver lining.

I see ye visibly, and now believe
That he, the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill
Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,
Would send a glistering guardian, if need were
To keep my life and honor unassailed.
Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night?
John Milton's Comus (1634)

Special Friends

Unwavering gratitude to all my fabulous friends who have spent hours upon hours listening to me (whether they wanted to or not) tell endless stories about my fantasy family. Juliette, Grace and a world packed with an assortment of magical and mystical creatures. You all know who you all are, and I thank you: Trisha Dowling, Trish Thomson, Debstar Bassett, Alex Thomson, and John Oxton.

I would like to say a very special thanks to Tracey (Sister of the heart) and Michael (Mcgoo) who sat with me around the patio table discussing words, storylines, pizza, tequila shots and the dwindling number of bees on planet earth.

Angela for purchasing my very first eBook. I would love to meet you one day and personally say thank you.

My sister, Sue McGuinness (I owe you big-time) for all your re-reads. Your ongoing encouragement and for loving the story—and me!

My sister, Fay Maddison. Thank you for your words of support from across the vast ocean that separates.

To all my online Goodreads friends. Especially fellow YA Author Jayde Scott. I am grateful for your lovely words and support. Thank You.

Natalie Hillier—for loving the book.

Ella Medler for your wisdom and advice on the written word.

A particular thank you goes to those of you who have bought the book. I hope you enjoyed reading Paradox—The Angels Are Here as much as I have writing it.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PATTI ROBERTS was born in Brisbane, Australia but soon moved to Darwin in the Northern Territory. Her son, Luke, was born in 1980. She currently lives in Cairns, Queensland where she is writing the Paradox Series of books. Paradox—The Angels Are Here is the first in the series and was first published as an indie eBook on Smashwords in 2010 and Amazon in 2011.

Contact Patti Roberts

Email—http://paradox-theangelsarehere.blogspot.com/p/contact-me.html

Blog: http://theangelsarehere.wordpress.com/

Twitter: http://twitter.com/PattiRoberts7

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/?ref=home#!/profile.php?id=535092981

To the reader.

Find your silver lining. I did!

RAVEN

SUZY TURNER

Published by Suzy Turner

Copyright 2011 Suzy Turner

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

For more information about the author and her upcoming books, please visit her website

www.suzyturner.com

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A huge thank you to Cristina Alcock, Gill Ibrahim, Elizabeth Martens, Emma Naylor & Eloise Walton. I don't know where I would be without your excellent suggestions, editing and proofreading skills. You're all absolute angels!

Michael, thank you for believing in me, even when I doubted myself (which was more often than I care to admit). You're my rock.

And lastly, thank you to all my lovely followers, fellow bloggers, writers, twitterers and facebook friends for just being there when I needed advice or a little pick me up. It's wonderful to have friends like you behind me.

Mum... you may have been gone from our lives for many years, but you will never be forgotten. This book is for you.

CHAPTER ONE

The summer months were coming to an end when my parents disappeared. Although the day had begun like any other, it became one that I would never forget.

That morning, as usual, I sat at the kitchen table listening to the noises drifting up from outside - traffic, police sirens, people laughing and shouting - while I struggled to swallow the piece of dry bread that was shoved in front of me. “Eat,” commanded my mother.

A small glass of milk just about helped it go down before she snatched the plastic tumbler from my hands, pulled me to my feet and shoved me out of the front door of our London flat without another word. Turning around to search her eyes, I attempted a smile in the hope that she might return it. But the door was shut in my face. A deep ache filled my stomach. I needed something that I had never experienced. I needed to know that she loved me.

Leaning against the door, I heard the familiar sound of her footsteps walking into the other room. She closed the door and locked it behind her. My mother and father had locked themselves in the spare room once again, just like they had done every day for as long as I could remember. I had always assumed they worked from home. I've no idea what they did, they never told me. I never asked. I wasn't allowed to ask questions.

Running down the four flights of stairs, I pushed open the large heavy door that led outside. The noises multiplied and hit me, as did the dull smog and the intense London humidity that seemed to accompany every hot summer. As my feet touched the edge of the pavement, I stopped for a moment to allow a few cars to pass by before rushing across the road to school. I had to be quick. She was watching, she was always watching. My mother would peer down, staring blankly at me from the fourth floor window of the room she and my father spent their days. It was as if she was making sure I was actually going to school. Like I would dare do anything else. She never smiled. She never waved. She just stared. Sometimes it was almost as if she was looking right through me.

Returning home at lunchtime, as I was forced to do every day, she was there at that window staring at me again, as if her stare would physically guarantee that I came home. She had done it every day since I'd started school so it was normal to me.

I unlocked the front door with my key and gingerly tiptoed into the kitchen where I found her waiting for me.

“Eat and get back to school,” she said with a glare as I perched myself onto the old metal stool and began spooning the cold soup into my mouth. It was the same cold soup I'd eaten every day. It would have been nice to have something else, a different flavour, perhaps, but I would never have asked. Oh no. I'd experienced my mother's anger one too many times before. It's not that she had ever hit me, but I knew. I just knew that she wanted to, so I avoided making her mad at all costs.

It was my belief that my mother's actions were the same as all other mothers. I imagined that she did what most mothers did. I didn't know any different. At least not until I met the newest girl at school, December Moon. When she had first arrived at the school, the other kids had sniggered and laughed when she had been introduced. Even I had thought it was a silly name to start with, but as soon as she spoke to me, I knew it was perfect.

After her introduction to the class, the only spare seat available was next to mine. As my fellow students were in the habit of ignoring me, I was a little startled to have this pale but pretty flame-haired girl smile at me as she approached and sat down. I shyly returned the smile as she quietly took out her books and a pencil case from the orange rucksack she had carried on her back. Her clothes were multi-coloured and flowing – a long heavy purple flowery skirt was paired with an orange and pink striped top, and brown boots. A brown headband held back her straight shoulder length hair and when she turned I noticed it had a pink flower sewn onto it. Ordinarily, the colours wouldn't work together but on December, they just seemed to fit... perfectly.

When the attention was no longer on her, December turned to me and whispered “hello”. She smiled again and her whole face changed. It lit up.

It didn't take long for December and I to become best friends. We were both shy and quiet and were mostly ignored by everybody else. It made sense that we should spend school time together. More than anything though, I wanted to be friends out of school hours. My mother, however, had always made it quite clear that friends of any kind were strictly forbidden. Fortunately, she couldn't see past the school gates, so December always waited for me inside, out of mother's view. She was my secret.

December and I had spent many a break time chatting about each other's lives. She was an avid reader of all kinds of books, even magazines. In fact reading was pretty much all she did when she was at home. I was in awe of her and I knew then that she must know a lot more about other people's lives than I did. That was how I learned than my parent's actions were not entirely normal. Her own parents, however, could not be described as 'normal' either.

“My father died when I was three,” she had told me soon after we'd met. “He was a very old man and I was very young so I don't remember him.”

The edges of my mouth turned downwards as the heavy feeling of sadness took effect. “And what about your mother, December? Where is she?”

“She dumped me with my father's family shortly after he died and moved back to America on her own. She was from Seattle, Washington, apparently.” Her response was so matter-of-fact that I didn't quite know what to say, other than “Oh.”

“Basically, my Aunt Penelope – that's my father's younger sister who I live with – tells me that my mother married my father for his money but when he died, leaving her with nothing, she dumped me with her and took off.” The lack of emotion on December's face clearly demonstrated a lack of feeling about the whole situation.

“Aunt Penelope basically makes sure I am fed, schooled and clothed. Other than that, we don't have much time for each other.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But that's fine with me. She doesn't like to be seen with me, especially when her super rich friends are around. Being my mother's daughter lowers the tone of her family... I even heard her say that to Monty once. Oh, Monty's our butler, chauffeur and sometimes gardener,” she shrugged again and that's when I saw a glimmer of something in her eyes. She wasn't quite so emotionless about it all after all.

Having never known anyone rich before... and with a butler too, I  thought it was quite odd for her to be a student in the same school as me. “December?”

“Hmm?”

“Why doesn't your Aunt Penelope send you to a posh school?”

“Like I said, she'd rather I didn't exist so she'd rather keep me farther from her friends as possible.”

“That makes sense, I guess. In which case, I'm glad! I would never have met you otherwise! So do you not know anything about your mother?” I asked, intrigued.

December shook her head, “Nope. Nothing.”

The sound of the school bell put an end to our conversation and December didn't mention her mother or her father to me again for a very long time.

Discreetly waving goodbye to her on that fateful day, I knew there was something wrong the moment I stepped foot out of the school grounds. Looking up to the window expecting to see mother, a vision in white as usual, there was no sign of her. Having never happened before, my heart began to thud faster in my chest as I ran as fast as I could up the stairs two at a time. I grappled with the key and pushed open the front door. She was nowhere to be seen. Neither was my father.

CHAPTER TWO

The spare room was locked as it always was, and no matter how hard I banged my fists on that door, there was no reply. I stopped and put my ear carefully against the solid wood to check for any sounds but there was nothing. Just silence. Trying to kick the door down, I didn't even leave a single mark. I was just a slight girl with little strength, after all.

It was then that our neighbours, Dorothy and June, came rushing in after hearing me banging against the door.

“Oh my dear, my dear! Whatever is the matter? What is all this banging about?” yelled one of the sisters as they tried to calm me down.

“It's mother,” I said, “she's... she's disappeared. She's always here. I don't know what's happening. There's no answer at the door. Something's wrong,” I sobbed.

Just at that moment, the sisters' black cat wandered in behind them. It immediately began purring at my feet and rubbed itself against my legs. It had never set foot in our apartment before and it was strange that it did so then, when my mother and father appeared to be missing.

It jumped up so that it balanced on its hind legs and leaned against me. I momentarily forgot all about the commotion that I had caused and leaned forward to pick it up, cuddling it while it continued to purr. “That's strange,” said June, “she's usually terrified of people.” The cat was clearly not terrified of me. It was the first time I had ever stroked an animal and I felt a strange affinity with it. It was a wonderful feeling as it rubbed its head against my neck. Looking into her deep, warm eyes, for a moment I felt a strange sensation within me. It felt as though I was being loved. I didn't want to lose the feeling so I sat down on the floor and stroked her soft fur, smiling.

“I'm going to call the police,” one of the sisters said as the other tried to coax me off the floor. I didn't feel myself, for some reason.  An odd trance-like state came over me.

“Come now, dear. Come and sit on the sofa. You'll catch your death on those cold floor tiles.”

I did as I was told and followed her to our uncomfortable hard red leather sofa, where we waited until the police arrived. The cat sat on my lap and the two sisters sat on either side of me.

Dorothy and June told me that they had kept an eye on me and my parents throughout the years that we had lived next door to them.

“We know that your mother leads a strict routine, my dear, so to hear you banging on the door like that had us worried,” said June.

“We've never known anything ever happen to you like this so we thought we'd better come over straight away and find out what's going on,” added Dorothy as she gently patted my hand with her own wrinkled, yet perfectly manicured, fingers.

My calm moments with the cat were cut short by the arrival of two young uniformed male police officers, followed by a third woman. The cat jumped out of my arms like a shot. She was clearly spooked by the presence of strangers and had vanished from our flat, presumably to return to the safety of her home. My calm feeling faded the moment she was gone.

The female police officer was very kind and polite and asked me a few questions about myself and my parents. When had I last seen them? Where did they work? Was it common for them to leave without telling me? Did they have mobile phones? I didn't even know the answer to the last question, although if they did, I never saw or heard them. Technology wasn't a word I heard used in our home. Not that there were ever many words used at all. More questions were asked of me and so I answered them as best as I could before the other two police officers managed to literally knock the door down. I wasn't prepared for what I saw and I don't think they were either. There was almost nothing. Just a simple room, painted black – the floors, ceiling and walls all painted black. There were no chairs, no desks, nothing. The only things to be seen in the room were a small black shelf which contained two glass vials. One was filled with a thick deep red liquid and the other contained what appeared to be something from the insides of an animal – I couldn't identify it, but it looked disgusting. A pang of fear shot through me. Fear for my parents' safety.

“Do you have any idea what substance this is, Miss?” asked one of the police officers.

I shook my head. “I've never been in here before.”

The two men gave each other a sideways glance that was way too obvious for me not to have seen.

“Right then, Miss, would you like to wait outside while we gather some of this evidence together?” said the first officer as the other led me out of the black room.

Snippets of conversation could be heard as I waited for them to finish.

“This is definitely blood. What on earth do you think has been going on in here then, Pete?”

“Beats me, Dave. I tell you one thing though, it's weird, whatever it is. It's almost like something out of a horror film. Here... look at this.”

The female officer appeared by my side and cleared her throat. The conversation in the black room suddenly became quieter.

“Don't worry, Lilly. We'll get to the bottom of this,” she said, smiling. “We'll find your mum and dad.”

After about half an hour, the officers appeared from the room, carrying the vials in two clear plastic bags.

“Okay, Constable Madley, we've all the evidence now. We'll take them to the lab for tests,” said the taller of the two.

He tipped his hat to me and smiled before carrying everything out of the flat.

Following behind, the other one stopped in front of me and crouched down, looking me in my eyes. His dark brown eyes and the soft laughter lines around his mouth gave him a look of kindness. I hadn't noticed when they'd first arrived. “Lilly, we'll be in touch as soon as we have any information as to the whereabouts of your parents. Don't worry. We'll find them.” He stood up then and patted Constable Madley on the back. They were clearly friends, as well as colleagues. He smiled at her, “Thank you, Constable Madley. We'll see you back at the station.”

CHAPTER THREE

My parents' disappearance continued to be a complete mystery. The police had told me that even though they had followed several lines of enquiry and spoken to countless people; they had come up without a single clue to go on. Not one person had seen them. I was the only one that had seen them that day. Well, I had seen her. I hadn't actually seen my father. I had just assumed he was there. I rarely saw him anyway, I rarely even heard him. Every now and then I would hear her speak to him but I never heard him reply.

It had been a hot and humid summer and, unusual for England at that time of year, it had lasted for quite a few weeks. Naturally, there had been a hose pipe ban as happened every time the sun shone for more than a week there. I had only been aware of it because my teachers were keen to teach us all about current environmental issues.

Not that I noticed the ban. We didn't have a garden, we didn't even have any plants. Our home was a bare flat in London where I had lived all my life – all thirteen years of it. I can't say I was happy, nor can I say I was particularly unhappy because I wouldn't have known the true meaning of either word.

I was very much a loner with no friends until December came along. Luckily, the majority of kids at school were pleasant enough to us but we didn't feel like we belonged with any of them so we simply avoided contact. Of course there were a few that taunted us every now and again, but we took little notice. They seemed to taunt a lot of people at school, having silly nicknames for everyone - apart from December. The kids were amused enough by her name not to bother making up another. Mine was Mellow Yellow – probably because I was so quiet and wore a lot of yellow. Not by choice though. The few clothes that I owned were bought by my mother and for some reason they were all yellow, not even a nice shade of yellow. All were second-hand clothes and none fitted me properly, but I certainly couldn't complain even if I hated them all. Like I said, my parents and I didn't really talk.

December and I preferred being in our own little world, alone with our thoughts or curled up with a sneaky book under the large chestnut tree in the playground.

At school, we blended into the background. We were courteous to most people and most of them were courteous to us. Yet if you asked anyone about me, even my name, I doubted very much that any of the kids would know. At least that was the case until my parents mysteriously vanished from the face of the earth. Then everyone seemed to know my name. Everyone knew I was Lilly Taylor.

Word had spread rapidly as I walked through the school gates a few days later.

Out of habit, December had waited hidden behind the walls for my arrival. She needn't have, of course. There was no one watching me from our window. She hugged me tightly but didn't say a word. Somehow she just knew how I felt.

Shame the other kids didn't have a clue. Fingers pointed, people whispered and stared at me. Not a single other person approached me. Had it not been for December, I would have felt even more alone than I had ever felt before. I could easily have cried on her shoulder but the tears did not come. As much as I wished they would, they wouldn't come. It was a strange feeling because I had never really had much of a relationship with either parent. I never felt loved. I never even felt liked. But they were my family.

The closest people to me at that time of my life, other than December, were the kind neighbours who had offered to take care of me until my parents were found. Or, in the event that they did not return, until plans were made for me to travel across the world to stay with my grandfather in Canada. A grandfather I knew nothing about. December would be crushed. I was her only friend and she needed me as much as I needed her. I would hate to have to leave her, but deep down I knew that it was likely.

Rather than put me into temporary foster care, Social Services had agreed that my staying with the sisters was the best thing for me. Familiarity, they said, would be better than handing me over to complete strangers. Dorothy and June were spinsters. They had never married but had been happy enough living together their entire lives. They were good and honest and they were trustworthy. I couldn't have stayed with December and her family even if I had wanted to. She didn't have the best relationship with them. After her elderly father had died, her young mother had dumped her with his family and returned to America without her. What the wealthy family gave to December in financial security, they lacked in love. She was as lonely as I was and they would never have allowed her to take me home with her.

Later that afternoon, I had rushed out of the school gates and looked up at the window to see if my mother had come back. She wasn't there, of course. No vision in white.

As I stood there, it occurred to me that for the very first time in my life I could do anything I wanted. Anything in the world. But I had no idea what to do. I looked around and watched many of the other kids laughing and joking. Some kicked around a football, others sat on the wall sneakily smoking cigarettes, while some of the younger ones were collected by their loving parents. December sadly waved goodbye from her chauffeur-driven car.

Instead of heading 'home', I gingerly walked in the opposite direction, looking back over my shoulder afraid that someone might swoop down and pull me back. Yet for the first time ever I felt no pull to return to that place. If it wasn't for Dorothy and June, I would probably have just carried on walking, but deep down I knew I was too honest a person and couldn't hurt them like that. Especially when they had shown  nothing but kindness to me.

So I turned around and headed back up those stairs. The ones I had walked up a million times before. Yet this time, I entered the apartment across the hall from my parents' place. As I unlocked the door, the most delicious smell of home cooking invaded my every pore and the sounds of laughter came from the living room. I followed the sounds and instead of finding the sisters, I found the television switched on. I sat down and watched for a few minutes, laughing at the silly man who pranced around like a complete idiot getting himself stuck in silly situations. Watching until it finished, I discovered that he was called Mr Bean. It was then that I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt for doing something I was never permitted to do. I peered over my shoulder guiltily before getting up and walking into the kitchen.

“Oh hello, dear. You're just in time for dinner. Come in. Don't just hover by the door. I hope you had a good day at school. I've made us a Shepherd's Pie. I hope you like that,” said Dorothy as she gently pushed her white blonde curls behind her ears before spooning the food onto a plate for me.

I had no idea what a Shepherd's Pie was, but I nodded enthusiastically nonetheless. It was delicious. Easily the most delicious meal I had ever had, considering my mother never cooked anything for me. Everything came straight from a tin. Tinned spaghetti, tinned beans, tinned peas, tinned mince, tinned potatoes, tinned soup, and so on. And most of it was given to me cold. Stone cold. I only knew it was all tinned food because of the time I had sneaked in when she wasn't looking and had opened the cupboards to find a lifetime's supply of the stuff.

I had never been allowed to spend any length of time in our kitchen, other than to quickly eat, so I had no idea how to prepare food. I guess back then I had assumed that everybody ate tinned food.

“Did this come out of a tin, Dorothy?” I asked.

“Oh my dear!” she said, “Of course not. We cook everything fresh in this house. Did your mother never prepare you a home cooked meal?”

I shook my head and told her about the kinds of things I had eaten and she looked shocked, as did June.

“I take it that means she never taught you to how to cook?”

I shook my head again and told them I wasn't allowed in the kitchen.

“Well, while you're staying with us, we'll just have to change that, won't we? We'll show you everything you need to know. But first, eat up and enjoy dear. We'll start to teach the basics tomorrow after school,” Dorothy smiled kindly as she patted my hand.

As I enjoyed those wonderful mashed potatoes with the tasty meat beneath, I felt another pang of guilt. Guilt that my parents had vanished and there I was, stuffing myself like some sort of famished orphan. But then, perhaps that's what I had become. An orphan. And I was hungry. Very hungry.

That evening, the guilt continued to consume me. So much so that I felt the need to do something about it. Something drastic. And there was only one thing that I could do. I secretly borrowed a pair of scissors from the kitchen and sneaked into the bathroom. After locking the door, I stood looking at my reflection in the mirror and before I could talk myself out of it, I took those scissors to my hair and hacked it all off. As I stared at myself, I wished for that guilt to disappear. It didn't. I needed to do more. Searching through the sisters' belongings in the cupboard, I came across a box with a picture of a woman with the same coloured hair as Dorothy. Without giving it a second thought, I opened the box, emptied the contents on the floor and sat on the bath mat as I read everything on the leaflet inside the box. As instructed, I mixed the contents of the bottles together and began covering my hair with the cream. The strong odour made my eyes water as I slowly began to bleach out the black from my hair.

Over an hour later, I stood staring at my reflection, a mountain of long black hair covered the floor by my feet. I inched closer to the mirror and stared into my eyes. Their usual shade of vivid green seemed flat and lifeless. Murky. I wished the guilt would disappear. I wished for tears to come. I wished for the return of my parents. But it was no good. There was no one to make my wishes come true.

I crept back into the spare bedroom and pulled out all of my awful yellow clothes. Spreading them on the soft pink carpet, I used the same pair of scissors to cut them and rip them so that they didn't hang loosely from my body any more. Just for a moment, I forgot my circumstances and enjoyed the creativity. What I was left with, however, wasn't what I had intended. They were still a mess, and they were all still yellow. I didn't want to wear yellow any more. I didn't want to be the Mellow Yellow girl.

I walked into the living room where Dorothy and June sat glued to the television, and I stopped in the doorway to watch the screen for a few moments. I listened as a middle-aged man talked about a recent spate of mysterious attacks on horses that had taken place within the London area.

A minute later, the cat jumped off the sofa and started making a fuss of me. The two women noticed and turned to see what she was so interested in. Dorothy cried when she saw me. June gave me a hug. She just seemed to understand why I had done it. I sat down in between them both on the sofa and told them what I had done to all my clothes. Their look of sadness didn't go unnoticed by me and I felt bad for making them feel that way.

As the cat rubbed itself against my bare legs, Dorothy suddenly stood up and smiled with a twinkle in her.

“I have an idea,” she said, “come on.”

June stood up too and laughed, “Of course.”

“We always wondered why your mother dressed you in yellow, dear. It's really not a flattering colour for you at all. I know we're just a couple of old spinsters, but we've still got our clothes from when we were younger. We just might have some things that will fit you. Let's go and have a look,” added June.

I followed the sisters into a fourth bedroom, a room without a bed, instead filled with hangers and hangers of clothes. I had never seen so many bright and beautiful things. It wasn't just the colours that were so beautiful to me, it was the feel of the clothes, soft and silky. So unlike the hard and scratchy fabrics I had always worn.

However, as much as they tried to give me colourful skirts and blouses, I found myself drawn to black. With my newly-dyed white hair, I told them I just wanted to wear black. Deep down, I felt unworthy somehow of wearing anything else. Eventually they conceded and pulled out everything they had in black. There wasn't much but it was a far cry from Mellow Yellow. That night, the sisters' sewing machine went into overdrive – making all my new clothes to fit my small frame.

Walking through the school gates the following day I held my head up high and let them point and stare. There were whispers but there were also wolf whistles from the heartless boys that didn't care for my emotions. But I couldn't care less. Nobody called me Mellow Yellow after that. I was finally just Lilly.

“Your hair!” were the first words from December's mouth. “As much as I loved the black hair, I do love the white, although I'm not so keen on the hacked look,” she giggled. December was always good at making me feel better with a well-timed, and much-needed joke. She didn't mention my missing parents or the lack of yellow. She didn't need to. She was just there and that was all that mattered.

As the weeks went by without any sign of my parents, true to their word, Dorothy and June began to demonstrate how to cook all kinds of simple recipes. They tried to keep me busy to take my mind off the fact that weeks had passed and still we had heard nothing. The police concluded that the blood they had found was my father's, but they neglected to tell me what was in the other vial. However, as they had made no further discoveries, it looked as though the case may well be shelved, unsolved. An X file. I didn't know what to think. A vial of my father's blood? Did that mean he was injured? Or worse? I tried not to let my imagination run wild.

From conversations with the Social Services, the authorities and Dorothy and June, I knew I would have to move to Canada. My grandfather telephoned me and told me that all the arrangements had been made. We didn't have much to say to each other. Not just because I didn't know the man, but also because I simply wasn't used to talking on the telephone.

In just a few short weeks, I would no longer live in England. A sense of sadness overcame me but still the tears did not come. I was upset that I was leaving my parents behind... wherever they were. But it was the fact that my life had actually improved since they'd disappeared that made me feel guilty. The guilt turned to sadness and the sadness turned to guilt, like an unstoppable swinging pendulum.

CHAPTER FOUR

One night as I lay on my bed drifting off to sleep, there was a tapping sound on the window. Opening my eyes, I saw two black birds sitting on the windowsill staring solemnly in at me. Having never taken any notice of local birds before, I wanted to know what they were, so I trundled out of bed and tiptoed into the living room where the sisters kept all their books. There I found an encyclopaedia from which I managed to identify them as ravens. After watching them for a few more minutes, they flew away. Exhaustion soon set in and it didn't take long for me to forget all about them and fall asleep.

But the following night, they re-appeared. There was a tap on the window and as I looked up from the book I was reading, I saw them both sitting in the same spot looking in at me again.

This happened every night until my move to Canada. Why they visited me there I had no idea. But there they were, every night, sitting on my windowsill, as if protecting me from something.

Although I had the feeling that they were friendly and their presence was soothing, they also frightened me a little. I dared not open the window. I never closed the curtains because, although I was fearful, I was also comforted by them. They became a constant in my strange, lonesome life.

I almost wished they could go with me to Canada, a country that I had few expectations of. I hadn't always known that my grandfather Gabriel was Canadian. In fact I hadn't even known of his existence until my thirteenth birthday, nearly a year earlier. Oddly, I had bumped into the postman at the bottom of the stairs and so I had taken our mail directly from him, instead of letting him place it in our post box as usual. I hadn't intended to look through it but a Canadian postmark had caught my attention and it was addressed... to me.

So I sat down on the edge of the step and had almost torn it apart with eagerness. I had never received mail before. I started to read it...

My dearest Lillian

It is thirteen years since you were born and you are missed terribly.

I have written to you before but I can only imagine the letters have not reached you. I wish I could see you again, Lillian. I am your paternal grandfather after all....

But before I had the chance to read on, the letter was cruelly ripped from my hands and torn into shreds by my mother. She had been so angry that I had opened that letter. More so when I told her it was addressed to me. I tried to ask her about my grandfather but she refused to say a word. So all I knew was that I had a Canadian grandfather yet I longed to know more about him. I couldn't ask my father because, on the rare occasion that I did see him, he was never alone. My mother never seemed to allow us to be together, just the two of us.

All I knew about my grandfather was that he was Canadian. I didn't know what to feel. There was a sadness there. A numbness too. I missed my parents so much that I had a deep ache in my stomach. Yet during those weeks, I didn't miss the life that we'd had at all. But that didn't detract from the fact that they were my parents and I needed to know where they were. Even though I had December, Dorothy and June – and their beautiful cat Iris – I still felt lonely, as if a huge piece of me was missing.

As I boarded the plane to Canada, I knew I had been completely left in the dark and that my life was about to change, possibly forever. I wished to know what I was going to... and to whom. If my parents had filled me in on their backgrounds, their childhoods, perhaps I would know where I was heading. My only knowledge was that I was boarding a flight to Vancouver and that someone was collecting me. On the brief telephone call with Gabriel, he had told me (for reasons he neglected to explain) that he was unable to come and collect me but that a 'very close family friend' would be picking me up. That friend was called Ben. I didn't even know to where I was going after Vancouver.

The airport was hugely confusing to me. Dorothy and June had wanted to come with me but I confidently told them that I'd be okay. That I'd manage. They were old ladies, they didn't need the hassle. Eventually, they agreed to let me go alone and had arranged it with the airline, and as we said our goodbyes, I thanked them for everything. I promised I would stay in touch and let them know how everything was going. They cried as I waved to them from the back of the taxi cab and secretly, so did I. I waited until they could no longer see me and then the tears that I had managed to keep at bay for so long, began to stream down my face. I don't know how I'd managed to keep from crying for so many weeks, but I felt as though the tears had been building up as I sobbed and sobbed in the back of that car, as I drove away from the only life I'd ever known.

I cried not only for my missing parents and for leaving my home behind, but because I would desperately miss those two ladies who had become like family to me. I would miss them, and I would miss my best friend, December.

I didn't know how I would live without her, but she had promised to keep in touch. “Lilly Taylor, you're my best friend in the whole world. I can't imagine life without you but we'll manage... for now. It won't be too long until we're together again. We'll see each other soon,” she'd said the day before as we'd hugged goodbye. It had sounded so rehearsed but I figured it needed to be, otherwise we would have just been in floods of tears. She was the brightest star in my life and I couldn't imagine being without her.

The airport was bigger and brighter than I imagined it to be. It seemed to go on for miles but after reading my ticket, and with a little help from the taxi driver, we figured out where I was supposed to go. I felt like a very tiny fish in a very big sea, but as soon as I had checked in and asked a few questions, I was told that the airline staff would make sure I was in the right place at the right time.

The next few hours were spent watching people coming and going before I finally climbed aboard the plane that would take me to my new home. Excitement, as well as panic, flowed through me.

Soon after take-off, darkness clung to me and I felt cold. I shivered.

As I sat there alone, cold and dazed, a friendly flight attendant approached me with a warm blanket and a pillow.

“I couldn't help noticing you shivering,” she said warmly as she handed them to me.

I took them gratefully and wrapped myself up tightly.

“Would you like some hot tea or hot chocolate?” she asked. I opted for some hot chocolate and she smiled and turned away.

I was pleased the flight was quiet. I had the back row to myself so I put up all the armrests and stretched my legs out as I watched her walk towards me bearing the hot drink a few minutes later.

She looked a little like me. At least like me when my hair had been its natural colour. Jet black hair, bright eyes that were wide apart, pale skin and of delicate build. Her face was pretty and friendly and I was glad of the attention. It was as if she was taking extra special care of me.

The hours soon passed by and it seemed like no time at all when the pilot announced to the crew that they should prepare the cabin for landing. I must have looked frightened as the kind attendant came over to reassure me.

“Don't worry. You're almost home now,” she whispered.

It was odd. It was as if she knew something that I didn't.

I smiled nonetheless and nodded. Perhaps she was just being kind. Although I couldn't shake the feeling that she knew of my fate.

So I had landed in Canada. I guessed this was my home now. But for how long? When my parents returned, would I go back to London? What if they were never found? What then?

At least for now, Canada was my home.

As I stepped off that plane, I felt helpless. I felt as if I had no control over my life. Perhaps I no longer did.

CHAPTER FIVE

I didn't have to wait. The moment I stepped out into the arrivals hall with my luggage, I heard someone calling out my name. My eyes searched the crowd until they stopped on a young man who waved avidly at me. I tried to smile but probably failed.

“Lillian? Is that you? I wasn't sure if I'd recognise you from the photo... you look very different! It's the hair, I guess. Although you're a lot younger in the photo. Anyway, Gabriel - I mean your grandfather - couldn't make it as you know and so he asked me to pick you up. I'm Benjamin. It's great to finally meet you,” he gushed enthusiastically.

“Hi,” was all I could muster as he delved into his pocket and pulled out a photo of what looked a little (and I mean a little) like me from when I was just a baby. He turned the image to show me and I laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of it.

“Er... I'd like to think I have changed, a lot. I'm amazed you recognised me at all,” I said, starting to feel comfortable with the stranger, but wondering where the photo had come from. It wasn't one I was familiar with. That said, no photo would be one I was familiar with. We didn't have any family photos at all.

Together we laughed as Benjamin easily lifted my bag from the luggage trolley and asked me to follow him. I stumbled behind him, not sure what to say as we walked through the car park until we stopped in front of a large dark green, slightly rusty pick-up truck.

Luckily Benjamin was the chatty type so I needn't have worried. All I had to do was listen and give the occasional reply.

As we climbed into the pick-up and he started the engine, Benjamin told me a little about Canada, what the weather had been like and eventually he broached the subject I had been dreading: my parents.

“So, Lillian...” it was coming.

“Please Benjamin... call me Lilly. Nobody has called me Lillian since, since, well probably since that photo was taken.”

He laughed and nodded, “Okay, Lilly, but only if you call me Ben.”

We smiled and were both silent for a moment but I knew he was going to try and ask me again.

“Lilly. I just wanted to say how sorry I am about your parents going missing. I can't imagine what you must be going through. It must be absolutely awful...”

I didn't really know how to respond. So I chose not to.

“It's okay. I get it. If you don't want to talk about it, that is. You barely know me after all,” he said with a sad smile as he pulled onto a busy motorway.

Feeling a little guilty, I nodded, “Why don't you tell me about you then?”

“Not a heck of a lot to say, really,” he took a breath before continuing, “my name you now know. I'm 27 years old. I've lived in the same town pretty much all my life. I've recently opened a vet practice on the outskirts of town. Yes, I'm the local vet, in case you were wondering why the truck is covered in dog hair. What else would you like to know?”

“Brothers, sisters?” I queried.

“Oh, yeah. I have a younger brother, Oliver, who'll be 17,” Ben looked at his watch, “in about 36 hours,” he laughed. “I think your grandfather is hoping you'll join the party, the day after tomorrow. Nothing grand. Just family and a few friends. I guess he's hoping you'll make some friends of your own.”

I cringed slightly and Ben noticed. “Sorry, too soon, I guess. You know, everyone will completely understand if you'd rather not join in. You need some time to settle in and chill out and... er... never mind.”

I nodded. I didn't think Ben had the slightest clue how grateful I was. At the same time, I wondered who he meant by 'everyone' but I didn't ask. I thought about what he said about making some new friends and I sighed quietly, remembering my sheltered life in England with so few friends. Just December and me. What if people didn't like me? Having never made any other friends it was hard for me to imagine meeting people and being all... well... friendly. But then this life was going to be completely different from my old life. Perhaps I'd fit in perfectly. Perhaps I could change. I struggled with the thought.

It was just after midday and the sky started to cloud over. I hadn't noticed how cold it was. I shivered.

Ben immediately whacked up the heat without saying a word.

We drove in silence for quite a while until I noticed we were approaching a ferry terminal. It dawned on me then that I had barely asked any questions, not even the most important one.

“You know, Ben, I haven't got the faintest idea where we're going.”

“I love your accent, Lilly. It's so damn cute... just give me a sec while I sort out the ferry ticket,” he wound down his window and while he chatted to the friendly lady with a big grin in the ticket booth and paid for our crossing, I read the signs around us and concluded we were going to a place called Langdale.

“Is that where you live? Where I'll be living? Langdale?” I asked as he wound the window back up again.

“No, we need to get a second ferry afterwards up to Powell River – that's where we're going.”

I felt like such a child asking silly questions. I wish I had known more about this journey before it had begun.

“Sorry, I just haven't got a clue,” I choked, as I felt as if those tears might finally emerge.

Luckily I managed to hold them at bay, and offer what was probably my most pathetic smile yet.

“Don't be sorry, Lilly. It's not your fault that nobody shared any of this with you. It's such a shame, really. It would have been great for you and your grandfather if you'd been able to meet each other before... and under better circumstances.”

Ben was so kind. Just from this short trip, I knew that we would undoubtedly become friends. My first Canadian friend. I also got the impression that he understood me. More than anybody had understood me since the vanishing. Probably more than anybody had understood me at all. Ever. In my life. Why he could possibly understand what I was going through was beyond me, though. But I just had the feeling that he did, probably more than December had done over the past few weeks.

I hoped that I would find everyone in Powell River as understanding and kind as him. If they were, I would have no problem making those friends I was so worried about.

CHAPTER SIX

It wasn't until the following day when some home truths finally started to trickle into my head. It turned out that my father and my grandfather hadn't spoken to each other for years. This explained why we never had anything to do with Canada, or why my parents never even spoke of it. Perhaps it was also why my mother had become so irate when I discovered the letter from him.

“You need to sit down and have a proper talk with Lilly, Gabriel. She is totally in the dark. She's been through enough recently. Don't you think she deserves to hear the truth?”

I could hear the voices through the thin walls. I guessed that both Ben and my grandfather assumed I was still fast asleep because of my jet lag. Actually I had barely slept a wink. I had found it difficult to fall asleep with no noise surrounding me. The silence had kept me awake for hours.

“There is a reason why things happen in this life, Benjamin, and my son must have had a reason not to have told his daughter about our life here. I do not feel that I should break his silence,” replied my grandfather.

“But she's nearly fourteen years old, Gabriel. What if Jack never comes back?”

“Don't you say that, Ben... don't even think it.”

When Ben and I had returned from our almost five-hour journey the previous day, I felt so nervous about meeting my grandfather for the first time. But I was in for a huge surprise... there was much more to my family than just a grandfather. In fact I soon found out that I had a much larger family than I could ever have dreamed of. It wasn't just Gabriel I was meeting, there were aunts and uncles and cousins I never knew existed.

I needn't have been nervous, of course. I was treated like the long lost granddaughter, cousin and niece that I was.

As soon as we pulled into the long gravel driveway, a group of people bundled out of the house and stood on the porch, awaiting my arrival. All looked more nervous than me, if that was possible.

“Don't worry, Lilly. This is your family. They won't bite. Come on. Come and meet them,” said Ben with a smile and a gentle pat on my shoulder.

Tentatively, I climbed out of the truck. Ben collected my bags while I walked up to these strangers who suddenly burst into smiles and rushed over to me and began hugging me enthusiastically. I noticed that one person remained behind them all and stayed quiet while they all made their noisy introductions.

“Hi Lillian. I'm your Aunt Meredith,” said a rather short cuddly middle-aged lady with long black hair, and a tear in her eye.

“And I'm your cousin, Cormac. Meredith is my mum,” said a chubby and spotty boy in his mid teens, shyly.

“Hello Lillian. I'm John. I'm Meredith's husband. It's a pleasure to finally meet you,” said a tall grey-haired man with glasses as he shook my hand energetically. “We have two other sons, Shayne and Bailey, but both are away studying at the moment and couldn't be here, I'm afraid,” he added.

An attractive man with an uncanny resemblance to my father stepped forward next. He had long black hair tied at the nape of his neck and was probably in his early 40s. He patted me gently on the back and said, “Lillian. I wish this had been under other circumstances but it is a great pleasure to see you at last. I wish that you had been able to visit us long before now. I am your father's brother, Wyatt. This is my wife, Sonya.” A beautiful slim woman with long bright white hair took my hand in hers and smiled kindly.

“I am so happy to meet you, Lillian. I believe we will be friends,” she whispered in the most angelic voice. Instantly, I felt the same way. We would be friends.

“I would like you to meet our daughter, your cousin Josephine.”

“Mum... please don't call me that! Hi Lillian, you can call me Jo. All my friends do,” said a girl a little older than me with a scowl at her mother. The scowl was given with a laugh so it was easy to see that this mother and daughter had a close bond.

Jo was the image of her mother. Beautiful with long hair that was as black as her mother's was white. Both of them carried themselves with confidence yet neither seemed aware of the incredible beauty that emanated from them.

“And this old boy here is your grandfather, Gabriel,” said Ben with a smile. As he said the words, the group parted to reveal a broad old man with short greying hair waiting patiently to be introduced.

“Grandfather,” I said approaching him slowly.

He nodded and took both my hands in his, “We have waited many moons for this day to come. Lillian Tulugaq, welcome home. Welcome home,” he said pulling me towards him. He hugged me tightly just for a moment before we all bundled indoors out of the cold, at last. My hands and feet were freezing.

As Ben talked to my grandfather the following morning, I jumped out of bed and into the kitchen where they stood, eager for them to see that I was not asleep and that I had heard every word they had said. And that I wanted to know whatever it was that was being kept from me.

“Oh... you're awake, Lilly. I'm sorry if we woke you,” said Ben, looking a little embarrassed.

Gabriel just shook his head as if to say, 'Well, now look what you've done.'

“I just popped in to have a quick word with Gabriel about... er... Oliver's party. Yes. Well, I'd better be going now. I hope to see you tomorrow, Lilly,” he said as he put on his thick coat and gloves, adding with a wink, “but I completely understand if you'd rather give it a miss.” And he was gone, leaving the two of us standing silently in the kitchen.

“Lillian...” said Gabriel. I waited.

“This is your home now. You must treat it as your home. Everything that is here, is now yours.”

I waited for the crunch but it didn't come.

“Grandfather?”

“Lillian?”

“Please call me Lilly. Nobody has called me Lillian since... since before I can remember. But last night you called me something else, after my name. I didn't understand. My surname is Taylor... isn't it?”

Shaking his head, he said, “Tulugaq is the name of our forefathers, Lilly. It is your name, it is my name. It is your father's name as well as his brother's and sister's. It is in you. It is in here,” he said, placing his hand over his heart. “It would do you well to remember this. This is where you come from, Lilly.”

“But what does it mean?”

“Tulugaq?” he asked, and I nodded.

“It is the great black bird of the sky. The Raven.”

“It means raven?” and I gasped without thinking, remembering the two ravens that visited me every night before I came to Canada.

“You are surprised, child?” asked Gabriel.

Unsure whether to tell him or not, while at the same a little irritated at being called child, I walked over to boil some water to bide my time. Maybe he'll think I'm totally mad, I thought. Although I got the strange impression that nothing would shock him. I decided to fill him in on what happened on those lonely nights in England. And so I told him about my two ravens.

It turned out that I was right, he was not easily surprised. The ravens in London, he told me, were more than likely my ancestors looking out for me in my hour of need.

It was difficult for me to know how to react to that. Clearly I couldn't believe that my ancestors had come back from the dead, in the form of ravens, no less, to watch over me. Why would they watch over me? Why was I so special? Surely, if anybody needed to be watched over, it was my parents. Certainly not me. But ravens? Ancestors? Please.

My grandfather took my reaction rather well actually. I guess he knew that I wouldn't, couldn't, believe something like that. Me, a thirteen-year-old girl who had lived her entire life cooped up in a tiny room within an apartment block in a big city on the other side of the world. Nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened to me.

“My dear Lilly... must you keep your hair this way? Black is a colour of magical power. It is not something you should change unless nature requires it to be changed. You are beautiful. You look very much like my son. Your father. Embrace it. Do not hide from it.”

There was something weird that he had just said but I couldn't quite put my hand on it. I stood quietly for a moment rewinding what he had said in my head before I discovered the link... a strange link. The colour black. He'd said it was the colour of magical power. The colour of my parents 'office'. That empty room that had been painted entirely in black. Could there be a connection? Surely not, I thought. No, I decided I just had an overactive imagination.

“Oh, and another thing... Lilly.... you can call me Gabriel. Everybody else does.” He smiled then, and placed his hand on my shoulder before leaving me alone in the kitchen to my thoughts.

I had hoped that he would have told me whatever it was that was being hidden from me, but he didn't. I would have to wait.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Later, I felt the need to get out of the house and have a look around. Gabriel had told me not to wander too far and, above all, he warned, “Do not venture into the forest.”

I had no idea why I was to avoid the forest, but I did as he said and instead walked towards the water. I didn't have to go far.

As I wandered along the edge of the ice cold waters of the Pacific Ocean, I tried not to dwell on the fact that there was still no trace of my parents. Even after all these weeks, there was still nothing. We had been in touch with the British authorities but it was looking more and more like this case would be shelved. It would continue to be unexplained. An unsolved mystery.

Instead of dwelling on recent life-changing events, I attempted to fill my head with the beauty that surrounded me. From the deep blue ocean to the bright blue of the cloudless sky and the startlingly beautiful green islands off in the distance, I was left truly breathless by its utter magnitude. Having little chance to appreciate it before now, I thought of how narrow-minded I must have been while living within London. Why my mother and father had never told me of the awe-inspiring landscapes to be found here, I will never know. It was like stepping foot inside the most magnificent giant oil painting – a true masterpiece that no artist could ever imitate.

Had I grown up here, I would never have wanted to leave and everyone I knew would have been told of its breathtaking magnificence.

Suddenly something jumped high out of the water and back again with a loud plop. I was startled but curious. I searched for more movement but there was nothing other than the gentle lolling of the soft waves lapping against the shore.

Finding a huge piece of driftwood on the little beach, I sat and waited patiently for it to happen again. I was determined to see what was capable of jumping right out of the water before my eyes.

I didn't have to wait long. Another splash and a plop, and a large fish revealed itself to me. Having little experience of such things, I had no idea what type of fish jumped like this – actually, I had no experience of fish at all – not to eat, nor to catch or even to look at, other than in school books.

I had never been in the ocean, nor had I even been on a boat prior to my arrival in Canada. Narrow-minded, lacking in experience of all kinds and naïve  is probably how the people here must see me, I thought, sighing. If only my parents knew what I was going through. I didn't blame them, of course I didn't. I just wished they had been more forthcoming with so many things. And now... perhaps they would never get the chance.

On the other hand, had they not disappeared, I would have continued on that same path. The same boring road with no twists or turns. The only 'fun' I had ever had was with December, and even then that was only ever at school. There had never been any excitement, unless you count the day when some kids at school tried to blow up a toilet. That was the extent of the excitement in my world. Until now. Until my parents had vanished and I moved across the world and discovered the most magical place ever.

Not even the stories from the fairy tales I was so fond of could match the magic that could be found here in British Columbia. Even though I'd only been here a day or so, I hadn't even realised I was in British Columbia. I had noticed it on the licence plates of some of the cars in the area... 'Beautiful British Columbia'.

So I'd found an atlas in Gabriel's huge book collection and pinpointed Canada and discovered how vast a country it was. A country that was divided into a number of different provinces. British Columbia was the one the furthest to the west of the country and Powell River, I discovered is right on the west coast, right by the Pacific Ocean. I was also amazed how close it seemed to Asia and how far from England.

Clearly, had I known when I was younger, I would have taken a lot more notice in my geography class. Now though, I would simply have to learn myself. I decided that I would start with Gabriel's ample book collection, once I had settled in.

As I enjoyed the stunning scenery, my thoughts once again turned to my parents, and I felt a little pang of guilt again. Guilt for enjoying myself.

It was incredibly chilly and so I stood up, intent on walking a little more to warm myself up. I continued along the same stretch, carefully climbing over gigantic pieces of driftwood, clueless as to how such immense logs of wood could find themselves washed up here. Where had they come from? Had they drifted for hundreds of miles, thousands of miles? Or had they just come from around the corner? Probably the sort of question that every Canadian would know the answer to.

Canadian. That was me now. Actually, that had always been me. My father was Canadian, I didn't know about my mother. I was just born in the UK, wasn't I? Suddenly I had doubts about everything concerning myself. I remembered that photo Ben had shown me at the airport. I was just a baby. I had never seen it before and if I recalled correctly, the background certainly didn't appear to be London. Could I have been to Canada before? Could I have been born here? These were questions that needed answering.

Yes, I had an English accent that everybody absolutely loved here (they couldn't get enough of it, which was difficult for me, being such a quiet girl) but I was Canadian.

It was so beautiful here. Another splash revealed yet another jumping fish to my side as I turned away from the water and headed towards a dirt track that I presumed would take me back to the main road to lead me back home. Home. Weird that it didn't feel wrong to call it that after so little time.

I was just a few metres down the track when a grey cat suddenly appeared from nowhere. It approached me and began to purr gently at my side. I bent down to stroke it and it stayed put for just a moment while it stretched regally before it began walking away from me, towards the sound of some softly playing music. It initially took me by surprise as I hadn't noticed any houses nearby. Although the music sounded foreign, it was beautiful. Slightly eerie.

I approached, curiosity getting the better of me. Tiptoeing towards it, I leaned against a huge tree almost twice the width of me and carefully peered around it to get a better view of the property. The cat had left me alone and had wandered up towards the house.

Even though it was the chilliest day since my arrival, on account of the cloudless sky, I guessed, I saw an older lady standing outdoors with her back to me. She was painting. What she was painting, I couldn't quite see. She was humming loudly to the music as the cat positioned itself at her side.

The woman's grey and white hair was tied up in a bun, revealing an elegant long neck. She wore a woolly grey poncho that ended in a point just below her bottom. She was slim and sleek and as she moved, she did so gracefully.

“Come on over, child. I won't bite or scratch you,” she yelled above the sound of the music. She didn't turn, instead she continued to sing and paint as if I wasn't there. But I knew she was talking to me.

How she knew of my presence, I could not know. She must have an incredible sense of hearing. Either that or the cat had somehow alerted her to me.

I came out of my hiding place and slowly walked towards her, wondering why she would say that she won't bite or scratch me. Very odd.

As I approached, she finally turned to reveal perhaps one of the most beautiful faces I have ever seen on a lady of her age. But even with such beauty, I was startled by her apparent feline appearance. Everything about her was cat-like. The way the colours in her hair intertwined with each other reminded me of the cat that had pretty much led me there. Her ears, although small, appeared to have a slight pointedness to them. And she had the brightest of light blue eyes. As she looked at me, she smiled a big hearty smile.

“I'm guessing you're Lilly?” she said with a voice that could melt chocolate. She must have every man in Powell River after her, I thought.

Nodding, I held out my hand, “How do you know?” I asked.

“You look just like your grandmother when she was young,” she said as she took my hand, kindly holding it in one and stroking it with the other. “Plus... you have the same scent,” she added, smiling. “She, however, didn't have dyed hair!” she said with a laugh. “I'm Rose. I know your family well.”

Rose. It suited her.

“Plus, not a lot happens around here without me hearing about it. I do like a bit of gossip and you've been the talk of the town for some time. People have been gossiping ever since your parents disappeared. Now, I understand that you probably don't want to talk about it but I just want you to know that when you do feel like talking, my door is always open to any of the Tulugaq clan,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Tulugaq” I repeated, understanding that she was referring to any member of my family, “my grandfather told me what it meant this morning. I had no idea. I've always been known as Lilly Taylor so it's going to take me some time to get used to it,” I replied.

She looked shocked. “You didn't know what it means? And you didn't know that you are a Tulugaq?” she asked, clearly not expecting an answer.

Shaking her head, she gently pulled me by the hand and led me indoors. “Boy have you been kept in the dark.”

We walked indoors and she suggested I sit down at her breakfast bar in the kitchen while she placed a pan of water to boil on the hob and prepared a cup of tea for us both.

“I understand from Gabriel that your father changed your surname when you left the country. I'm sure it was because Tulugaq is not the easiest of names to pronounce. Especially for those English folk over there,” she added, smiling.

“The word itself, Tulugaq, as you now know, means raven and it has been your family's name for many generations. There is much more for you to know but perhaps you are not ready for that yet.”

“Can you tell me what you mean?” I asked curiously.

Stopping what she was doing for a second, she turned and smiled, “Now that wouldn't be right. It is Gabriel who will tell you but he will only do so when you are ready. Now, would you like sugar in your tea?”

I nodded as she dropped a heaped teaspoonful into the hot tea and swiftly stirred it before handing it to me. I continued to feel so confused by this whole secrecy thing but decided not to pursue the matter further. Not yet anyway.

“Rose?”

“Yes dear?”

“Did you know my parents? I mean, before they moved to England?”

“I knew your father, Jack, well, but not... not your... your mother. She wasn't from around here. I believe she was a city girl,” she sighed, “I am astounded that you know so little about your parents, your family and your ancestry. We are proud of our heritage here. I do know why you have been kept in the dark but, like I said... that's a conversation Gabriel will have with you when you are ready.”

More like when he's ready, I thought.

Why there seemed to be so many secrets here... so many from me, anyway, I did not know. I felt a little irritated, but more curious than anything.

Changing the subject altogether, Rose led me into the living room, where I noticed about six cats laying in various places - a sofa, a soft rug, on top of a cabinet. Any nook and cranny seemed to have a cat curled up tightly inside it. The sound of soft gentle purring floated into my ears. It was so calming that I could easily have curled up with them for a nap.

“These are my babies,” pointed Rose, “I won't bore you with all their names. There are 11 of them altogether... for now anyway.”

We sat where there was a free space, and immediately three cats jumped onto her lap and another two rubbed themselves against her legs, purring even louder than before.

I looked around and noticed that almost every painting on the wall was of some kind of feline animal. A wild mountain lion, a domestic siamese, a ginger tom, a black puma, a lynx. The most beautiful image was of a white tiger – the animal seemed ready to jump out of the frame and into the living room, it was so lifelike. I stood up to take a closer look and saw that they were all painted by a person called Rosa Lima. I assumed that Rose was the artist.

“Did you do these, Rose?” I asked. “They're absolutely amazing. So lifelike.”

“Why thank you dear, that's very kind of you. They are all mine. Rosa Lima is my real name. It's Portuguese actually. My great-great-grandfather was originally from Portugal and he married a local girl so you could say I have Portuguese blood.” As she answered me, it was then that I noticed her eyes appeared to have changed colour. No longer were they bright blue, but so dark that they reminded me of treacle. I had never seen anything like it. Or was I mistaken? Perhaps it was merely a trick of the light? But I didn't feel that I could ask her about it. Instead, I asked about the music.

“Is that what language the music was earlier, Portuguese?” I queried, recalling that lovely music with the foreign words that, along with the cat, had enticed me towards Rose's house.

“Why yes that's right. It's my favourite song. Canção do Mar – Song of the Sea. It's traditional Portuguese music called Fado. Do you like it?” Rose asked me.

Nodding, “I love it,” I answered and she stood up and went to her stereo and pressed play again before returning to her soft brown leather armchair with slightly ripped arms.

Together we sat in silence and listened to the beautiful sounds of Rose's favourite song.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The following day I pondered whether or not I should attend Ben's brother's birthday party. However, as it turned out, I had little choice because it was being held at Gabriel's house... my house. My home. I didn't feel upset that I wasn't pre-warned. In fact, I actually looked forward to the company of my new family and so I got stuck in and helped wherever I could.

Meredith and Sonya turned up early in the day to give the place a good clean. I helped them before we started preparing the food. Both women were completely taken aback at discovering that I had never cooked anything in my life before staying with Dorothy and June. In fact they were even more upset when I told them everything I had ever really eaten had come out of a tin.

“Goodness, it's amazing that you still look relatively healthy. A little pale, perhaps, and certainly very thin. You could obviously use some good home cooking and some fresh vegetables,” said Meredith as she turned me around to take a good look at me.

“I think we need to teach you how to cook, too,” said Sonya. “It would be nice for Gabriel if you were able to help him cook a nice dinner every now and then,” she added. I agreed, excited at the prospect of spending some more time in the kitchen to really learn a new skill, after Dorothy and June had taught me the basics.

If only my mother had been more like them, I thought to myself. Meredith patted me on the shoulder then and gave my hand a squeeze as if I'd spoken aloud.

For the first time in weeks, I actually felt safe and more importantly... loved. It was strange being rallied around by fellow family members, when all I'd ever known were my parents and they had never rallied around me for anything. There had never been anyone else. Or rather there had never been the mention of anyone else.

As the two women laughed and joked with me, I smiled a sad smile. It would have been wonderful to have grown up like this, in this environment, I thought. In fact it would have been wonderful to have been able to share some moments like those with my parents. What I wouldn't have given to have them there with me then, all of us laughing and joking together. But they were not there. They were still missing. I felt a tugging in my chest, and just for a second, I thought my eyes might well up with tears.

Sonya looked at me and I just knew that she understood what I had been thinking. She reached over and squeezed my hand and smiled.

I returned her smile and my tears retreated as I tried to change the subject on my mind.

“So how come Oliver's birthday party is being held here?” I asked, trying hard to think of other things rather than the sad family life I'd had.

“I guess Ben didn't tell you that both his parents died quite a few years ago,” said Meredith as she kneaded the dough that would later become the most delicious homemade bread rolls.

I was shocked and surprised that he hadn't mentioned it in the car on the way from the airport. In hindsight, though, he probably didn't tell me because he didn't want to upset me, bearing in mind that I'd recently 'lost' my own parents.

“What happened to them?” I asked, thinking they can't have been very old at all.

“They were out together one day, taking a long trek when they came across an injured mountain lion. His mother was such a softy when it came to animals and she insisted they try to help it. But it wasn't alone and its mate attacked them. It wasn't to know they were trying to help. It was so tragic. Eleanor's wounds were so severe that she died almost instantly but Jonathan carried her body all the way back to the main road where he managed to find help. He later died in hospital. Ben was 12 years old. Oliver was barely two,” she said.

Sonya explained that Gabriel insisted on bringing the children up himself, as Jonathan had been like another son to him. They had no other family so it seemed like the natural thing to do.

As I took everything in, I began to understand my grandfather a little more. He was clearly a loving man that cared a great deal for his family and friends, which confused me as to why my own father, his own son, had fallen out with him. Why had they not spoken for so many years? It actually angered me a little, knowing that I could have experienced this wonderful way of life as opposed to that miserable life I had known in England.

Presumably this had all happened a few years before I was born. I wondered where my father was during this time. Was it around that time that he had left with my mother? Or had they left later, after I was born? I was making so many assumptions. I needed to know the truth. Someone would tell me... eventually. I hoped so anyway.

As the afternoon wore on, people started to arrive for the party. I think a few of them had come just to get a good look at me. But they were all friendly and many offered words of reassurance and kindness.

I still had not met Oliver. I assumed he would be the last to arrive. Like a surprise party that wasn't really a surprise.

Ben had arrived and had sought me out before doing anything else. He wanted to apologise for butting in the day before. He'd obviously known that I'd heard what had been said. I laughed as he said it, though, understanding that it was his way of showing that he cared... about my grandfather and about me. It was reassuring.

“I know there is something being kept from me and I will find out what it is. Gabriel will tell me but I do understand that he will only do so when we are both ready, so don't worry Ben, I won't be in the dark for much longer,” I said, thinking of Rose's words. And as I thought of what she'd said to me, I could see her approaching the house. I hadn't realised she would be attending the party, but I was delighted she was.

“Hello dear Lilly,” she said as she entered without knocking, “hello ladies... you're all hard at work, I see,” she smiled as she handed them a large basket. “I thought I'd better do my bit, so I made some scones with fresh cream. I know how the boys love them. And where are all the boys?” she asked looking around.

“They'll be along in a little while, but Ben is here already... somewhere,” answered Meredith.

He suddenly appeared, “Hi Rose,” he said as he walked over to give her a hug and a gentle kiss on her cheek. They stood together whispering quietly, casually glancing in my direction.

I got the feeling that they wanted to talk about me so I said I needed a little time to be alone and headed to my room where I sat on the bed for a while, staring out of the window into the forest beyond.

After a few minutes, I began to feel like the forest was calling out to me. I stood up and moved closer to the glass, which steamed up as I breathed against it. I thought I saw something white move within the trees, but as I wiped the glass with my sleeve there was nothing there.

I sat back on the bed again and lay down. I closed my eyes and thought of the past couple of days, of the wonderful welcome I had received and of all the lovely people I had met.

As I lay there, I heard a gentle tapping on the window. Before I opened my eyes I visualised myself back in London with the two ravens who visited every night. It was the same tapping sound and as I let my imagination run wild, there it was again. Tap tap.

I opened my eyes and sure enough, there were two ravens at my window. I watched them as they tapped twice with their beaks against the glass. They looked at me and then flew away. Then I heard my name. It was very faint but it sounded like someone was calling me. The sound didn't come from the house... but from further away. I wondered if it was coming from the forest. I sat up and looked out the window again. Nothing. As I strained to listen for it again, there was a knock on my door and Rose appeared.

“Are you alright, my dear?” she asked, smiling.

I nodded, but I could tell from her expression that she didn't believe me. I knew that she somehow understood what I was going through and I was grateful that she didn't probe.

“Are you ready to come back out? Almost everyone is here – including Oliver.”

I nodded and followed her towards the door, neglecting to mention what I thought I'd seen and heard just moments earlier.

I was pleased that I had decided to join the party as I had come to the conclusion that I needed to make more of an effort to make friends. I wanted my life to be full of people, the opposite to what I had been used to. As I walked into the living room, all the guests were already mingling and milling around. Although I was dreading being the object of everybody's attention, I needn't have been concerned as it seemed that a lot of people were more interested in the birthday boy himself. And everyone else was talking and laughing among themselves. If only December were there.

But before I had a chance to dwell on that thought, Ben made a beeline for me and took my hand in his. “Hey Lilly. Let me introduce you to Oliver.” He gently led me to the centre of the attention where a group of people ranging in age from 16 to their mid-twenties appeared to be listening intently to a story being told by the tall young man in the centre, with his back towards me. They were clearly enraptured by his funny tale, which seemed to be about werewolves and vampires.

After he'd given his punchline, the group burst out laughing and began talking among themselves. Ben tapped the young man on the shoulder to get his attention.

“Oli... there's someone here you should meet.”

I wasn't prepared for what happened next. As he turned, I let out an involuntary gasp. I tried to make it sound like a cough. I failed. I was totally embarrassed.

Oliver was, without doubt, the most beautiful boy I had ever seen... but it was his eyes that I couldn't pull mine away from. They were so deep and dark, almost jet black. I could quite easily have sunk into them. It was quite extraordinary, actually. I had never seen anything quite like them. And I liked the feeling. I liked the feeling a lot.

Even though he was 10 years younger, Oliver was taller than Ben and was as blonde as Ben was dark with strong features, a slightly pointy nose and a chiselled chin.

“Hi. You must be Lilly. It's great to finally meet you after all this time,” he said with a smooth voice that belied his young years.

It was the first time that the sight and sound of anyone had taken my breath away and I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to say either, so I quickly mumbled 'hi' and before I could make even more of a fool of myself, I turned around and walked as fast as I could, away from him. I didn't even give him a chance to reply. I just carried on walking, without a backward glance. Away from the other guests. Away from the party. I rushed back into my room and sat on my bed for a few minutes, trying to catch my breath. But I felt like it wasn't enough. I needed to get out. I needed some fresh air. So I grabbed my coat and, careful not to be seen, opened the front door and ran away from the party.

CHAPTER NINE

I felt like such a childish fool. An idiot. I hoped that nobody had noticed me but I'm sure that Oliver's first opinion of me was not a particularly good one. How could it possibly be? I was rude and then I ran away. If I'm lucky, I thought, perhaps everybody would just think it's too much for me to cope with. All those people. Yes, it is a lot to deal with in such a short amount of time.

Before I knew it, I had run to the edge of the forest. The forest Gabriel had told me not to enter. I turned briefly to see if anyone had noticed. I appeared to be alone. What the hell? I thought. What have I got to lose? So I walked beyond the trees as I zipped up my coat and put on my warm gloves.

I felt just a little rebellious, the same kind of feeling that I had got when I had chopped off all my lovely long hair and dyed it. It was the first time I had gone against someone's wishes. Although I did feel guilty, I couldn't shake the fact that I was being kept in the dark about something important and it wasn't fair. It was my life and I deserved to know. And so I felt free taking those steps into the unknown. If they won't tell me what I have a right to know, then I won't go along with their wishes.

I started to walk a little faster, breaking out into a run and as I approached each tree the branches seemed to welcome me in. As my breathing quickened, my face began to become gently scratched by the foliage around me. It didn't bother me, though, in fact the feeling was quite liberating.

I stopped to catch my breath and to look around. I was surrounded by beautiful tall green trees but no footpath. What I did notice, though, was the sound of water. I strained to hear where it was coming from and then followed the gentle lapping noise.

Moments later, I stood beside a gently flowing river. I sat on a huge smooth boulder and enjoyed the moment, leaning backwards so that I was flat on my back. I looked up into the blue sky and noticed some dark clouds rolling in, but I didn't care. In fact, for the first time in a long time, I didn't give a damn.

The sounds of the forest and the water beside me gently lulled me and I began to feel tired. And so I closed my eyes, feeling some kind of peace, wondering why on earth my grandfather had tried to stop me from walking into the forest. There was nothing but beauty and peace. I felt myself slowly dropping off to sleep and even though it was exceedingly cold, I enjoyed the feeling. I drifted and drifted until sleep overcame me.

A woman dressed in white appears from nowhere in front of me. She is very pretty with long black hair down her back. Her smile lights up her face and she sits by my side. She says nothing while we sit in silence. Suddenly she lifts her arm and a raven lands on her hand. She looks at me and nods. She's trying to tell me something. I try to ask her what it is but nothing comes out of my mouth. I try to speak again but there are no words. I begin to feel a little frustrated. Why can't I speak? Suddenly the woman disappears and a large cat is sitting by my side, with the raven perched on its back. It opens its beak, “Lilly... Lilly,” it says. I am frightened. The raven speaks? “Lilly... Lilly.” It becomes louder and louder and suddenly it is shaking me.

CHAPTER TEN

“Lilly!”

I woke up and noticed Jo standing beside me, gently nudging me and calling my name, “Lilly, wake up.”

“You had me worried for a little while, then,” she said. “I saw you lying here and, well, I didn't really know what to think.”

“Sorry... I just had to get out of the house and I guess I was much more exhausted than I thought. I suppose it was the sound of the water that sent me to sleep,” I answered guiltily with a yawn.

“How you can sleep in this cold, I've no idea,” she laughed, “You know, Gabriel would be so disappointed to know that you came here... but don't worry, I won't tell him. After all, I come walking in the forest all the time and I know he'd go nuts at me too,” she added with a guilty giggle.

A feeling of relief flooded through my veins. Earlier, I had been intent on rebellion but thinking about it now, I didn't want to hurt my family.

“I haven't been gone very long, have I?” I asked.

Jo reassured me that my nap was only a short one and she had, in fact, watched me leave the house and had followed me ten minutes later to make sure I was okay.

Sitting down beside me, I noticed she had a small rucksack on her back which she took off as she smiled at me. “I figured we might need sustenance, so I grabbed a few bits before running after you.” She opened the bag, revealing scones, sandwiches, fruit and cans of what she called 'soda'.

My stomach rumbled in response.

“I guess I was right,” she said as we delved in and enjoyed our own mini banquet out in the cold as we listened to the peaceful sounds of the running water.

As we ate and drank, we got to know each other a bit better, knowing immediately that we would become not just cousins, but very good friends too. Jo was a few years older than my (almost) fourteen years, and would be celebrating her 18th birthday in a few months.

I confided in her, explaining how it felt like I had come home, but that feelings of guilt and sadness about my parents disappearance engulfed me.  She wanted to know about my life in England but I knew she would probably be horrified, but she insisted on hearing all about it.

After she had learned how I had grown up in such a strange and lonely world, she said, “Lilly, that is so sad. I wish you had grown up here with us. We would probably have been the best of friends from the day you were born. You know, for someone that never really had any friends or a loving family, you're very grounded. If I had to guess, I would have said that you grew up happy and loved, judging by your personality.”

I was incredibly touched that Jo could say such kind words, and really mean them.

We chatted a bit more about what her upbringing had been like, how close the rest of the family were and I told her what I knew of England, even though I'd only ever seen the area around our apartment and school.

I also told her how upsetting it was to be kept in the dark about something within the family, about something that I believed I had a right to know.

“I do understand, Lilly, but Gabriel never does anything without giving it a lot of thought first. He must have a very good reason not to tell... yet, anyway. I'm sure he will tell you soon enough.”

“Don't you know anything, Jo? Is there anything that you can tell me?” I asked, hoping that she would at least be able to give me just a hint of something... anything to put my mind at ease.

She looked away then and sighed and I knew I was wrong to ask her. She was obviously torn between her love for the rest of her family and her newfound friendship with me.

I decided not to push it. It wouldn't be fair. So as she looked back at me, I smiled and changed the subject.

“Tell me about school, Jo... I guess I'll be attending the same school as you. Can you give me an idea of what to expect?”

Relieved to have a change of subject, she smiled at me with thanks and told me all about the local high school, how it was like any other American or Canadian high school – with popular kids and geeks and football and cheerleading. She told me I shouldn't worry. She knew I would fit in well. I certainly hoped so. I just hoped that I was at the same level as the other kids in my class; it would be so embarrassing to be behind them. Jo just had one school year left, whereas I still had a few to go. I wished we were the same age so I would have at least one person to go to class with. But she reassured me that I would get on with everyone. There weren't really any awful kids there, she'd said.

Didn't every school have their fair share of awful kids?

“Come on, Lilly. We ought to make a move and get back to the party. Everyone will be wondering where we are. We don't want them to worry. Plus, Oliver was asking after you.”

From the look on my face, Jo could tell I was mortified, so I explained about my reaction to him and she smiled. “Well, he seemed interested to know more about you so I wouldn't worry if I were you.”

I told her that I'd rather give the party a miss altogether and she suggested we at least go back and show our faces. We could always sneak off somewhere else if we felt like it.

Reluctantly, I joined her and she led the way back through the forest, until we reached the footpath I had walked on earlier.

It was then that I realised I could have so easily become lost within those trees that I was truly thankful to Jo for following me. After voicing my thanks, she became a little more serious... “If I'm totally honest with you, Lilly, it was Rose that saw you leave. She asked me to make sure you were okay and it was her that gave me the bag with the food. Of course I would have followed you had I known you'd ventured out into the forest alone but I hadn't actually noticed.”

“Well, I am grateful to you both,” I said, gently punching her on her shoulder as we approached the log home that was full of the sounds of music, voices and laughing.

Although gratitude enveloped me, I knew it wouldn't be the last time I ventured out into those woods. Although I knew I could easily get lost in there, deep down I had the feeling that the forest held the key to this secret and if nobody would tell me, I would have to find out for myself.

That night after everybody had gone home and I lay there in the darkness, I thought about Oliver and how stupid I must have looked on our first encounter. Fortunately Jo had assured me that Oliver wasn't the type of person to think of anyone as stupid. Apparently he was a great guy, loved by all and she was sure my initial reaction had just left him curious to find out more about me.

When we'd returned to the party, albeit briefly, I'd scanned the crowd for him and he'd looked up and seen me. I blushed like an idiot but he waved and flashed those beautiful white teeth at me in what can only be described as the most stunning smile... ever. My stomach had flipped before I'd disappeared back into my bedroom.

I was fully aware that I was beginning to look like a lovesick puppy and I felt stupid. I was almost fourteen years old and, although I had never had a boyfriend, I'd had my share of crushes at school. None of them were like this though. Perhaps it was just an after effect of losing my parents and I was looking for someone to love and to love me back.

Before I closed my eyes that night, I took one last look towards the forest – I'd purposefully left the blinds open so I could see outside. But there was nothing but pitch black all around, the only lights were those coming from the sky above, where a million glittering stars squinted brightly. The night sky in this part of the world was amazing. But just as I admired them, the pitch black reminded me once more about something Gabriel had said before, that black was the colour of magic. I wondered then if there was, in fact, magic around me.

A little while later I found myself back in the forest, surrounded by the sounds of running water and hundreds of birds twittering away. I was standing in the same spot where I had stood earlier and so I decided to do a bit of investigating. I climbed down the smooth rocks towards the water. It was icy blue and sparkling so bright that I had to shield my eyes.

As I bent down to touch it, a raven flew down and stood to my left, followed by another one to my right. They pointed with their wings to the opposite side of the river bank. I looked up and saw two cats – one pure black and one pure white. Their eyes as black as the night. They sat and watched my every move. Even when the ravens took to the sky, they didn't take their eyes off me. I looked upwards and saw them flying high above me, watching me from above and I felt as though I was being pulled between the birds and the cats. I couldn't understand but it was as though I needed to follow them... but did I cross the river to be with the cats or did I go upwards to be with the ravens? I looked up again and in a matter of seconds, I was up there with them, flying in the sky looking down on the two majestic creatures below. Again I felt a pull between them but for now the feeling of freedom, of flying, was just too good and so I remained with my two friends as we glided effortlessly above the trees. As I swooped down towards the water I saw three birds below. Three black ravens, graceful and serene. Then I realised what I saw was a reflection in the water. I was a bird. I was no longer a teenage girl. I had become a raven. The shock of the realisation temporarily stunned me and I had no control over my body. I fell towards the water.

I awoke with a thud... I'd fallen out of bed.

“Lilly... are you alright my dear?” said a concerned voice as a light was flicked on and my grandfather rushed in towards me.

“I heard you scream and then there was a bang,” he said worryingly.

I explained I'd just had a strange dream and it had made me fall out of bed. “I'm fine. No need to worry,” I said. But I couldn't help but notice that he looked a little preoccupied.

“A strange dream?” he'd asked.

“Just a dream, Gabriel. People have strange dreams all the time,” I laughed. “It's okay, I'm fine, go back to bed. I'll see you in the morning.”

He said nothing more, except to wish me a goodnight and he switched the light back off as he left me to think about the ravens and the cats and that exhilarating feeling of flying. But I soon fell back to sleep, this time managing a good few hours of rest.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A few days had passed since Oliver's party and I was beginning to feel like I finally belonged with this family in Canada, even though I still thought about my parents all the time. I had even started school. And although it was excruciatingly embarrassing having to stand in front of my new classmates as I was introduced, strangely enough I was welcomed with open arms by everybody.

I did have a feeling that being Jo's cousin did have a lot to do with it. That, and the fact that I have 'such a cute English accent,' they said.

The most surprising part about my going back to school was that I discovered that my love of reading had stood me in good stead and I was more advanced than everybody else in my class so I had managed to skip a whole year... something which had taken me by complete surprise.

While spending lunchtimes with Jo I could tell by the way people looked at her that she was one of the most popular girls in school. And it wasn't just because she was beautiful or because she had an aura about her. It was because she was caring and friendly and was just really well liked by all... teachers and students alike.

As we sat and ate lunch, Jo introduced me to some of her friends but none of them stayed to eat with us. She said she had something important to discuss with me alone and so her many friends happily went and sat elsewhere. It was odd she would need to talk to me about anything that others couldn't listen to... unless, I thought eagerly, she had something from my past she was willing to fill me in on.

“Gabriel called me this morning Lilly, and told me you had a strange dream the other night. Do you want to talk about it?”

She wanted to talk about a dream? I was surprised that such a big deal would be made from a bunch of way-out thoughts that were going through my head in my sleep.

“Dreams are our unconscious mind trying to tell us something. It could be something important. It could be a memory from childhood that you're blocking, maybe...?”

I laughed, “I don't think so, somehow, Jo. I dreamed I was flying. If I was ever able to fly, I'm sure I'd remember.”

She laughed too and we continued to eat in silence for a moment, but I could sense there was something she wasn't saying.

“How come Gabriel is asking you about this, anyway?”

“I guess they think I'm the best person to speak to you about anything... and everything. They can see we're becoming close and I guess they want to take advantage,” she laughed again.

“So you're like their spy or something?” I laughed.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. But don't worry, I won't tell them anything you don't want me to tell them.”

I did think it was very weird that the subject of my dreams was something worth talking about and even more weird that our grandfather would try and find out more information about them. And why not just ask me? Not that it was really important. They were just dreams. Dreams weren't important. Not to me anyway.

“Well, if you really need to know – and I don't mind you telling him - in that dream, I turned into a raven. I doubt that's an early repressed childhood memory though,” I said smiling.

It was then that I recalled another short dream I'd had. “Remember when I went into the woods alone and fell asleep by the river? Well I dreamed of a woman and a raven then too. There's something about these ravens here, isn't there?”

Jo looked at me in a way she hadn't looked at me before. Almost as if she was looking at someone else. It was a little spooky actually. “Jo?” I whispered.

Her expression softened and she smiled and then the bell went, signalling the end of lunch break. “Saved by the bell, eh Jo?” I joked as she told me she'd see me later before I headed in the opposite direction to my next class.

All afternoon I couldn't shake the feeling that something strange was about to happen. It was Jo's expression that had started it all off. That feeling that she was looking at someone else even though she was looking right at me. Clearly our conversation about my dreams must have triggered something and there was just one person that had all the answers. Gabriel.

When I got back from school that afternoon, Meredith greeted me.

“Hi sweetie! How was your day?” she asked, giving me a quick hug as I dropped my bag on the kitchen floor and flopped down onto one of Gabriel's handmade wooden chairs.

“It was okay, thanks. Where's Gabriel?” I asked, eager to sit down with him and have a proper chat to find out, finally, just what was going on.

“I'm afraid he's had to leave town for a few days... which is why I'm here. I'll be staying with you until he gets back.”

I tried to hide my disappointment. I loved being with Meredith but I had been hoping to finally get some answers. And why hadn't he told me he was going away? Why was everything so secretive? Life seemed even weirder all of a sudden. Instead of getting the answers I craved, the questions were just piling up and I was becoming increasingly frustrated.

Early that evening, however, something happened to take my mind off things. Oliver came round to see me. Yes... to see me!

Meredith and I had just finished eating dinner, followed by a dessert totally new to me: pumpkin pie. I'd only ever read that pumpkins were for Halloween, after seeing pictures of them carved out to make creepy lanterns. I'd no idea something so delicious could be made from them. So there I was, totally stuffed with the top button of my new black jeans undone, the jeans that Jo had given me when she'd seen my wardrobe – or lack of it. So I was lazing on the sofa when the doorbell rang. I assumed it would be for Meredith so I stayed put, eagerly reading the first Harry Potter book which I had found on the bookshelf, when in walked Oliver. I just know I blushed from head to toe.

“Hi Lilly,” he said as I struggled to get up from the sofa and do up my button at the same time without him seeing.

“Er... Hi! What are you doing here?” I asked, hoping that I could be a bit more pleasant this time round and make a better impression.

“Well... I was kind of in the area and thought I'd pop by and say hello... so hello,” he laughed nervously.

“Hello.” God I felt stupid. Why couldn't I utter more than a few syllables to this boy?

He stood and looked around awkwardly.

“Er... why don't you sit down.” He sat.

And then silence again.

“Can I get you a drink?” I asked.

“Sure. A Coke would be great. Thanks.”

I rushed into the kitchen, via my bedroom where I brushed my hair and put on a little lip gloss (another gift donated by Jo), picked up two cans of coke and walked back into the living room. He stood as I entered the room and sat when I sat.

I found it a little strange, but assumed he was just being polite.

“So... Lilly. How are you settling in?”

“Okay I guess. Pretty well under the circumstances,” I said without even thinking.

“I'm so sorry about your parents.”

“I'm sorry about yours too.”

“Kindred spirits,” he said.

“Sorry?”

“I guess we're like kindred spirits. You and me,” he said with a sad smile.

I warmed to him even more than before and all I could think was that I just wanted to know everything about him. Again I was like a lovestruck puppy and felt silly.

“I'm sorry about the other day at your party. I didn't mean to be rude.”

“I didn't think you were rude at all. I thought you were... kind of cute, actually. Maybe a bit weird too,” he laughed.

He thought I was cute!

“I was disappointed that you left so abruptly though. It would have been a great party... if you'd stayed.”

“Sorry,” I managed to mumble.

“That's okay. I understand that being thrown into a party after everything you've been through was probably a little tough. All those people and stuff. I was very tempted to come after you but I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable.”

Thankfully, Oliver hadn't realised that I had hidden in my bedroom until everyone had left. I had been desperate to go out and speak to him again but was far too embarrassed.

“Are you always this quiet?” he asked as he turned to look me in the eyes.

I looked at him and shook my head, “No... not really. It must just be you.”

“Oh.” He looked disappointed.

“No... I don't mean that in a bad sense. I mean, it's like at the party. I just couldn't talk. I wanted to say so many things. I just couldn't. And now, I don't know where to start.”

“So it's not because you don't like me, then,” he asked, smiling.

“Oh no! Absolutely not. You're great. I guess I just get a little shy around you.”

He laughed.

“Why don't we start like this: I'll ask you some questions about yourself and you answer?”

I agreed. “So, do you miss England?”

“That's a difficult one because if I say no, that's almost like saying I don't miss my parents. But I honestly really don't miss England. I never felt particularly alive there, if you know what I mean. Here it's so different. I feel like I belong here. I never felt that over there.”

“I don't think it means you don't miss your parents. Of course you miss them. I still miss mine and they died a long time ago.”

I smiled sadly, “Ask me another.”

“What do you think of the Canadian hospitality?”

I laughed, “That's a funny question! But now that you ask, I never realised people could be so nice. I haven't met a single person here who has been unfriendly or rude. Everyone I've met – even just briefly – has been wonderful. That's probably another reason why I am falling for Canada.”

He smiled again and was silent for a few moments while he came up with another question.

“How are you enjoying school here?”

“Honestly? I love it. I always liked school because it was so good to get out of our apartment. I didn't feel as restricted there, and here... well it's a whole new ball game. For the first time in my life, I have more than one friend at school. Respect from everybody, if you know what I mean,” I said as I looked at Oliver's confused expression.

“You don't really understand me, do you?” He shook his head.

“Let's just say I lived a very lonely life in England. I was naïve. I didn't know anything about life. Yes I learned a lot in school, but school doesn't necessarily teach you about life, it just teaches you facts about life. I'm sorry, I'm rambling now.”

“Don't be sorry, Lilly. I think I understand what you mean. I'm just sorry that you had such a lonely upbringing. If you had grown up here, it wouldn't have been like that at all. I would have made sure of that,” he added shyly, “I would have liked to have known you before now.”

I blushed again and he was clearly embarrassed, “I'd better go,” he said suddenly as he stood up. “Thanks for the Coke. Maybe we can see each other again soon?”

I nodded and smiled and before I knew it, he was gone.

As I went to sleep that night, I still had butterflies. Even though Oliver had made a quick exit, I knew it was because he was embarrassed about being so candid with me. He really liked me. He had pretty much told me so. And he thought I was cute!

CHAPTER TWELVE

The following evening, Oliver unexpectedly turned up again. It was almost a re-enactment of the previous night. I was sitting on the couch comfortably reading a book, full from eating a hearty dinner, when in walked Oliver wearing a shy grin.

“Hey Lilly. I hope you don't mind be popping in to say hi again.”

“Of course not,” I answered, as I made a mental note to make more of an effort with myself in future.

I offered him a Coke and he said yes. I ran into the kitchen, via the bedroom again, brushed my hair and put on some lip gloss before rushing back in.

But this time, as I handed him the can and we both sat down, he said, “You know what. Why don't we take a walk instead?” Standing up he placed the can on the coffee table almost as soon as he'd sat down.

Relieved to have something else to do, I jumped up and grabbed my coat, gloves, hat and scarf.

He laughed at me as I wrapped myself up and we stepped outdoors after I yelled to Meredith that we were going for a walk. She appeared briefly at the front door with a cheeky smile and winked at me before closing the door.

“So...” I said.

“So...”

“Here we are again.”

“Yup,” he answered as we walked slowly.

It felt like there was some kind of tension between us but I couldn't understand what it was, so I said nothing. Instead I waited for him to say something to break the ice. We walked for a few minutes until he finally said, “Lilly?”

“Yes?” I answered hopefully.

“Last night when we spoke, you mentioned that you were falling for Canada... well, I wanted to ask you if... if it is just Canada that you're falling for? Or whether there might be something, or someone, that you're falling for too,” he asked. But before I could answer, he blushed and added, “Sorry, you don't have to answer that if you don't want to.”

I wanted to answer his question; after all, I knew the answer. I was falling for him, without a doubt. Regardless of the fact that I was a few years younger than him, I felt like we had a connection.

“Can I ask you a question?” I asked hesitantly.

“Shoot.”

“Why did you really come to see me tonight?” I asked bravely.

This time, his face turned pink before he replied.

“Honestly... I was hooked the second I laid eyes on you, Lilly. It's weird really, because I've always hung out with girls my age, but I almost feel like you've put a spell on me. Not that I'm calling you a witch or anything,” he laughed, “but I've never been bewitched before.”

During the silence that followed, it was as if I could hear his, and my own, heart beating.

I was so glad that I'd wrapped my scarf around my face... it helped hide the fact that I was blushing so much and the fact that I was grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

“And even though I barely even know you, I feel like I've always known you,” he laughed breaking the silence, “and I can't believe I'm actually saying all this. Out loud. To you.”

“Well, I'm kind of glad that you are saying it out loud. To me. I know how you feel, Oliver. I've never... er, hung out with a boy before. Let alone a boy who is older than me! It just feels... right. But I guess we'll just have to get to know each other better won't we?” I replied happily, “but now... it's so freezing. Why don't you walk me back home?”

As we turned to walk back towards the house, I looked up at him and smiled. He caught me watching and he laughed.

“In answer to your question... Canada isn't the only thing I'm falling for” and I laughed cheekily as he took my gloved hand in his.

As we approached the front door, Oliver asked me out on a date, “a proper date,” he said, the following Friday night. I happily accepted and he leaned in and gently kissed me on the cheek. My first kiss!

“I'll pick you up at seven,” he said and then he was gone.

That night I drifted off to sleep happier than I had done for a long time. But my dreams were strange and vivid once again.

I found myself flying freely with the ravens while I was looking down at the cats below. Only this time they weren't small cats, one was a white mountain lion and the other a black panther.

They were stalking something. I couldn't quite see what it was but as I flew closer, I saw that they were stalking Oliver. I tried to get his attention but he couldn't see me, he could only see and hear ravens squawking at him from above. “Oliver, Oliver watch out!” I yelled, but as hard as I tried to get him to understand me, I knew that all he could hear were the incomprehensible squawkings of a bird.

I tried to reach him in time but it was no good, the cats had already pounced and as I landed nearby, I saw that he was covered in blood. As I approached the bloody scene, the cats seemed to bow down to me and skulked away as I picked him up with ease and carried him to the waterside to try and clean his wounds, but as I looked down into the water, my reflection wasn't that of a raven or a girl... it was that of a mountain lion. I screamed.

I awoke with a start and noticed that my face was soaked from tears that streamed down my cheeks.

“Lilly, goodness me,” said Meredith as she rushed into my room and switched on the light just as Gabriel had done before. She sat down on the bed and cradled me in her arms. “It's alright. It was just a bad dream. Just a dream. Shhhh. It's over. It's over.”

The tears wouldn't stop as I tried to tell her that Oliver was in danger. “The cats, the cats,” I sobbed.

“No, it was just a dream, sweetie. Oliver is fine. Calm down.” Eventually, I realised that it had been nothing but a scary nightmare – triggered by the memory of the words I had learnt just days before... that Oliver and Ben's parents had been killed by wild mountain lions many years before. It was nothing more than my subconscious mind playing horrible tricks on me.

Meredith had been kind, assuring me that all was well. She even made me a cup of sweet cocoa to help soothe me back to sleep. The rest of the night went by quietly.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The following day I was awoken by the sound of Gabriel's voice. Although he spoke quietly, I could still hear him.

“I came back as soon as you sent your message, Meredith. I guess I have no choice now but to tell her the truth. I had hoped the dreams wouldn't have started until she was at least 18. I understand now that it is a sign. She must be told. It's such a shame that this is all happening now. She is so young. I've never known for it to happen this young before,” he'd said.

Meredith murmured something in response but I couldn't hear what it was.

I could hear the sadness in the way Gabriel spoke and that made me feel sad too, even though I had no idea what he had to tell me. I finally felt relief. Relief that, at last, I would know the truth. But along with the relief came the dread. After all, it must be bad for there to have been so much secrecy in the first place.

Now that I knew that he planned to tell me, I waited for him to broach the subject, so that day I just acted as normal, I went to school and completed my homework before dinner. It was after we'd eaten and washed the dishes that something finally happened.

He had summoned both Meredith and Wyatt – my father's brother and sister – who had arrived just as we had finished washing the dishes.

“Lilly. It is time,” said Gabriel, as Meredith took my hand and led me into the living room where we all sat in silence waiting for the news to be broken to me.

Gabriel produced an old battered shoe box and took off the lid. In it were photos and letters. He handed me the first. It was a picture of a very beautiful young woman with long black hair. There was something vaguely familiar about her. She was probably a few years older than me but in her arms was a tiny newborn baby. Clearly the photo had been taken immediately after the baby had been born, in the local hospital.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“Her name was Serena,” answered Meredith with a sad smile, “Lilly. This is your mother.”

I gasped and shook my head.

“No, my mother is Vivian. This isn't Vivian.”

“No, Lilly. Vivian isn't your mother. Serena is. And this little child is your sister, Neleh,” said Gabriel as he passed a number of different photos to me. All were the same little girl at different ages. One was the photo Ben had taken to the airport to identify me with. I said as much but Gabriel told me it was the closest image he had of me. “You two looked so alike when you were babies.”

In another the little girl was about four and was being cuddled by my father on a beach on a lovely sunny day. My father looked like a completely different person, so happy. I had never seen him happy before. Another pictured her aged around 10, posing happily for the camera in this very living room with Gabriel laughing to her side. The most poignant image was that of her as a teenager pictured with Serena and my father. The image of a very happy family – it was then that I noticed Serena was pregnant.”

Wyatt spoke. “She was carrying you in this picture, Lilly.”

I shook my head but deep down I knew. It was obvious to see. I looked very much like Neleh and Serena. And as I looked at the photos, I realised that Serena was the woman from my dream, the dream I'd had of the woman in the forest. I didn't know what to think. For so many years I had grown up believing Vivian was my mother yet I had never felt any kind of bond with her. She had always made it blatantly obvious that she didn't care for me at all. Practically locking me up in a room and rarely saying a word to me aren't the true actions of a caring mother. In fact they aren't the actions of a mother at all. It made sense. I felt my eyes welling up so I blinked hard to try and get rid of the tears before they spilled down my cheeks.

“Lilly,” said Gabriel, “this is just the beginning. There are things we need to tell you that you are going to find hard to believe. We need you to be strong.”

I nodded, unable to say a word.

“Just after you were born, Neleh was killed,” said Wyatt.

I gasped and gulped back the tears as it really hit me that I once had a sister, but she was now dead.

“And shortly afterwards... Serena died too. I'm so sorry, Lilly,” he said sadly.

“What? But how? Why?” I cried, looking down at that picture of the exceedingly happy family, ripped apart by two deaths.

“Nobody knows exactly what happened, dear. All we know is that Neleh was murdered in the forest. By who or what we don't know for sure – although there were suspicions at the time,” said Meredith as she held my hand tightly in hers.

“Suspicions?” I asked.

Gabriel looked so angry that he frightened me just for a moment, but before he could speak, he was interrupted by Wyatt, “Lilly there is a man in that forest who is believed to have been responsible for Neleh's death. His name is Sammy Morton.”
Gabriel gave me another photo showing Neleh probably a couple of years older than me, pictured with a handsome young man with dark skin and black hair and even darker eyes. The way the photo was taken would suggest they had taken it themselves. They looked so happy together.

“Is that him?” I asked.

Meredith nodded.

“But they looked so happy. Why would he kill her? I don't understand.”

“Nobody understands. But he hasn't been seen since. There was a lot of talk. But we can't be sure,” added Meredith.

Clearly from the look on Gabriel's face, I figured he thought Sammy was guilty.

“But what about Serena? What about my mother?” I asked.

I was told that my mother had taken her own life because she was so full of grief for the loss of her beloved daughter.

“How could she do that? How could she just leave me, her baby. Her own daughter?” I cried.

“Again, Lilly dear, we do not understand that either. Grief is a funny thing. People react to it in such unusual ways. She must have been so heartbroken and she just couldn't believe that her eldest daughter was dead. That combined with postnatal hormones. We simply don't know. We wish we knew what had been happening. Perhaps we could have stopped her from doing what she did. Serena was my best friend, Lilly. It was very hard to understand for me too,” said Meredith as she choked back the tears.

“Tell me,” I asked slowly, “tell me how she did it. How did my mother kill herself?”

Gabriel stood up abruptly then and turned his back towards me, as if he was still struggling to come to terms with what had happened almost fourteen years ago. He spoke slowly and quietly, “She just walked out of the hospital in the middle of the night and continued walking until she reached the highest point in the forest and she threw herself into the river. She must have half frozen to death before she even got there. All she had on was a hospital gown. She didn't even have any shoes on. It was December. It was freezing.”

I could barely breathe. My mother. My true flesh and blood. The woman who had carried me for nine months and had given birth to me had killed herself just after I was born. I could picture her walking through the snow, barefoot – yet she was probably barely even aware of the cold. Clearly all she could think of was the death of her precious daughter. My sister. Both were dead. Tears rolled down from the corners of my eyes. I couldn't stop them. Soon my face was completely wet.

Gabriel approached me and crouched down in front of me. He placed his hand on my shoulder and patted me. Looking me deep in the eyes, he said, “I didn't just lose my grandchild and my daughter-in-law that night, Lilly. I lost your father and I lost you too.” He held me close to him then just for a moment.

There was a knock on the door. “That'll be Rose,” he said as he stood up.

“I'll get it,” said Wyatt as he stood and went to open the door. “Hi Rose. Thanks for coming,” I heard him say. She whispered something and I heard him respond, “yes, she knows everything up until Serena's death.”

“Oh, the poor dear,” I heard her say.

Rose walked in then, removing her warm fur coat and throwing it accurately on the coat hook on the wall. “Darling, Lilly,” she said as Gabriel and Meredith gave her room to embrace me tightly.

She said nothing for a few minutes. We just sat in silence while the tragic news sank in, making my heart feel so heavy. The sound of the kitchen clock could be heard ticking, almost in time to the beating of my heart. To the beating of all our hearts. In fact I could have sworn that I could hear their hearts beating too.

Rose looked at me then. She really looked at me as if she was looking deep into my soul.

“You are my sister's daughter,” she said, nodding. “Yes, Serena was my darling little sister. She was the most wonderful person, Lilly. Everybody loved her. When she was born, she was a little miracle. That's what my parents and I had called her. 'Our little miracle'. My parents were getting on, you see. They never thought they'd have another child so when she appeared, it was a huge shock... a wonderful shock, of course, but a shock nonetheless,” she said smiling.

Gabriel laughed then and I thought what a lovely face he had when he laughed. I hadn't seen much laughter in him since my arrival.

“It was a shock to the whole community,” he said. “Your mother was nearly 70,” he chuckled as he spoke to Rose and they shared a smile together.

I was suitably amazed too. A woman of nearly 70 had given birth, naturally, to a healthy baby girl. Not something you heard much of these days, I thought.

“She was embraced by everyone here,” said Rose, “and I raised her as my own after mother and father passed away nearly ten years later. I was happy to do it though, with the... absence of children of my own. Serena wasn't your average ten year old. She was so mature and bright. She and Jack were the best of friends from a very early age. We all knew that they were soul mates, so when they told us they wanted to get married, we were overjoyed. It was the most natural thing in the world for them both. She was nearly 16 and Jack was 19.”

“She became pregnant with Neleh almost immediately and they loved that child. They doted on her. Neleh was exactly like her mother... your mother...” she said, nodding at me, “she was headstrong, beautiful and intelligent. Everybody loved her. So when the cycle started to repeat itself again, nobody was worried. Neleh and Sammy seemed like soul mates too. They had wanted to get married themselves and start a family at a very early age. We didn't worry. We thought it was the most natural thing in the world – Neleh following in your mother's footsteps,” she stopped then and asked Meredith for a glass of water, who quickly poured her a drink and passed it to her, before she continued.

“Sammy Morton was a very well liked boy here. He was an orphan, raised by a foster family in town. We really thought he and Neleh were well suited. What went wrong between them, we don't know, but that day when he carried her lifeless body back into town, he just looked different. He didn't look like the same person. He looked crazed somehow. And everybody just started believing that he had murdered her. He disappeared that day and nobody has ever seen him since. Some people say he still lives in the forest, some people say he is dead and haunts the forest. Whatever happened, he disappeared within that forest, Lilly, which is one of the reasons Gabriel doesn't want you to ever go in there.”

“But what happened to his foster parents? Didn't they want to find him?” I asked.

“They couldn't accept what had happened and so they left Powell River a few weeks later.”

I found it hard to believe that his foster parents would just up and leave like that, unless they thought he was guilty too.

It was so much to take in that my head began pounding harder and harder and the sound of blood pulsing through my veins became louder and louder until I could barely hear myself think. I felt hot and uncomfortable and I just needed a moment to myself. I excused myself for a couple of minutes and went and splashed my face with cold water in the bathroom.

As I stood there, I looked at myself in the mirror, but I couldn't see myself. All I could see were the morphing faces of Neleh and my mother.

Again, I recalled the short dream I'd had in the forest before. The woman that had tried to speak to me in my dream had been Serena. Had my mother been trying to tell me something? I suddenly remembered Gabriel's words to Meredith that morning: 'I guess I have no choice now but to tell her the truth. I had hoped the dreams wouldn't have started until she was at least 18. I understand now that it is a sign. She must be told'.

Were my dreams real signs? I thought of Oliver and the feral cats and a cold shiver ran down my spine.

As I returned to my family, they were whispering among themselves. They quietened down as I approached them and sat down.

“I know there is more... so please go on,” I said bravely, although I didn't feel so brave.

This time, Meredith spoke. “Lilly, what we are going to tell you now might sound fantastical and surreal but we need you to really keep an open mind, okay?”

I agreed, unsure whether my mind would be open enough but I had to try.

“When your father left us and took you away to live in England, we believe that he did so against his own will. We believe that a witch cast a spell on him,” she said nervously.

It was like an epiphany to me and it was then that I knew they were talking about Vivian. Vivian was a witch. As I said so out loud I could feel a weight being lifted from not only my shoulders, but from those around me too. I could hear sighs of relief as if they were worried I wouldn't have believed them. But finally understanding that Vivian wasn't who she said she was made perfect sense. I thought once again about that strange black room and Gabriel's words: black was a magical colour.

“Lilly... why does this make sense to you? Did she ever do anything to you? Did she ever hurt you?” asked Gabriel.

“She never laid a finger on me but she did hurt me in other ways. She stopped my father from spending any time with me. She tried to stop him from loving me. Although he withdrew from me, he would never have stopped loving me, would he?” I said. A few more tears fell down my cheeks as I began to see Vivian in a different light. The truth hurt.

“Of course not, Lilly. You mean the world to him. I'm sure of that,” said Meredith.

“How did you know that Vivian is a witch? What did she do?” I asked, wondering how it had all begun.

Between them, the three explained how my father had met Vivian – at the hospital when I was born and that she had not left his side after my mother had died. My father, apparently, had changed instantly and it wasn't the kind of change that happens after the death of a loved one. It was an inexplicable change. A change that could have only occurred through some kind of skulduggery. In this case they believed that skulduggery to be witchcraft. And the person responsible was, undoubtedly, Vivian.

“She somehow stopped us from seeing you, and Jack,” said Wyatt. “We did everything we could to see you both but there was some kind of physical force preventing us from doing so.”

“We spent a lot of time at Serena's grave, hoping that we would see him there but he never appeared. Not once. That wasn't the Jack we knew. And before we knew it, we found out that Vivian was taking you both to England. When we confronted her, she became so angry, she threatened us. She said if we ever tried to come after her, she would... she would hurt you,” said Meredith.

“That's why we've never been able to see you or why we never tried to call you, sweetie. God knows we wanted to. We desperately wanted to but we couldn't risk it. We couldn't risk losing you for good. We managed to track down your address and wrote to you but we're sure that Vivian disposed of them before you ever saw them.”

“So you've not seen my father since my mother died?” I asked.

They shook their heads.

“That must have been so awful for you all... and now we don't know if we'll ever see him again,” I cried.

“We have no idea what has happened to him... or to Vivian, but I sincerely believe that they are both still alive. The fact that they vanished without a trace suggests more witchcraft though. We have been doing everything we can to find Jack and we have reason to believe that they are somewhere in Canada,” Gabriel said.

I asked him what they have been doing to try and track them down and why he felt they were still alive but before I could get an answer from him, Rose spoke instead and I certainly wasn't prepared for what she was about to tell me.

“Lilly, dear. When we asked you to keep an open mind... you're going to need that even more with what we're going to tell you, okay?”

Confused, I nodded worrying about what I was about to be told.

It turned out to completely change my view of the world.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The things that I had only read about in fairy tales turned out to be far from fantasy. According to Gabriel, these things were very real indeed... a secret world that I had no clue really existed until my family began to unfold the truth...

Werewolves, werecats, vampires, witches, ghosts... you name it, it existed within this world. A world that seemed so alien to me, that would soon become my everyday life.

I was told all about the fact that my father's side of the family, descendants of ravens (as I'd already been told but hadn't quite understood) actually had the ability to morph into the bird. Not just that, but my mother's side of the family had the ability to morph into cats.

“Okay... this is just sounding ridiculous... how is this possible? Surely you're joking with me now? How can a human being become an animal? It's impossible.”

Rose shook her head slowly and told me that it was very possible. She said that it was very real and that there was a strong possibility that I had the gift myself.

“W...what gift?” I asked gingerly, afraid of what they might say.

Gabriel and Rose both glanced at each other sideways, before telling me that it was possible that I had the ability to change into either a cat or a raven... or even both.

Clearly the idea was absurd to me and I told them so as I stood up abruptly and paced up and down the room shaking my head.

“Lilly, these dreams you've been having are the strongest indication so far that you can change into both animals. Remember you told me you changed into a mountain lion and a raven? Well, it appears that it is true. Your subconscious has been telling you so,” said Gabriel softly.

“Well, can you change, Gabriel? Can you?” I asked defensively.

“And what about you Wyatt? Meredith? Rose? We're all related... surely you can all change too?” I said, my body shaking as I spoke.

There was silence for a moment before Rose stood and took both my cold hands in hers. “I can, Lilly. I can change into a lynx. Your mother wasn't able to and sadly we never knew if Neleh had the ability as she died before she became of age,” she said softly.

I could tell she was telling me the truth by her eyes, those black eyes that became the brightest blue in sunlight. I remembered the day that I'd met her. She'd known I was there without even looking, her sense of smell and her sense of hearing were both incredible, just like a cat. I'd even thought she'd looked feline-like at the time. Her home was full of cats and they'd all gravitated towards her as if she was one of them.

It all made sense. What didn't make sense was the fact that I was one too. Could I really be? Could I really be able to change into a cat or into a raven? I felt as if I was dreaming. I even pinched myself to see if I would wake up. I didn't.

“What about the ravens? Which of you can change into a raven?”

“None of us here can, sweetheart. Your great-grandfather could though. He was a great man and a great raven,” said Meredith.

“What about my father... could he?” I asked suddenly thinking that perhaps that's what happened. He escaped Vivian by changing into a bird, but apparently I was wrong because according to Gabriel he was never able to either.

“We usually find out around the age of 17 or 18. If it hasn't happened by the time we're 20, it tends to mean that it's not going to,” said Wyatt.

I wondered if it had happened to Jo but they told me she was still 'innocent' as they put it. However she was fully aware that it could and she has had some dreams to indicate that she may well have the raven 'gene'. And Cormac? At fourteen, he too was still too young, apparently.

“But we're practically the same age,” I stuttered.

“With you, dear, it just seems to be happening sooner rather than later,” said Rose.

“After all, you have already demonstrated an intelligence beyond your years, according to the high school that is,” smiled Gabriel.

“Does the rest of the family know about all of this?” I asked and was told that they did. It was our family secret that had to remain a secret in order to protect us all.

“To protect us from what... or who?”

It was then that I found out about the predators and other creatures.

In the past, the werecats and the ravens were enemies, but over the years they have formed a strong bond – mainly due to the friendship between Gabriel and Rose. However, elsewhere in the world they continued to hold a strong dislike for one another. This sounded quite natural to me.

“So what does this make me,” I thought aloud, “if I have the genes of both within me?” I said as I struggled to understand what this would mean.

“Honestly, we don't know. You appear to be the first of your kind Lilly. Well... the second after Neleh but we don't believe she ever changed,” said Gabriel.

Sitting down, I took a deep breath to try and calm myself, and then my imagination began to run riot.

“So what other predators do we have?”

It turned out that werewolves were not particularly fond of ravens or cats. Generally speaking though, we didn't have a problem with the vampires as they tended to lust after pure human blood. There have been times far in the past when we were the victims of the blood suckers, as Wyatt described them, but they were not too fond of the way we tasted, apparently. Well, that was a positive, I supposed.

I laughed aloud as it sounded so ludicrous. The others laughed with me, momentarily, but it didn't last long. Again there was silence as I tried to take in all these stories that sounded so far-fetched that they were hard to comprehend.

I took a moment again to think of my father and Vivian and, as if reading my mind, Meredith crouched down to the tin of photos and rummaged through them, clearly looking for something in particular. She found what she was looking for. It was a picture of Serena and me at the hospital and to one side, was Vivian.

“This is the only photograph we have of Vivian, and the only photo we have of you,” she said as she passed it to me.

Vivian looked much the same as the last time I'd seen her. The only real difference was that she had a long deep gash on her cheek. It looked fresh.

Up until a few months ago, the last day I'd seen her, she had kept her hair the same way – a blunt bob in a deep red colour with never a single hair out of place. Her piercing blue eyes stood out menacingly, belying the innocent sweet smile that curled from her lips. It was the only time I'd ever seen her smile.

It was the first time that I could see her for what she really was. Pure evil. If only I'd known before. Perhaps I could have done something. Perhaps I could have stopped the spell she maintained over my father.

Again, as if reading my mind, Meredith spoke up, “There's no point in thinking about what could have been, Lilly.”

“How do you always seem to know what I'm thinking,” I asked, surprised.

“Just one of my special talents,” she said with a wink, before changing the subject to Vivian again.

“When Vivian first met your mother, she was the sweetest person. Obviously we found out later that it had all been an act. She was clearly after your father the whole time. She was weaving her way in. And when Serena died, it was her perfect opportunity to pounce and that's exactly what she did. She needed to get to know your father before she could cast her spell. Sadly we weren't quick enough to prevent it from happening because we had no idea who she really was.”

“She was obviously a very good actress,” added Rose.

“But how did you know that she wasn't who she said she was?”

It had turned out that Vivian had managed to get a job at the hospital as a nurse, whether she was qualified or not wasn't clear. Regardless, it wouldn't have been difficult for her to obtain all the necessary paperwork – she was a witch, after all. My family believed that was where she first saw my father and there that she decided she must have him. She clearly didn't care that he was madly in love with Serena and that his second daughter was about to come into the world. All she cared about was having him for herself.

“It was when your father acted like we were strangers, followed by Vivian threatening us – and you – that we started to suspect that there was something darker going on, so we started to try to find out more about her. It took us a long time but we managed to find out that she wasn't who she said she was,” said Wyatt.

The real 'being' behind the 'perfect' Vivian was a far cry from the beautifully manicured and perfectly made up woman I had thought I knew. An evil monster was a better way to describe her. Although her look said she was an attractive mother, in her 30s, the truth was frightening.

It took a number of years but Gabriel had managed to track down a coven of white witches in north-western Canada and they knew exactly who she was.

Vivian was just one of many aliases she had used over the years. And she had existed in this world for many hundreds of years and in order for her to continue to be young and beautiful, she needed a man. But not just any man would do.

She needed a man who possessed unusual powers like werewolves, werecats, ravens, halflings and so on. Which is why it was strange that she latched onto my father, apparently, because he had never shown to possess any such powers. He had never been able to change into a raven, so why choose him? It was a question neither Gabriel nor the witches could answer.

Could she have mistaken him for someone else? Could she have wrongly thought he had the powers? Could he really have had the powers but not told anyone? Not even his closest family members? Although unlikely, it was a possibility.

Feeling sleepy, I tried to stifle a long yawn but struggled. Meredith noticed and said, “It's getting very late. We should all get some sleep, especially you Lilly. We know this has been very hard for you to take in – especially all in one evening. Why don't you go to bed now and we'll continue our talk in the morning?”

The thought of my comfortable warm bed was appealing, even though I had a strange feeling that my sleep would be particularly fitful that night. Now that I knew the truth about myself and my family, my subconscious would undoubtedly go into overdrive. I was afraid of what images would materialise in my head.

“Don't worry, Lilly, we will be here for you all night. We'll know if the dreams start. Try and get some rest,” said Meredith kindly as if she had read my mind again.

All four of my family members gave me long hard hugs before I headed to my room. I knew they would continue talking well into the night.

As I tried to sleep, things started dawning on me about Vivian. Now that I knew she was evil, so much more started making sense.

I remembered the many times that she had prevented me from being alone with my father. Come to think of it, as long as I could remember, I had never had any time with him at all. Vivian had always ensured that she was there... always. It had never occurred to me to be a problem because I honestly thought she was my mother. I had never known anything different.

I guess for a long time I had thought all mothers treated their children the way she had treated me. Up until I had met December, I had nothing to compare it with. Of course now, when I see the way Meredith is with Cormac and the way Sonya is with Jo, I knew that she was about as far away from a real mother than anyone could possibly be.

She had not once praised me for doing anything right. She had scolded me for the slightest thing and she would lock me away in that tiny little room called my bedroom for hours and hours on end. The real reason I had spent so many years with no friends, the real reason I never watched any television, the real reason for my lonely existence was entirely the fault of Vivian. How could I have not seen it before? I could have rebelled. Why didn't I rebel? I honestly didn't know. Maybe deep down I knew there was something evil about her. Perhaps deep down I knew that either me, or my father, would end up getting hurt or worse.

There was something niggling me as I forced my eyes closed and I couldn't quite put my finger on it. It was something about my father. I knew there was something hidden in my subconscious that might help me understand but it just wouldn't come to the surface of my mind. As I eventually slept, my dreams were more like repressed childhood memories than real dreams but they were obviously things that I needed to remember to help me move forward.

I was a little girl, perhaps six or seven, locked in my bedroom. I heard gentle footsteps outside the door... someone was tiptoeing. The handle turned slowly and the door was pushed open before my father appeared silently as always. He was acting like he didn't want to be heard and he kept looking behind him to make sure he was alone. He put his finger to his mouth to stop me from speaking and then he produced a large hardback book which he handed to me, again placing a finger on his lips. I knew he wanted me to keep it a secret so I hid it immediately. I put it under the bed until later that night when I knew they would both be sleeping. When I looked up, he was gone.

I later remembered that this wasn't just a single memory. This had happened many times over the years. Each time, he crept in silently and stealthily, handed me a book and then disappeared. The books were always similar. They were all either fairy tales or books with supernatural themes.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

When I woke up the following morning, I knew what it was that had been niggling me.

My father had been trying to tell me that I was in the middle of my very own supernatural fairy tale. He was trying to tell me that he was trapped, that Vivian was the evil stepmother and that there was danger. Everything now fell into place. Everything I had been told by my family the previous night had been true. I had just needed my father to confirm it and he had in a way by allowing all those memories to flood back in a dream.

I felt more alive than I ever had and I was ready to face the world. More importantly though, that morning I had the overwhelming sensation that my father was still alive and I wanted to do everything possible to find... and help him.

I had obviously slept for quite some time because after I had showered and dressed and walked into the kitchen, everyone looked as though they had been waiting for me for a while. Clearly they were unsure as to how I would be after all the news of the previous night had sunk in but they smiled when they saw that I looked positively happy and refreshed.

“So, when are you going to show me how to change into a raven... or a cat?” I said, breaking the ice with a smile.

Gabriel smiled and said, “Now Lilly is truly home.”

I felt more at home then than I ever had and it felt so good to be surrounded by such loving family members. Real family. I had a real family. A family who had finally revealed the truth about who I am. No more secrets. No more lies. This was the truth and I was accepting it.

I wondered who else knew of our secret... whether it was a curse or a gift I didn't know but I would in time. Was it just my immediate family or did friends know who we truly were too? It would have been wonderful for me to be able to confide in my dear friend in England, December, but I feared I could not. My mind then drifted to Oliver and Ben. Would I have to hide my true self from the boy I had fallen for? The boy that made my heart leap just at the mention of his name?

I asked my family and I was told exactly what I didn't want to hear. Neither Oliver nor Ben knew the truth and it was better to keep it that way, especially in light of the fact that their parents were killed by mountain lions. After all, we did not know yet what kind of cat I would have the ability to transform into. It would be heartbreaking for them to know.

I felt heavy-hearted. Would this mean the end of our relationship before it had even begun? I was saddened because I had felt such a connection to Oliver and was developing such a close friendship with Ben. I certainly didn't want to lose what we had so I had no choice but to keep my secret closely guarded.

“It is for the best, at least for the moment Lilly. We understand there is a connection between you and Oliver,” said Gabriel and I gasped in embarrassment. They knew? I blushed.

Meredith smiled, as did Rose, who winked at the same time. “It's no secret. It was obvious the moment you laid eyes on each other that sparks were flying,” she laughed.

I was so embarrassed that I had hoped the floor would open and gobble me up but I was growing up. I had to act like a grown-up, not like a child.

“I hate to have secrets from him before we've even got to know each other. But I do understand. I won't say a word to him or to Ben.”

As I thought about the fact that nobody else knew of our family's remarkable abilities, I was reminded of Vivian. How had she known that there was a raven gene if it was such a guarded secret?

I was told more about all the weird, wonderful and frankly terrifying things that really existed in our world. That it was a completely different world to that which most people know about. It was a world full of supernatural entities and people with superhuman abilities. This was a world more like that of the fairy tales than the one I'd become accustomed to. I had to be careful who I trusted and I had to watch out for things I wouldn't normally have to look out for...

A person's excessively beady and watchful eyes could indicate a changeling – a human that could morph into any number of other beings in the blink of an eye.

A person who avoided the sunlight with the palest of skin and a certain redness to their eyes could be a vampire, eager to feed on the blood of others.

I might notice someone with sharper looking teeth than usual – this could potentially be a werewolf. Their teeth becoming fangs during the change, and contrary to popular belief they couldn't just change during a full moon, they could change at any time, anywhere.

These were just some of the beings that I might be able to identify but the most dangerous ones were those that I would have no idea who or what they were. Like me, for example. Nobody would ever think that I was capable of changing into an alternate being (neither did I, for that matter, at that stage) so I had to be ultra careful around everybody, at all times.

Some of these others could be everywhere and anywhere, including people that could change into a variety of beasts. Gabriel mentioned some of the animals that he knew about, but he was certain there are more.

Bears, already known as one of the most dangerous animals in the world – imagine one with the intelligence of a human and no way of knowing who could change into one.

Sharks – provided I steered clear of the ocean I wouldn't have to worry about these, as long as I took note of anyone who had an unusual love of the ocean.

What he told me next really gave me the creeps. I've never liked the idea of any form of reptiles so to hear that there were people out there that could change into large slithering serpents, that just freaked me out. Give me a bear any day.

There were also mountain goats, elk and coyotes in these parts too.

Gabriel described how he had heard of a man who could change into a crocodile, although he'd never seen it with his own eyes. Apparently this man was originally from Africa, where crocodiles are common. He told me that I should note that these beasts were only the ones he had heard of in Canada and the United States – there would undoubtedly be hundreds more across the world. And in this day and age, with global travel at its peak, they could be anywhere.

I was astonished that we were constantly surrounded by so much danger and yet millions and millions of people had no idea. There were many myths and legends in all corners of the world but to know that they were probably true was shocking almost beyond belief.

“The only way you can prepare yourself for any of these beasts, Lilly, is to start doing a lot more reading. Not just the supernatural stuff your father gave you, but you need to understand everything you can about these deadly animals. What makes them tick. At least then, in the unlikely event that you should ever come across any in a dangerous situation, you'll at least have some semblance of preparation on how to deal with them,” said Wyatt.

I agreed that knowledge was important. I also thought that I could learn a lot from Ben, being a vet. I knew then that he would be an asset, as well as a friend.

As if reading my mind again, Meredith mentioned that Ben was looking for a trainee assistant. She was sure that he would be delighted if I applied for the position. She said I could continue with school and work with him at weekends and then take up the job when I'd completed my studies in a few years. It sounded like a great plan. Something to work towards. I liked the idea.

The others approved too. I would have a word with him later to see if he would be interested, but I had to make it clear that I didn't want to be a charity case, just because we're friends... practically family.

As lunchtime approached, I suddenly realised it was Friday and I hadn't gone to school. I voiced my thoughts aloud and was reassured to hear that Gabriel had phoned the school that morning and told them I was unable to attend, for personal reasons. He told me I shouldn't worry because, under the circumstances, they were very understanding.

It also dawned on me that Friday was when I had a date with Oliver. I blushed at the thought. Meredith smiled. She knew what was going through my mind.

“I think perhaps we've put rather a lot on poor Lilly since last night. We should all go home and leave her to think about everything. After all, it is a lot to take in,” she said, standing, “plus, John will be coming home for lunch so I'd better go and get him some food ready.”

She kissed me on the top of my head, kissed everyone else before putting on her warm green coat and walked out the front door without a backwards glance.

The others stood and said similar things, before they prepared themselves for the cold weather outside with coats, scarves and gloves before following along behind her.

As Rose stood up, she took my hand and offered to make me some lunch at her house if I wanted to walk her home. As Gabriel had also gone out, I locked up and wrapped up warm as we headed off in the direction of her home. Instead of walking along the roadside, we chose to take the scenic route, the way I had walked when I had first come across the lovely Portuguese music.

I thought back to that day, to my first impression of Rose and wondered if I looked anything like a cat... or a raven for that matter, but I couldn't see it in myself. Perhaps others saw me that way. Although I hoped that the dangerous ones couldn't tell, I certainly wouldn't want them to know.

As we wandered along the shoreline, I heard the plops again of the fish jumping out of the water and back again, wondering if they were simply fish or fish that had another secret side to them. A human side.

They looked pretty harmless so I assumed, and hoped, that they were of the simple fish variety. They were small creatures so it was hard to imagine them changing into human form. But then, so were ravens and cats. I wished I knew how the change took place. I didn't feel the need to change myself, but I would have liked to witness someone else changing – perhaps then I would feel better prepared for what was to come in my own life.

Just 24 hours ago I would have walked down there by the sea and I wouldn't have had a care in the world (other than that of my missing 'mother' and father). I would have seen everything in a completely different light. Innocent and naïve to the real world. That was me... yesterday.

How things can change in less than a day. Now everything I looked at appeared different. Everything that once would have taken my breath away because of its natural beauty would be scrutinised in a way I never dreamed possible. Even the other birds that sat innocently in the trees above us could be more than just birds. Were they really birds? Or were they humans that could change? As they watched us, what were they seeing? Did they see innocent bystanders to the world? Or did they see us as threats? Particularly Rose with her catlike appearance? Could they sense the cats in us?

The world was a completely different place to what it was yesterday.

As we wandered through those immensely tall cedar trees and I noticed glimpses of the bright blue sky between the branches, Rose stopped and turned to face me.

“I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you the truth when we first met, my dear. I do hope you understand that I had to wait for your grandfather to speak first. It was between him and you.”

I told her that I did understand the reasons behind the decisions and I didn't hold it against her. It was irritating at first but not any more.

“I so wanted to tell you about your mother.”

“You can now, though,” I responded hopefully as we wandered through the trees along a winding pathway that had probably been created by my family over the years.

It was what she wanted to hear and so she began to tell me what my mother was truly like. Beautiful, honest and playful. From childhood until her early death, she was the same. Devoted was another word she used. “Devoted to me. To our parents. To Neleh. She was devoted to you the whole nine months she carried you, too, Lilly. You mustn't forget that. Although you didn't have the chance to know her, you two developed a bond during that time and that's a bond that can never be broken. I think this is why she is able to get through to you so strongly in your dreams. You need that bond to be able to do that.”

That simple sentence meant the world to me. Even though I had never had the opportunity to know this remarkable woman, I did have an unbreakable bond with her. She was my mother. She gave birth to me. She loved me and she would never forget me. Not even in death.

“I was always very envious of her thick dark hair. She only ever had it trimmed – so it grew very long over the years and she didn't have a single grey hair!” Rose reminisced. “Whereas I had grey hair from my early twenties,” she laughed.

“But isn't that because of the cat... business?” I asked.

“That's a good way to put it, dear. Cat business,” she laughed out loud again, a graceful deep sound that matched her own grace and beauty.

“I guess you're right. It must be the siamese in me,” she chuckled as she unlocked the white wooden back door of her house. Four of the cats were already with us, they had joined us in the forest a good few hundred metres away. The others gathered in the kitchen as we walked in. When they had first seen me, they hadn't appeared interested at all. Now, they all made a point of brushing up against my legs, purring loudly. It was as if they were welcoming me.

“I told them about you, dear. They know you're a part of this family now.”

I stuttered, thinking of something to say in response but I honestly couldn't  think of anything suitable. Nothing that made much sense anyway.

Clearly, being part cat, part human had its advantages when you wanted to communicate with your fellow felines.

“In time, you'll be able to speak with them too. For now, though, they'll be happy with a stroke and a nice warm lap to sit on,” she said, suggesting I sit down in the only well-worn comfy armchair next to the breakfast bar.

I did as I was told and immediately a cat that was so black he almost looked blue jumped up onto my lap. He stood there for a few moments looking deep into my eyes, before hopping onto the armrest and curling up. I patted him gently on his back before a second one leapt onto my knees too. This was the one that resembled Rose and was the one that had greeted me when I had first laid eyes on her. She was an off-white colour with a faint grey pattern all over her. The best way to describe her was that she looked like she'd been run over by a car and had a tyre print across her back. Her eyes, like Rose's, were so dark, yet as I had seen outdoors in the sunlight were bright blue.

She did as the black cat had, stood and stared into my eyes. Her head dropped slightly to the side as if she was really looking into the depths of my soul, as if she was reaching inside of me to see what was really there. Once she had come to some sort of conclusion, she began to purr. It was as if a smile crossed her face. It was hard to describe but not only did she remind me of Rose, but she reminded me of... me. I liked her and she clearly liked me too, judging by the way she curled up on my lap and began to pummel me with her paws.

“She's happy,” said Rose, “she's very fond of you. Her name is Scully.”

“As in the X Files?”

She nodded and I remembered the book my father had given me once. It was a book from the TV series, hence me knowing the name. Having never watched television, I wouldn't have otherwise known.

“Why did you call her Scully?”

“It wasn't my idea. Ben came up with it actually and I liked it so it just kind of stuck.”

Scully had been found wandering the streets of Vancouver when she was just a few months old. Someone had rescued her and taken her to the local vets – it just happened to be the vets where Ben was training at the time.

“You're a lucky cat, Scully, to have found a home here of all places.”

I probably imagined it but she appeared to nod at me, as if she was perfectly aware how lucky she was.

“I believe they all came here because they were meant to come here. Some divine force brought them to me. I'm quite a strong believer in that,” said Rose, as she put the finishing touches to two tuna sandwiches and two glasses of milk. Leftover tuna was placed into a large bowl on the floor to where all the other cats rushed to get in on the action.

Scully remained comfortably seated on my knee so I had little choice but to eat my lunch where I was.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Rose began to tell me more about my mother. Even though she had Neleh at an early age, Serena never dropped out of school – continuing until she graduated before getting a part-time job at a local museum.

“She loved that place. She felt like she really belonged there. You should go and have a look around it one of these days. It may also help you understand a bit more about the Canadian culture.”

Apparently the museum was almost exactly the same as to the day she died, so it would be nice for me to see what the place was like where she spent quite a lot of her time.

Wondering what her life must have been like before I was born, I asked Rose where she, my father and Neleh had lived. Was it nearby?

“They actually lived with Gabriel for a few years before renting a small cottage on the outskirts of town. A few years before she died, Jack bought a plot of land. It took him a long time to save up enough money to build a house on it but he had scraped enough together and was planning to start construction just before you were born. Sadly it was never built because of what happened.”

“But he had started to build it?” I asked curiously.

There wasn't much to it apparently. Just a concrete base and some wood had been delivered. Rose told me that nothing had been touched since Vivian took us away. Keen to see the house where I could have spent my childhood, I asked Rose if she could give me directions so I could go and find it myself. After we'd eaten our lunch, she drew a rough map to help me get there. She did offer to take me herself but understood when I said it was something I felt I should do alone.

I heard more about my mother as we sat amidst the cats that afternoon. Rose told me some funny stories of how naughty Serena could be when she was a child and how she had made their parents feel young again. Theirs truly was a happy family and even when their parents died within a short time of each other, the mourning period didn't last so long because they both believed that their parents continued to be together, soul mates forever more. It was the stuff of fairy tales with happy endings, until of course that terrible day when Neleh had been killed. A tragedy which led to such heartbreak for everyone... except Vivian.

“Is there any way of finding out more about Vivian? Is there nothing we can do to try and find her? I feel certain that my father is still alive and I wish I could do something to help him,” I asked.

Rose explained that Gabriel was currently doing everything in his power to do just that. He had found out a few things about her and he hoped to be able to inform the family more about her when he had gathered sufficient relevant information.

“But in the meantime, you shouldn't worry about any of that. You're still only thirteen, Lilly – nearly fourteen, I know! You should be enjoying your life as much as you can. I understand that it is difficult to do so when there is so much tragedy surrounding you, now and in the past. I also understand that you have been told such overwhelming news since this time yesterday so you need to just take some time to let it sink in. You must come to terms with it before you throw yourself in at the deep end, my dear. You've got nearly fourteen years worth of fun to catch up on. And besides... I understand you've got a date tonight. You should be preparing for that,” she laughed.

Meredith had obviously told her... and probably the rest of the family too, but I didn't mind. It was wonderful having people actually caring about me.

“Perhaps you ought to do something with your hair,” she half joked. She did have a point.

I left Rose's house soon afterwards so that I could have some time alone before my date with Oliver. I'd never been on a date before and wanted to look as good as possible. This was something that was a bit difficult considering I had chopped my lovely hair off and dyed it peroxide blonde.

It was a while ago now and my hair grew fast. My black roots and white ends were not a pretty sight. How Oliver had found me cute with a hairstyle like that, I've no idea. I decided my best option was to get some hair dye and change it back to the way it was meant to be. Black. Like Gabriel said to me when I'd first arrived – I'm naturally dark haired like the rest of my family and should be proud of it.

It was particularly chilly as I walked along the roadside into town and so I wrapped my knee length-parka tightly around my body and pulled my black beanie further down my face in an effort to warm up, but I needn't have worried too much because I was soon offered a ride by Ben who was on his way back from treating an injured horse.

“Hey Lilly. What are you doing here? How come you're not in school? Can I give you a lift?”

I hopped into the passenger seat with the eagerness of a person about to pass out from hypothermia and he laughed and turned up the heat to help warm me up.

To keep up the charade that Gabriel had begun with the school, I explained I'd not been feeling so great emotionally and needed some time alone. But I told him I was feeling better now and was glad of his company.

He told me about his latest patient. It was a horse that had a mysterious injury to his leg and that his owner couldn't understand how it had happened, especially since the animal had been locked in his stable overnight, and had been perfectly alright the previous evening. He had called Ben immediately to attend to the bloody mess but he could offer no explanation either.

“I mean, this poor horse had looked as if it had been attacked by a wild animal. Yet there was no way he could get out of his stable and no way any animal large enough to do the damage could get in,” he said with a creased brow as if he was still trying to fathom the mystery out.

I knew that it was quite possible that the horse had fought with something. Something dark and unnatural, probably.

My gut feeling was that the horse wasn't just a horse. Maybe it had the power of transformation and had let itself out into the darkness. Or some kind of beast had unlocked the stable, crept in and made a frenzied attack on the horse... why, I had no idea. There were so many bizarre theories going around in my head and I couldn't suggest a single one to Ben, which I hated. Being a vet, I believed that it could have been really useful for him to know. But I had been advised not to tell a soul and it was of the utmost importance that I kept this secret, for my family's sake.

I mentioned that I had heard he was looking for a part-time trainee assistant. After he nodded, I suggested myself as a possible candidate. Surprisingly, he was thrilled that I would be interested in the position.

“Are you kidding? That would be terrific, Lilly! It would almost be like keeping it in the family. That's great... really great!”

“Really? I don't want you to hire me just because we're practically family though, Ben.”

“Don't be silly. It's perfect. I'd love you to come and work with me. Great!”

“Unfortunately, I still have a few years to go at high school, otherwise I could start straight away.”

We agreed that I would begin training with him every Saturday and would do the odd stint after school. During the holidays I would work three days a week. I was excited at the prospect of having something important to do, working with animals. And at the same time I would learn everything that I needed to know.

When he asked why I was heading into town, I blushed and told him I was so embarrassed about the state of my hair, I was going to buy a do-at-home hair dye to sort it out.

He laughed “I don't think a simple hair dye will do the trick, Lilly!”

“Thanks, Ben!” but I laughed too, knowing only too well that my haircut left a lot to be desired.

“Look, a really good friend of mine is a hairdresser in town and she owes me a favour. Why don't we pop into her salon and we'll see what she can do?”

Although I was embarrassed that he would be willing to use his favour on me, I agreed that my appearance was in desperate need of an overhaul and so I nodded in agreement.

“Thank you,” I whispered shyly and he looked over at me and winked.

It turned out that his good friend was actually more of a girlfriend, judging by the smouldering looks that passed between them when we arrived. I was lucky that she was between appointments and she was delighted to help. Her name was Crystal.

Unlike most of the girls I had met so far in Powell River who had long flowing locks, Crystal's cropped elfin-like hair made her beautiful African-American features more pronounced. She was a beauty, there was no doubt about that, and on top of that, she had a beautiful soul. Her naturally black afro hair had been dyed a golden brown, which made her eyes appear to have so much depth that you could almost sink into them. They reminded me of Scully's eyes, deep, dark and soulful.

Ben only stayed for a couple of minutes, as there were clients waiting back at the practice so he left me there, before assuring me that I was in the best of hands and that I would leave feeling a million dollars.

“Enjoy your date tonight,” he yelled with a wink as he closed the door without giving me the chance to respond.

Did everyone know? I thought, as I followed Crystal to the chair in front of the mirror and sat down while she inspected my hair carefully and thoughtfully before smiling brightly at me.

“So... I'm guessing you hacked at your hair yourself?”

She clearly knew my answer before carrying on, “And I'm guessing you bleached it yourself too. Well, the hair is in surprisingly good condition but it is in some serious need of shape. Do you want the colour back to its natural shade?”

I nodded and she agreed it was the best choice for my colouring.

And so as she went about returning my hair back to some kind of normality, I relaxed and enjoyed the pampering while thinking about the journey my life had begun to take. It was one that I would never have imagined, not in a million years.

Growing up the way I had, trapped within what appeared to be a loveless family, not able to go out and meet people, not even able to see the world through the television. My only glimmer of the world out there was through the eyes of authors like the Grimms Brothers and Hans Christian Andersen. When I read these magical tales, I'd had no idea that their worlds had existed, yet here I was with the knowledge that they did exist, yet within a veil of secrecy.

A secret world. And I knew about it. I was part of it. I shivered.

“Sorry, Lilly. Is the water too cold?” asked Crystal.

I assured her it was fine. The cold came from within. Within the knowledge that I couldn't share. Not even with Oliver – the boy that gave me goosebumps just by looking at him. And he felt the same way that I did. His heart skipped a beat when he was with me too. It was hard for me to fathom anybody could have feelings for me in that way.

I was young, I had never had a boyfriend. I had never been kissed. I didn't know the meaning of love, other than the new love I felt for my newfound family members. I had never even felt love for my father because I had always had the impression that he didn't love me. Not really. A feeling of shame enveloped me. All this time, of course he had loved me. His only way of sharing that love was to sneak those books to me. And I had never shown him that he meant everything to me. Of course it was easy for me to say that now. Now that I knew the truth. He was under a spell. Pure and simple.

It didn't take Crystal long to return me to my 'natural' beauty as she put it and when I left over an hour later, Ben had been right, I did feel like a million dollars. I felt pretty and I hadn't felt pretty in a long, long time. In fact, I had never felt pretty because I'd never been told I was pretty.

Crystal had worked wonders and my new short crop was surprisingly a great shape for my face. I was astounded how much it suited me, considering what a mess I had looked before. As much as I wanted to show the world my new style, I had no choice but to cover it up the second I stepped outside because of the cold, so on went the beanie once again.

As I glanced back through the window, I waved goodbye to Crystal as she waved back happily before attending to the other young woman who had entered just five minutes before. I hadn't taken much notice of the salon's entrance as we'd arrived so I looked up at her sign. Crystal's Salon was in big bold black lettering on an orange background with a catchy logo featuring a cat with big eyes and long hair. It made me chuckle to myself as it matched her personality perfectly.

I put my hands in my pocket and felt a piece of paper. It was the map to my father's land that Rose had drawn for me. I checked my watch and figured I had plenty of time so I headed in that direction.

As I walked through town, a number of familiar faces smiled at me and said their hellos before hurrying out of the cold. It was still so alien to me to be known by so many people. In London, I knew the faces of the kids at school. I knew the faces of the many teachers. I knew the face of the postman but I didn't know anybody but December, my secret best friend. Vivian had never allowed me to get to know anyone at all. I couldn't even say hello to the neighbours without fear of being grabbed and pulled away by her. Yet here I was surrounded by friendly people that I could get to know if I wanted to. And who wanted to get to know me.

Some even stopped me in the street and made small talk, asking how I was doing, if I was settling in okay and so on. It was rather nice actually. It made me smile and again, I felt liked. I felt loved. It was a feeling I would cherish.

Heading out of town, I smiled to myself happily and checked the map again before taking a turning off the main road. There was tarmac for a hundred or so metres and then I had to take a left down a small and winding dirt track. The track became even longer and narrower then, giving an almost funnel effect.

I continued walking until I eventually came upon a wide open space. In the middle was a large concrete base. I had found it. This should have been the place that I grew up. The happy years that we could have all spent together. Should have spent together. Serena, my father, Neleh... and me. How different my life could have been, I thought as I walked slowly towards what would have been our home.

I looked around and noticed that it was surrounded by trees, hidden away from any kind of prying eyes, perhaps that was the reason my father had chosen it. He knew the family secret and he knew the importance of keeping it just that: a secret. It was perfect and it was peaceful. I understood perfectly why my father had chosen this plot of land. Not only was it well hidden, but it also had a great feeling to it. I tried to picture what the house could have looked like. A large log home a bit like Gabriel's perhaps? No, this would have been quite a bit smaller and even more cosy. It was perfect.

As I wandered around the base, I noticed a large pallet of logs which had become ruined from years of neglect in the outdoors. I felt sad as I approached them and gently rubbed my hand along one of the logs.

I had been so focused on what could have been that I didn't even notice that it had started raining. I looked up as the storm clouds collected over head. I pulled my beanie down further over my face and as I turned away from the logs, I heard a tear and then a click before an almighty crash.

A searing pain went through my leg as I fell to the ground with a thud. A log had come loose and had landed on top of me. I barely remember anything, except that I screamed out in pain. I felt nauseous all of a sudden and, barely conscious, I tried to shout for help yet I knew nobody would hear me. As I had noted before, the house was perfectly well hidden, after all. I could just about feel my face becoming wet from the rain when I heard a loud of clap of thunder.

I felt trapped in a nightmare. One where I couldn't move. The more I struggled, the worse it became. The log was too heavy and I was too injured to move a muscle.

I've no idea how long I was there.

Just as I felt like giving up all hope, drifting in and out of consciousness, I saw movement from beyond the trees and then before I knew it, I heard the voice of an angel. “Don't worry, Lilly. You're going to be alright. I'll make sure of that.”

I must have been hallucinating as I remember being lifted higher and higher into the sky before completely losing consciousness.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

When I came to, I noticed a pale green ceiling and green walls. A distinctive smell hovered in the air. It smelt... clinical. Hearing people moving around beyond my room, I realised I was in the hospital. I had absolutely no idea what had happened to me.

“Lilly?” said a deep voice to the side of the bed.

I turned my head and saw Ben sitting patiently by my side, waiting for me to wake up.

“What happened?” I asked.

Apparently it was a mystery to him too. After he had treated his patients, he had been working alone on some paperwork in his practice, when there had been a knock on the door and when he opened it, he found me lying on the floor unconscious.

“I had absolutely no idea what had happened. At first I assumed you had knocked on the door and then collapsed but when I tried to pick you up, I noticed someone had roughly wrapped your leg with these huge leaves. Someone had clearly helped you and then left you there. Do you have any idea what happened?” he asked.

I shook my head, which ached a little and I asked for Gabriel.

“Don't worry, he's here. He's just having a word with the doctor. Rose is here too, and Sonya and Meredith are on their way.”

“They don't need to come. I'm okay... aren't I?” I asked, unsure whether I was or not.

“You've broken your leg and you've got a few bruises but other than that I think you're okay so don't worry. Your hair looks great, by the way,” he said, trying to make light of the situation.

Gabriel walked into the room and thanked Ben profusely for bringing me to the hospital so quickly. “If you need to get back to work, Ben, go ahead. I'll take over for now,” he said.

As Ben nodded, he picked up his coat, leaned over and kissed my forehead. “You had me scared for a while there, Lilly. I'm glad you're okay. You call me if you need anything, okay?”

I nodded as best as I could without my head throbbing and smiled back.

“Thank you, Ben.”

The moment he left, Gabriel closed the door behind him.

“Oh Lilly... what on earth happened? Did you go into the forest?” Gabriel asked.

I explained everything that I could remember, which wasn't much. Just that I had gone to find the land that belonged to my father. I remembered finding it but I couldn't recall much more than that.

“But how did you get to Ben's?”

“I really don't know, Gabriel. But I wish I did.”

I was uncomfortable lying flat on my back, so I asked him if he would help me sit up a little and as I did so, I noticed I was clenching something in my hand. I opened it and found a single black feather. Strange, I thought, I don't recall picking up a feather and why would I still have it in my hand?

Gabriel saw the look on my face and followed my gaze.

“I must have found it there and picked it up, for some reason,” I said innocently as Rose opened the door with a cup of coffee that she handed to Gabriel.

“Hello dear. Are you feeling alright? I've been worried out of my mind,” she said as she tiptoed over to me and leaned over to peck me on my cheek. She hovered for a moment and I could have sworn she sniffed at me a couple of times. As she straightened up she had an odd expression on her face. She turned to Gabriel then and together they shared a quizzical look.

She walked over to my coat and picked it up. As she did so, another black feather, a much larger one, fell to the ground.

This time it was my turn to gasp as she crouched down to pick it up.

Gabriel took it from her and held it up to the light.

“This is the feather of a raven,” he whispered.

“But it is too large, Gabriel,” Rose whispered in reply.

He nodded and they both turned to look at me.

“Lilly, it's very important that you recall what happened to you this afternoon. Is there anything, anything at all that you remember? The slightest thing could make all the difference,” Gabriel said hopefully.

I closed my eyes and thought back to when I left Crystal's, looking up at the sign and smiling, then I'd walked through town and had spoken to a few people and then I'd followed Rose's map to find the land belonging to my father. I remember the dirt track that had started off winding and then had straightened out, giving that funnel effect.

As I walked in my mind, I walked into the clearing where the concrete base was situated. I remember feeling sad. My eyes settled on the logs where I had gently caressed the wood that would have made a house for my family and me. As I explained all of this, Gabriel nodded, waiting to hear more.

“My coat got caught on something and then the log fell on my leg... I remember being trapped and there was so much pain,” I said, flinching at the memory.

“That's obviously how your leg was broken, my dear. It has broken in two places. But if you were trapped, how did you get out? And how on earth did you get to Ben's?” asked Rose.

I tried hard to remember again but there was nothing. I had no memory after that. I was so frustrated. But then as I looked at that huge feather, something was triggered in my subconscious.

“There was a man's voice,” I gasped, “'don't worry, Lilly. You're going to be alright. I'll make sure of that'. That's what he said but I don't know what happened after that.”

“Well, whoever he was, he must have been the one that took you to Ben's practice. We just have to try and find out who he was. We'll ask around and see if anybody saw anything strange this afternoon. There's a lot more to this. I can feel it,” said Gabriel as he drank the last of his coffee and threw the polystyrene cup into the rubbish bin.

“Whoever he was, I'm eternally grateful to him, that's for sure. I don't even care to imagine what might have happened had he not been there,” said Rose as Gabriel nodded in agreement.

“Can I come home with you, Gabriel?” I asked hopefully. I didn't want to stay there in that hospital bed. I was reminded of how my mother had died and I felt physically sick to the stomach at the thought of having to remain there.

Gabriel checked with the doctor who said it shouldn't be a problem for me to go home, as long as I stayed horizontal and was well looked after. The doctor had known the Tulugaqs for many years and therefore knew that we were a strong family who cared for each other deeply. He was confident that I would get even better care than at the hospital itself so he discharged me immediately.

Using his cell phone, Gabriel called both Meredith and Sonya and told them to go straight home instead of coming to the hospital. Then, for the first time, I was driven by Gabriel. He and Rose had struggled to get me into the back seat with my broken leg in plaster but eventually they managed and we were on our way.

As I lay there, barely able to move, I tried so hard to remember what had happened that afternoon but the memory could not be tempted out of my subconscious mind. It was deep in there somewhere and I knew it would eventually come out... most likely during my sleep.

Laying on the sofa later, I felt awful that I would miss out on my very first date with Oliver. Why couldn't I have just walked straight home? Why couldn't I have gone to see my father's house another time? Instead I had completely messed up my chances with Oliver.

As if on cue, there was a knock on the front door. Sonya stood up and went to see who was there. At the same time, Meredith smiled at me and made a quick exit into the kitchen. Clearly, she knew who it was.

Oliver rushed into the living room and sat by my side immediately, “Lilly, are you alright? I was really freaked out when I heard what happened. What were you thinking going out alone like that?”

His reaction actually made me laugh out loud and he suddenly stopped talking and he looked at me before laughing too. “Sorry, I guess I sound like Gabriel. I was just worried,” he said.

The fact that he was there with me helped ease the pain tremendously and I felt utter relief that he cared that much for me already. And we hadn't even had our date yet.

“I'm glad you're here, Oliver. Thank you for coming,” I said shyly, nervously running my hand through my hair, which I had completely forgotten actually looked good.

“Wow... I've only just had the chance to really look at you. You look amazing. I love the new hairstyle. You certainly don't look like someone who has just had a near death experience.”

I felt myself blush. “It was hardly a brush with death. I just had a log fall on me, that's all.”

“Are you kidding? Do you know how much those logs weigh?” he joked.

We sat together for a few minutes in silence, enjoying each other's company, when Sonya and Meredith walked in carrying two big plates of food for us.

“We figured you'd both be hungry and seeing as you aren't able to actually go out, we thought we'd bring the restaurant to you... oh and we brought you a few movies too, just in case.”

“Aww thanks,” said Oliver.

“We both have to get home now so we'll leave you to it. Gabriel is over at Rose's house. He said if you need anything just buzz him on his cell and he'll come right over. You look after our patient, Oliver,” said Meredith with a wink and then they were gone.

They were all well aware that I was supposed to be having a date with Oliver that night so it was very sweet that they had all left and allowed the 'date' to happen at home instead.

“So how did you know about my little accident?” I asked.

“Actually I had a few phone calls,” he laughed, “first Ben rang me as soon as he'd got you to the hospital. Unfortunately I couldn't get out of work otherwise I would have come straight over. And then Meredith called me to let me know and then Rose did too! It appears everyone knows that we're close now,” he added, with a cheeky smirk.

To hear him say that we were close, out loud, was just amazing – it really made my heart leap and certainly helped take my mind off the bad day I'd had.

As we sat there on the sofa, me with my leg stretched out in front of me and my dinner on my lap and Oliver sitting so close to me with his dinner on his lap, we looked a right pair.

“So what are these movies that Meredith mentioned?” I asked as I ate a mouthful of pasta.

Oliver leaned forward to pick up the DVDs that had been left on the coffee table and laughed, “Well, I don't quite know if they're your sort of thing but there's Twilight, Van Helsing or League of Extraordinary Gentleman. Not really date movies but if you're into supernatural stuff...”

I laughed at the choices, clearly Meredith or Gabriel had been responsible for them but I appreciated the thought all the same. It was just a shame I couldn't share the joke with Oliver.

I opted for Twilight, at least there was a little romance in with the vampires – it seemed more appropriate than the others and at least it had a bit of action for Oliver too.

He stood up to put the film on and then sat back down so we could finish dinner together. Although the film played on in the background, there was too much to say to each other to really take any notice of it. We had a lifetime of experiences to share with each other. Well, Oliver had a lifetime of experience to tell me about. I, on the other hand, was a little embarrassed that I didn't have an awful lot to tell him about me.

He told me about his parents' death but that he was too young to really understand what had happened and he admitted to not being able to remember them, sadly. He still liked to look at their photos but the memories just weren't there. “But I still miss them, if that makes sense?” he asked and I nodded with a mouthful of pasta.

He talked a little about his brother, whom he was clearly incredibly proud of. “To become a vet because of what happened to our parents is just awesome,” he said and to which I wholeheartedly agreed, “and I think it's fantastic that you're going to be working with him,” he added happily.

I raised my eyebrows and he laughed, “Ben told me when he phoned me earlier... he's really thrilled and wanted to share it with me.”

“Do you realise that you still haven't told me what you do for a living?” I asked, eager to know everything about him.

He looked surprised and I felt a momentary stab of guilt for not asking anybody else. Ben could have told me. I felt a bit silly but still, I guess it had just never come up in conversation.

Oliver explained that when he had left high school he hadn't got a clue what to do with his life. He wasn't like Ben who had known from a young age what he wanted to do.

“All I did know was that I didn't really want to go to college. I was never very academic; I was more of a hands-on sort of guy. Gabriel had always said  I was good with my hands and I ought to do something creative instead, so I ended up working for a construction company where I am currently learning the tricks of the trade. My favourite part of it so far is building log homes like this one. So my long term plan is to start my own wooden home building company,” he said energetically as if it meant the world to him. It was exciting to see him so enthusiastic about his career, especially since he wasn't interested in college like so many other kids these days.

I told him I was impressed. He was even cuter when he blushed.

Having grown up in this house and raised by Gabriel since he was just a boy, I wondered why he no longer lived here.

“There is no real reason except for the fact that I like my independence and so I rent a small lodge on John and Meredith's land. It's like a separate little house, an annexe, I guess,” he answered. “It's a great little place. Great for my life at the moment anyway. Eventually I'd like to build my own place. A log home, of course,” he grinned.

For some reason his words took me back to earlier in the day when I had accidentally found myself underneath a very heavy log. The memory had an instant effect on my stomach and I felt a strong urge to throw up.

Oliver immediately stood up and helped me sit upright as I fought the urge.

“Are you okay? You looked a bit pale for a second there,” he whispered.

I shook my head and he rushed into the kitchen to get me a glass of cold water. As he returned and stood above me, his movement triggered another memory and I heard that voice again: 'don't worry, Lilly. You're going to be alright. I'll make sure of that' and then I felt as though I was flying.

Unfortunately, the whole thing caused me to vomit suddenly with little warning.

Again, Oliver rushed to the kitchen to get some kitchen paper, a bowl and a damp flannel.

When he returned he handed me a few sheets of the paper for me to clean myself with, he swiftly cleaned up the mess and then sat by my side as he very gently mopped my forehead with the flannel.

I felt very sorry for myself and stupid at the same time.

“I'm so sorry Oliver,” I said, feeling like such a child.

“Don't be silly... it's only natural that this would happen. You had quite a day today. You're on some heavy duty painkillers and here I am keeping you awake and talking when you should be completely resting. I'm the one who should be sorry. Not you,” he smiled as he patted my forehead again.

“I'll wait for Gabriel to come back and then I'll leave you to get some sleep. Do you want me to help you to your bedroom? Or would you rather I brought you an extra blanket in here?”

I opted for the blanket, knowing that trying to move too much might make me sick again and I was already so embarrassed at having thrown up in front of him to start with.

Oliver came back from my bedroom with my duvet cover and another pillow. He then went into the bathroom and returned with my tooth brush, tooth paste, a glass of water and a bowl.

“I figured you might want to brush your teeth. It might make you feel better,” he said handing everything to me like a father would probably treat a sick child.

I told him I was grateful for such a loving and kind 'boyfriend' even though my mouth was completely full of frothed up toothpaste. I grinned in an effort to make him laugh. It worked, as he shook his head, chuckling at me.

Just as I spat out the water, we heard the door open and Gabriel announce he had returned home. He greeted Oliver like a son and looked at me with concern.

Oliver explained that I'd been sick and so Gabriel reassured him that he would look after me, giving Oliver his cue to go home.

“Well, I'd better go now, Lilly, but I'll be back in the morning... er, if that's okay with you Gabriel?”

Gabriel smiled and said “Yes, providing Lilly wants you to come back, of course,” he chuckled.

Oliver was clearly unsure whether it had been a joke or not, until he saw his face crack up in a wide grin.

“I certainly do,” I answered, as he leaned down and gently brushed my cheeks with his lips.

“Try and get some sleep. See you in the morning. Goodnight Gabriel,” he said as he wrapped up for the cold.

“Goodnight!” he yelled again before the front door shut behind him.

A minute later I heard the revving of his car and then there was silence. Just the sound of my breathing, before Gabriel came and sat down opposite me and then I could hear his gentle breath too. He didn't say anything. He just let me fall asleep in peace.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I slept right through the night. Not a single dream managed to wake me from my stupor. The shock of the previous day's events must have taken its toll and pretty much knocked me out. That and the fact that Oliver had come over to have our 'date' at home. Snuggling under the duvet, I slowly forced my eyes open to see rays of sunlight through the window. It soon dawned on me that Gabriel had left me to sleep in the living room. My leg throbbed beneath the covers and as I turned to try and manoeuvre myself off the sofa, I heard voices coming from the kitchen. Gabriel was not alone.

I could easily identify the voices of Gabriel, Meredith, Wyatt and Rose. I came to the conclusion that they had joined forces once again to talk about me or my father. Either that or they were waiting for me to wake to talk further about the news they'd hit me with a few days earlier.

Or were they eager to find out who had rescued me from my close call yesterday?

As I tried to stand up, I managed to knock over a bottle of water with my leg. Crashing to the floor, it alerted them to the fact that I had woken up.

Hurrying in, they all made a fuss of me. Meredith offered assistance where I needed it the most. Having a shower with a broken leg isn't the easiest thing to do, so she ran me a bath and helped me in. I was grateful. Although I felt such a nuisance and a hindrance, I also felt a massive sense of gratitude for having such caring people around me. It would have been a very different story had I been in England with Vivian and my father. Goodness only knew how I would have managed there with a broken leg.

After I'd managed to get dressed, Meredith helped me back to the sofa where I lay down, exhausted by the exertion. Barely a minute went by before Rose whizzed in with my breakfast on a tray. A lovely hot cup of tea and a plate full of eggs and bacon. I was thoroughly spoilt, a feeling I relished.

The others joined me while I ate. We chatted about general things like the weather, friends and neighbours and our plans for Thanksgiving and Christmas which were both fast approaching.

But ultimately I knew the conversation would move on to more pressing matters. The unusually large raven's feather was cause for some concern, as Gabriel explained to me. When our ancestors had first changed, they morphed almost magically into the bird's actual size. He had never seen or even heard of anybody having the ability to change into a raven the size of a human. Yet there we were presented with evidence to suggest it was possible. What we didn't know was who in our community possessed the ability to change and why wasn't Gabriel aware of it?

It troubled him as he knew all of the members within the Tulugaq clan and was on friendly terms with pretty much all of the residents of Powell River. It was possible that whoever had saved me came from further afield but why not show themselves?

Gabriel was desperate that I recall exactly what had happened. I wished I could remember but I had fallen unconscious and that made it considerably more difficult.

“I believe the only way to tap into your unconscious mind and find out the truth, Lilly, is to take you on a journey to meet some very unique and special people. But it will be quite a long journey and much of it needs to be taken on foot and you are certainly not able at the moment. Your leg must heal first and then we will travel to the mountains to see the elders. We will do so in the spring. Until then we must not worry about any of this. We must continue life as usual. Although we do not know who this person, or creature, is, we do know one thing. He saved you, Lilly. So clearly he wishes you no harm. You must not dwell on your father's disappearance either. The elders are aware of what has been happening within our family and they are keeping eyes and ears open for any news,” he said while the others nodded solemnly behind him.

“He's right, dear. You haven't been here all that long and look what has happened to you already. You must completely settle in to life in Powell River. When you've recovered and the weather starts to get warmer, you and Gabriel will go and visit the elders. But until then... just concentrate on your studies and making friends. Okay?” Rose said with her eyebrows raised, waiting for my  reply. I nodded reluctantly. They all meant well.

But that didn't mean I had to agree with them. Of course I couldn't. My father was out there somewhere and he might be in danger. I didn't want to wait until the spring. But I had no choice. I could do nothing alone, especially with a broken leg. I couldn't even start my part-time job.

There was still a possibility that my memory might be triggered during one of my vivid dreams, but until that happened, I imagined the next few months would include an awful lot of reading and very little else.

Later that morning after everyone, except Gabriel, had left and I had spent hours with my head in a book, Jo arrived.

As she walked in, her brow was furrowed so deep with worry that she made me laugh. “I'm okay, I'm okay,” I said to her with my hands held up, before she'd even opened her mouth.

“I was so worried for you. Especially seeing as you didn't turn up for school. I've obviously heard from the others but I want to hear from you. What on earth happened, Lilly?”

I told her everything that had happened the previous day, and she was relieved that we could finally open up to each other about our family's secret.

“I'm so sorry I couldn't tell you anything before but I was literally sworn to secrecy by the whole family. I really wanted to. It was killing me. I have to admit, finally having a friend, a girl, to be able to talk to about all of this crazy stuff is brilliant. Sometimes it really eats you up when the only people you can talk with are parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts,” she said, barely taking a breath.

I totally understood where she was coming from. Even though I'd only known the truth for a very short time, I did feel the need to have a close friend to confide in.

She told me about the time she'd had the 'family of ravens' talk with the rest of the family and, although it came as a bit of a shock, she'd always known our family was special. It was just a feeling she'd had.

“But you've never transformed, have you?” I asked, eager to know more about the physical change.

She shook her head, “No, not yet, but I've had all the weird dreams too so we're just waiting for it to hit me one of these days. I have no idea when it will happen though. It's a bit scary, isn't it? Not knowing how we turn. I worry that it will be painful,” she said, twirling her hair around her fingers nervously. “But Rose told me once that provided you relax completely and just let your body change of its own accord, the pain should be controllable. She said it's all mind over matter. I've been doing meditation and yoga ever since!” she laughed.

“Seriously?” I asked, wondering if she was joking or not.

She nodded enthusiastically and jumped up from the armchair, demonstrating a few awkward-looking poses. “The yoga poses are easy once you've done them for a while. When I first started, my muscles were so stiff, I struggled even with the simplest moves. I'll teach them to you and we can do it together,” she said eagerly.

Looking down at my leg and back up at her comically, she burst into a fit of giggles. “Okay, I'll teach you in a few months when you can actually get your backside off the sofa!” She sat back down on the chair and curled her shoeless feet underneath her bottom.

“So, you didn't see who rescued you yesterday, then?”

Shaking my head and raising my eyebrows, I wished once again that there was something exciting to tell her. The only way I would be able to identify him by would be his voice, I told her, but I explained that I didn't recognise it. It wasn't a voice I had heard before.

“You don't think it was your dad, do you?” she almost whispered.

It had crossed my mind but as I explained, even though I had barely ever heard my father speak, I didn't feel like it was him. Surely I would have felt something. And if it had been him, wouldn't he have stayed? He wouldn't have just dumped me on someone's doorstep. And why would he vanish afterwards?

“It just didn't feel like him, you know,” I added.

She nodded, clearly understanding what I meant. We sat in silence for a while, each lost in our own thoughts about the man who had saved my life. Had I been left there, under that log in the storm, I could have frozen to death. I could have bled to death for all I knew. The thought made me shiver. There were many ifs in this world. I was just grateful to whoever he was.

“So, did I miss much at school yesterday?”

“Not a great deal, unless you count poor Erica falling flat on her face in front of the basketball team in cheerleading practice. She had a bloody nose and everything. Poor thing. Oh and Mrs Ormond seemed interested in knowing why you weren't there yesterday. A little too interested really. There's something odd about that woman, but I can't quite put my finger on it,” she laughed.

She asked how my date had gone with Oliver. Sonya had filled her in on the fact that he'd come over and that we'd had dinner prepared for us.

My instant grin answered her question. “That well, huh?” she laughed and, as if on cue, Oliver arrived bearing a box of chocolates for his 'patient'. It was good to see him.

“Hey Oliver, good to see you,” Jo said as she stood up, put on her shoes and started doing up her shoe laces.

They exchanged a few words before Jo decided to leave us alone.

“I'll call you later,” she said with a wink, before shouting “Bye Gabriel” and closing the front door on her way out.

“Ben sends his love and hopes you're feeling better today,” Oliver said as he bent to kiss me on the cheek. As usual, I blushed and smiled as he handed me the pretty black box with a pink ribbon.

“Awww thanks Oliver... that's really sweet. But you didn't have to. I was going to go and start my training with Ben today... so much for that,” I said, as I rolled my eyes and lifted my leg.

He smiled and told me that Ben had said for me not to worry about it. He wasn't overly busy at the moment anyway so it could wait a few more weeks, to whenever I was ready.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked as he sat down and watched me rip off the ribbon and delve inside the box to discover which chocolate was which. He laughed at my enthusiasm.

“I'm good thanks. I woke up feeling a bit groggy but I feel much better now thanks.”

“I guess I was right to bring chocolates rather than flowers.”

I nodded with a mouth full before realising I wasn't being very polite, so I offered them to him.

Chocolate wasn't something I was used to eating, but those ones were  delicious. They didn't last long though as we spent the next few hours chatting whilst we savoured them. Occasionally Gabriel would pop his head round the door to make sure we were okay, but he figured I was fine whenever I was with Oliver, so he left us alone for a few hours.

I still had no idea where Gabriel went whenever he left me alone. But he was always gone for a good three hours or so. Even though I was enthralled by Oliver's voice as he spoke to me, at the back of my mind I would have liked to know where he was going. If only I could follow him. Not on one leg I couldn't, I thought before turning my full attention to the beautiful boy that sat holding my hand tightly and grinning as he told me a silly story.

Oliver stayed with me the entire day.

“I feel bad about keeping you cooped up indoors for so long.”

“That's okay. You're not exactly in any state to do anything else, are you? But maybe tomorrow we could try and go for a short walk? What did the doctor say about walking?” he asked.

I honestly didn't have a clue. I had been so keen to get out of the hospital that I hadn't even asked any questions. I was sure Gabriel would know though so I promised to ask him.

Oliver scolded me for not talking to the medical staff and he shook his head as if I was in big trouble but he couldn't keep a straight face and ended up laughing.

“Well, I'll come over tomorrow whether we can go for a walk or not,” he promised as he prepared to leave. “Call me if you need anything?” he said as he kissed me gently on the lips. It was my first real kiss and it felt like I'd been given an electric shock. Not the kind that hurts, but a wonderful, sweet, electric shock. I smiled and touched my lips with my fingers.

As I slowly opened my eyes, I saw that he was smiling too. And then before I knew it, he was gone.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I had to wear my cast for nearly two months and they were, without doubt, the best two months of my life so far. Even the pain and awkwardness of a broken leg couldn't dull my happiness.

I had dreaded being unable to do anything, especially after Rose and Gabriel had said I should avoid agonizing over recent events and should just concentrate on getting my life back together. That is exactly what I did and admittedly, it was the best thing for me.

It was January, it was absolutely freezing, yet I had become accustomed to the colder weather in Canada. I had actually begun to love waking up on a chilly morning and opening my bedroom window to take a few breaths of crisp cold air. It was the perfect way to wake myself up, followed by a hot bath, which I had finally mastered getting into without the help of either Meredith, Sonya or Jo who had all taken it in turns to pop round first thing to help. But still, I couldn't wait to get the cast off.

Thanksgiving had been an eye opener for me. It was time for family, pure and simple. And although my family had a lot to be thankful for, it was a sad occasion because we missed my father terribly.

Much of the day was spent talking about old times, the times I had missed – either because I had not yet been born to this world, or I was being kept holed up in a London apartment. I heard stories about my father and his brother and sister when they were children. The fun they'd had growing up in this fantastic part of the world. The mischief they had created and the love that had bound them together.

With Ben, Crystal and Oliver with us for much of the day, we were unable to talk about the unusual circumstances that surrounded our lives and, in a way, it was nice to just be normal. It was also wonderful to be able to spend time with my family as well as my boyfriend. There had never been any need to hide the fact that we were together, as everyone had accepted us immediately.

But it was my first real Christmas that was particularly memorable. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was the first time I had ever had the opportunity to celebrate it and so I immersed myself into the festive spirit.

Whilst living in London with my father and Vivian, I had overheard wonderful stories at school about what the other kids had been up to during the holidays and I had envied them tremendously. For me though, Christmas was simply any other day in the calendar. No gifts, no decorations but more importantly, no loving family, no joy.

Yet in Canada, we had experienced all of this and much more. The whole family, as well as Oliver, Ben and Crystal again, came to our house to celebrate Christmas day. Everybody helped prepare the most sumptuous feast I had ever laid my eyes on and then we had all exchanged gifts.

I was given clothes by everyone. My family were clearly sick of seeing me wearing nothing but black and so they had all produced a new wardrobe. Clearly they had planned everything together and I assumed that Jo was responsible for doing most of the shopping. When I asked her, she nodded, “With the help of my mom, of course!”

“You're such a great person, Lilly, we want to see you in colours that match your personality,” Sonya had said, speaking for them all later on. I was touched. After thirteen years of yellow and months of black, the time had finally come for the rainbow.

The day was glorious. My biggest regret was that my father was not there. I would have given anything to have him spend that day with us. It would have meant so much, not just to me but to the rest of the family, especially Gabriel who had lost his son nearly fourteen years before. But as we had spent most of Thanksgiving thinking about him and what had become of him, we refused to be sad on Christmas day too.

Everybody was aware that Christmas celebrations were totally new to me and I got the impression that they made more of an occasion out of it than they would normally have done.

I believe they were making up for all those years of my 'living' in a room with little contact with the outside world. I told them they needn't have made so much effort. I would have been equally as happy to put up a Christmas tree and have a normal dinner with everyone. But I understood that they were showing me how much they loved me and how much they'd missed me over the years. The feeling was completely mutual.

Between Christmas and New Year I had received another huge surprise – a birthday party.

It was December 28 and, although I was aware that it was the date I was born, it never even occurred to me that anyone else would take much notice. After all, nobody ever had. The other thing that had been on my mind was the fact that not only was it my birthday, it was also the date I had lost my sister. The date of Neleh's death. And it was very close to the anniversary of my mother's death too.

How could I celebrate when something so horrific had happened on that very day fourteen years earlier? It was difficult, but having never had the opportunity to meet my mother or my sister, my sorrow could not equal the sorrow that perhaps Rose was feeling. Or Gabriel. Or any of my family members for that matter.

I refused to dwell on the sad facts of that day, remembering instead that it was my birthday. I was a year older and I was excited at turning fourteen. On the outside, I didn't look any different but on the inside I felt like I was becoming a completely different person. Comparing me to the person I was just a year earlier, I could barely recognise myself.

In England while living under the roof of that witch, it was as if she had reached down into my soul and sucked my true personality and character right out of me. I had been a simple and insanely naïve girl who had truly believed that my life had been normal. How wrong could I have been?

A year on and the real me was finally emerging from my shell. I felt like I was becoming a young woman. A strong, independent young woman and I finally felt good about myself. I finally felt like I could face the world head on.

The day had passed much like any other. Gabriel had rushed out of the house and yelled that he would see me later. He didn't mention what day it was, so neither did I. Ben had come by the house to collect me first thing that morning and we had gone straight to the practice where I had started training a few weeks before. It was a bit of a struggle at first, moving around with my crutches clumsily getting in the way of everything. I hadn't been able to physically handle any of the animals as we were waiting for my cast to be removed first. But I learned a lot just by watching Ben carefully, answering telephone calls and speaking to the locals about their pet's problems. It had opened a whole new world to me and I was becoming even more confident in myself. I wouldn't shy away from anything like I would have done just a few months previously.

Ben had even taken me out on occasion when he had horses to treat. Although I could do very little, I was fascinated by these regal creatures. There was always a part of me that wondered who they really were though. Twice we had been called out to injured horses – just like the injuries that Ben had treated on the day of my accident. He concluded that whatever had attacked them had managed to remove some of the sinew from the inside of their legs. It was a mystery to him. To me, however, it was slightly less mysterious. I knew the crimes had probably been committed by a changeling, a vampire perhaps? A witch, even? But, as usual, I had to keep my thoughts to myself.

On my birthday, after a few hours of work (it was particularly busy that Christmas), we had made sure everything was cleaned up before we locked up the clinic before heading back in Ben's truck.

I had noticed Ben's sideways glances at me a couple of times throughout the day but had assumed it was because he was checking how I was doing. However, as we arrived home, I soon figured out that hadn't been the reason at all.

“Happy Birthday, Lilly!” shouted a house full of family and friends as I gingerly pushed open the front door with one of my crutches.

Shock rippled through me and my initial reaction was to cry. I was totally overwhelmed. It hit me even more than Christmas day had. A birthday party. For me. I was completely speechless as everybody laughed and rushed over to hug and kiss me. Sonya was a little concerned why tears were falling down my face but I reassured her that they were most certainly tears of happiness. There was even a big banner with the words 'Happy Birthday Lilly' hung loosely across the top of the dining table which was covered in a mass of foodstuffs, the likes of which I'd never seen before.

There were miniature sausages, boiled eggs that had been cut in half and the hard yolks mixed with mayonnaise, little pastries in all shapes and sizes, pieces of cheese on sticks with pineapple and ham, my favourite crisps and nuts and they were just the things to nibble on. Another table that I hadn't noticed at first was covered in salads and cooked meats, full-size sausages and burgers and more. Lastly though, there was a huge variety of cute little cupcakes all with little wings on them. It was an amazing spread and I couldn't believe it had all been done under a cloud of secrecy. I had no idea that it was being planned at all.

I saw that Oliver was standing back, patiently waiting for me to speak to everyone else first. And then when there was a gap, he approached me and put his arms around me and gave me a big hug, “Happy Birthday, babe. You're catching me up,” he whispered in my ear.

I pulled back and looked at him and smiled before he leaned forward and kissed me briefly on the lips. I knew he was a little shy about kissing me in front of the family so a bear hug was his way of showing how much he cared.

As he loosened his grip, I turned to have another look at the scene before me and shook my head in disbelief. I still couldn't believe that they had all gone to such effort for me.

Oliver went to get us some drinks while I was dragged away by Jo, who was clearly dying to give me her gift. She pulled me away from the crowd and into my bedroom where she handed me a beautifully wrapped box and sat cross-legged on my bed.

“I've been dying to come and see you all day but I couldn't of course. I couldn't spoil the surprise,” she laughed.

As I tried to remove the paper carefully without ripping it, Jo laughed at me and grabbed at the box, “Oh... just rip it,” she said.

I pulled the box back from her and did as I was told, ripping the shiny pink paper away from the present underneath. I opened the lid and found a little gadget and some headphones.

“It's an MP3 player!” squealed Jo as she jumped up from the bed, “here, let me show you,” and she demonstrated how it worked and how I could now listen to music wherever and whenever I wanted.

I was so touched. Even though we hadn't spoken very much about music, she had obviously picked up on the one thing that I absolutely loved. It had been another thing forbidden by Vivian so to actually own my own music player was amazing and I told Jo so, while giving her a big hug.

“I've taken the liberty of putting some of my favourite songs on there, just to get you started. There's some Taylor Swift, Kelly Clarkson, Lady Antebellum, Rascal Flatts and a few others that I'm sure you'll love. Now I know you haven't got a computer yet but you can always come round to my house to download some more, okay?” she said happily, with a smirk on her face.

I nodded while I put the headphones in my ears and switched it on. The sounds that floated into my ears was like heaven and I couldn't thank her enough. I stood listening for a few minutes while she watched me, giggling before grabbing my arm and pulling me back into the party, nearly knocking me over.

“Oops... sorry, I keep forgetting about your leg. Come on... there's probably lots more presents to open,” she said, my bedroom door closing behind us.

“There you are. I was looking for you,” said Oliver with a glass of orange juice in his hand. His other hand was sneakily hidden behind his back. He smirked as he handed me the juice and waited a few moments as I took a few gulps and then put the glass down before giving me my birthday present. It was a very small gift, wrapped haphazardly, for which he apologised, laughing. “Wrapping gifts isn't one of my strong points,” he joked.

I looked around to make sure I wasn't being watched by anyone else, as I was still finding it a little embarrassing being given things. I had never been given very much before so I wasn't used to it – not even after all the wonderful things that had been lovingly given to me on Christmas day.

As I unwrapped the purple and silver paper, I found a circular box and when I opened it, I saw two beautiful little crystals in the shape of angels.

“It's to hang from the window in your bedroom. When I saw them I thought of you,” he said, adding “and your mother and sister,” he shrugged shyly embarrassed.

“I know that today is the day Neleh died and I just thought, well, I just thought you could hang them up today and they would be like guardian angels or something. It's silly, really,” he said shrugging again, as his cheeks turned a little pink.

I hugged him tightly and grabbed his hand and pulled him towards my room, “Oliver, they are absolutely beautiful,” I said trying hard not to shed a tear. ”This is the best gift I've ever had. Thank you.”

With the bedroom door closed behind us, I leaned up to him and kissed him gently while he wrapped his arms around me tightly.

“I'm so lucky to have you, you know that?” I asked him as I snuggled into his shoulder and he laughed.

“I'm the lucky one,” he said.

The crystal angels were even more stunning when hung on either side of my window. The way the sun caught them made shafts of glimmering light shoot across the room, creating miniature rainbows all over the place. It was beautiful.

But we couldn't lounge around alone for much longer as I was soon called back into the party as there were lots more gifts to open and partying to do. My final birthday present was a joint gift from Gabriel, Rose, Meredith and Wyatt. They had waited for everybody to leave before giving it to me... it was my very own computer.

They explained that even though they had split the cost between them, they had only been able to afford a second-hand laptop but it was in excellent order, Wyatt had said as he showed me how to work it.

“It wouldn't matter if it was out of the ark, it's fantastic” I told them as they laughed.

“We know you've only ever used computers at school and we know most kids have them these days and felt that you should no longer have to miss out on anything,” said Rose.

“Plus, it'll come in very handy for your research,” added Meredith.

No matter how hard I tried at that moment, I could not stop the tears from flowing down my cheeks.

I gave each one a big hug and thanked them from the bottom of my heart, knowing that I would use my new computer more than they could have imagined. There was now a whole world at the end of my fingertips and I was determined to discover it.

After the others had all gone home, I rang Jo to tell her the good news but, naturally, she'd already known and said that she'd had difficulty not saying something when she'd given me my MP3 player earlier in the day. We laughed and chatted for a little while before she told me that we could now chat online whenever we wanted to... as Gabriel had also organised for me to be hooked up to the internet.

“Which also means that you can finally keep in touch with your friend, December,” added Jo. She was right, of course; the last letter I had received from my only friend in England had included her email address.

In fact, that night before I went to bed, I created my own email address and promptly sent December a message telling her all about Thanksgiving, Christmas and my birthday. I knew she would be delighted.

Again, my life was changing dramatically and I was loving every second of it. I still thought about my father every day but was beginning to realise there was little I could do to find him on my own. I would need my family's help and to be able to get that, I had to wait until the spring. Until then, I would continue to read books and articles online.

And that's what I did over the course of the next month. When I wasn't at school, working with Ben, hanging out with Oliver, or chatting to December or Jo online, I would devour as much information as possible. I didn't just read about all the animals that might appear in my path but also about myths, legends and tales about the so-called supernatural world. I read about beings that were only supposed to exist in story books, but I knew different and I also knew that I needed to learn as much about them as possible. Naturally, much of what I read wasn't exactly strong factual information, but beliefs and, in some cases, pure fiction. Nevertheless, every little scrap of detail was devoured. The more I knew, whether it was entirely true or not, made me a stronger person. Or should I say a stronger raven or a stronger cat... which, I still didn't know.

I was fortunate that Oliver was interested in the same things as me. We spent much of our time watching spooky TV shows and movies, before discussing them in depth. Oliver, assuming that we just shared a common thrill for the supernatural, when I knew that the majority of what we saw was, more than likely, true.

CHAPTER TWENTY

As the end of January drew near, so my dreams began again. It had seemed like so many weeks since I'd had such vivid experiences during my sleeping hours that I had almost forgotten about them.

As the dreams intensified, one night I found they had an altogether different effect. I awoke to find myself sleepwalking through the house. Although it worried me a little, I decided against telling Gabriel. Fortunately I seemed to sleepwalk very quietly and had not stirred him from slumber. I didn't want to concern him with my latest predicament and the fact that I'd woken up while still within the house reassured me that I probably wasn't capable of opening the front door and going anywhere else.

I was wrong.

Just a few nights later I had one of the most vivid dreams to date...

As before, voices called to me from within the forest. Ethereal voices sang my name, beckoning me to follow. As I had done before, I followed the voices, keen to discover who it was and why they were calling me.

Before I knew it, I found myself approaching the tall trees that swayed in the softly blowing wind. I couldn't stop myself from following the sounds. Peering through the trees, I tried to see who the voices belonged to. My vision seemed blurred and I couldn't quite see but I did catch sight of a figure dressed in white. I pushed through the long branches and gently tiptoed through the cold mossy ground beneath my bare feet.

It's strange that in dreams I could walk barefooted in the snow and I didn't feel the slightest bit cold. In fact, the snow felt more like soft balls of moist cotton wool, squelching underfoot. I looked ahead and saw the figure moving like an angel in front of me. Or a ghost. She was not stepping but gliding along, almost as if she was on roller skates being pulled along on a smooth surface.

She didn't turn so I was still unable to identify her, yet the smooth tones of her voice continued to sing my name, beckoning me to follow.

“Lilly.... Lilly.... come Lilly.”

The forest soon became darker as the trees thickened ahead, the path we walked upon disappeared completely and I was forced to climb over huge tree roots that exploded from the ground underneath my toes. In areas it was slippery and I stumbled a few times but managed to stay upright.

Although I was vaguely aware that I was dreaming, I was conscious that the cast on my leg had only recently been removed so I had to be extra careful on my delicate bones.

“Lilly... Lilly...” sang the voice. Soon I heard another voice and she too sang out my name. I quickened my pace, feeling like I needed to know who was calling me, and why.

Just as I was close enough to see, I noticed that both women had long black hair. They turned and I gasped. Serena and Neleh stood before me, reaching out to me. My mother and my sister had called me this far but why? I tried to speak but no words would come out of my mouth. At the same time, they put their fingers to their own mouths, indicating that I shouldn't make a sound. Then they pointed ahead of them and as I tried to reach out to them again, I stumbled. But that time, I couldn't stop myself and I fell to my knees.

The jolt woke me immediately, but I found myself not in my bed. Not even in my home. But in the forest. In exactly the position I had dreamt I was.

I shivered uncontrollably and as I looked down I saw why. I had sleepwalked out of the house and into the forest in nothing but a pair of thick cotton pyjamas.

I panicked, thinking if I stayed out there like that, I would surely die of hypothermia. I would find myself with the same fate as my mother. Looking around, I tried to see a way back home but I was well and truly lost. Why would Serena do this to me? She wouldn't want me dead, so there must be a reason for her and Neleh to bring me here.

So I recalled the dream and remembered that they had been pointing in the opposite direction. I had no choice but to go where they had told me to go. After a minute of stumbling through the freezing cold, something caught my eye. A flicker of light. I quickened my pace. It wasn't just light, it was fire. Warmth.

I began to run, not caring about the scratches my poor feet and ankles were picking up as I went. Warmth was much more important to me at that point. As I approached, I could hear another voice. It was the voice of a man humming to himself, in perfect tune. It was a kind voice and, strangely, I didn't feel afraid.

I approached him. He hadn't heard or seen me so when a few twigs broke underfoot, he jumped and hid immediately behind the large tree he had been leaning on.

“Who goes there?” he asked.

The moment the words escaped from his lips, I felt even more at ease and so I rushed towards the fire and sat down, rubbing my poor feet and hands in an effort to warm up as quickly as possible.

“My name is Lilly Tulugaq,” I responded.

“You shouldn't be here, Lilly Tulugaq”, he said, “it is not safe for you here. You should be frightened.”

“Why would I be frightened... of the man that saved my life?” I questioned, recalling that stormy day when I had become trapped beneath an oversized log. Someone had rescued me and carefully placed my unconscious body somewhere safe where he knew I would get immediate attention. That person was the same person that hid behind the tree in front of me. I would have recognised that gentle voice anywhere.

As he stepped out from his hiding place, although the light did not allow me to see his face, I could see his silhouette and I was not prepared for what I saw.

His profile was that of a fit young man but as he moved to the side, he had something else that should have terrified me. Two huge black wings jutted out from his shoulder blades, immediately explaining the large black feather we had found in my hospital room.

“What are you?” I whispered, “Are you a raven?”

He laughed then and shook his head. “I wish I was. I am neither a raven nor a man. Not any more,” he said sadly.

“I don't understand.”

“I was once a man but an evil woman cursed me with these wings and now I am neither one thing nor another,” he said, sitting opposite me. It was then that he noticed I was wearing only pyjamas and he stood abruptly, making me jump in the process.

“Lilly... you could freeze to death like that. What were you thinking walking in the forest with hardly any clothes on? Not even any shoes? Are you insane?” he said as he rushed into what looked like a cave that was well hidden by the trees. Returning, he had old thick socks, walking boots that were several sizes too big and a large woolly blanket.

As he came closer to me to hand me everything, I caught a glimpse of his face and jumped backwards, suddenly very afraid.

“You... you're... Sammy Morton,” I muttered, confused and frightened.

He nodded in response and placed his hand gently on mine.

“Please don't be afraid of me, Lilly. I am not the killer that some people think I am. Neleh was everything to me. I loved her more than anything in the world. Come, sit close to the fire and get warm. I will explain. I will tell you the truth about what happened to your sister... and to your mother.”

His voice was so gentle and soothing, that I believed every word that he said and I instantly found it impossible to believe that someone like him could ever be thought of as evil. As a killer.

As I sat next to the fire, Sammy produced some hot tea for me, made, he said, from herbs he picked from around the forest. Over the past fourteen years he'd had little choice but to learn to fend for himself – teaching himself all about the different plants and animals. He had to learn how to hide from prying eyes and to defend himself from predators.

“But before I tell you about any of that, how did you find me here?”

I explained how I had been led to him by Serena and Neleh. How they had come to me in a dream.

“I understand now that they led me to you. They want the truth to be known... as I do,” I said, before letting him continue his story about how he ended up in the forest all alone.

“Neleh and I used to spend a lot of time here in this forest. Although we never dared come this far. Jack and Gabriel would have gone mad. We would just hang out... do what young lovers do,” he said sadly, before going on, “we were going to get married you, know? Neleh and I. But then that awful day happened and our dreams were snatched from us. From all of us. Not just from me and Neleh but from you, your father, Gabriel. All because of that evil witch.”

Of course that's when things started to click into place. That evil witch. He was talking about Vivian. She had been responsible for a lot more than we had initially thought and I was about to find out just how evil she really was.

“She killed Neleh,” he said and then he stood in front of me, his wings spread out majestically to his sides.

I realised that he had probably never spoken about it before. In fact it dawned on me then that I was probably the only person he had spoken to in fourteen years. Fourteen lonely years with no company except for the animals that lived within the trees surrounding us.

He had kept the heartbreak to himself for a long, long time and it would undoubtedly hurt him immeasurably just to say these words, but I didn't interrupt. I knew the benefit of talking about things. Hopefully this would be the start of his healing process, if it was still so raw.

“I had never known that Neleh was... was different,” he stuttered.

I didn't quite understand his meaning.

“Different?” I asked.

He looked at me, his wings finally slowly closing behind him, while he appeared to wrestle with something within his head. He nodded and asked me if I knew anything unusual about my family. A family secret, he asked.

It was then that I understood. Neleh had had the gene. She could change – the family just hadn't realised because it hadn't happened before she had died. At least if it had, she had never had the chance to tell anyone about it.

“Yes,” I nodded. “I understand what you mean. Could... could Neleh change?”

“I never knew about it until that day. In fact I'm not even sure that she knew herself. I had heard tales of such creatures but believed them to be nothing but fairy tales. We had ventured a little further into the forest. Neleh was so happy because you'd literally just been born – she'd always wanted a baby sister and so we were just hanging out together, having fun on our own. We'd left the hospital because we thought Serena and Jack should spend some quality time with you. We had taken a different path than usual and then we'd decided to investigate the area a bit more. That's when we found the little run-down old cottage, well hidden within the forest.”

“Neleh was so excited so we'd approached it, assuming it to be empty but it wasn't. When we got closer we heard a woman's voice chanting. I remember Neleh saying the voice was familiar so we'd looked through the window and we'd seen that nurse from the hospital. Vivian. She was wearing a long black robe and was reading from a thick heavy book. It wasn't your average book, either. Some kind of spell book, I'm guessing now,” he said, sighing as he gently threw some more wood onto the fire.

“What was she saying, Sammy?” I asked.

“None of it made any sense to me. It sounded foreign. Latin, perhaps. We wouldn't have really thought that much about it but then we saw the photos... all those photos,” he cried. “They were all over the cottage. Photos of Jack, your father. She was clearly obsessed. Neleh became angry and wanted to confront her. I tried to stop her but it was too late. She burst through the door and shouted at her. She was asking 'What the hell are you doing?' over and over. Vivian was taken aback but she just laughed, saying 'He's mine'. Neleh shook her head and said, 'Never. He loves my mother. He'll never leave her'.”

“What happened next?” I asked, afraid to hear the truth.

Sammy looked away from me for a moment and closed his eyes, shaking his head. I placed my hand on his shoulder to reassure him. He turned, smiled sadly and continued.

“Vivian's eyes. They ch... they changed – they became completely red, like the devil's and she just said, 'Well I'll just have to get rid of her... and you'. Vivian lunged forward and grabbed at Neleh's hair. She must have pulled out a handful of it because she yelled in pain. Vivian started laughing and laughing. This evil laugh. I'll never forget it. I tried to pull Neleh away but she suddenly became really strong. Then she changed. Neleh changed right in front of my eyes. She became this... this... big cat. She swiped at Vivian and caught her face. But Vivian killed her. She threw something at her, uttered a few strange words and the cat, Neleh, she just fell to the ground. She was dead. As I picked her up, she suddenly changed back into human form. But she was dead. She was dead,” he cried, devastated.

Tears slowly fell down my cheeks too as I realised that the woman I had thought was my own mother for fourteen years had actually been responsible for the brutal murder of my only sister.

“How did she do this to you? How did you get these wings?” I asked, horrified.

“I don't remember exactly what she said to me but I do recall her saying that she had something 'special' in store for me. She lunged at me and pulled at my hair. But I was so devastated about Neleh that I couldn't do anything. I didn't even try. I just picked up her body and walked out of that cottage. She didn't even try to stop me. I carried on walking until I got to Gabriel's house. When he opened the door and saw me there with her dead body, I know he thought it was me. I knew he thought I was responsible. I could tell from his eyes. I laid Neleh's body on the bed and I left. Gabriel was crying by her side and he didn't notice me go. That's when I decided to go back and see if I could catch her myself, but as I walked back through the forest, the most horrendous pain started in my back. It lasted for hours and hours and I couldn't do a thing. I couldn't move. I've never experienced pain like it,” he said.

“You were growing the wings,” I added and he nodded.

Sammy explained that he knew perfectly well that he could never return to the town, nor go anywhere near civilisation. Already people thought he was a killer and if they saw his wings, it would have just made things even worse. They would see him as the devil himself.

“Sammy, I'm so sorry about what happened to you. But we must tell Gabriel the truth. He will believe you now.”

“Perhaps he will but I can't go near the town. Not like this.”

“But you did when you rescued me,” I said hopefully, “Why did you do that?” I asked, not having realised the implications before.

“I couldn't save Neleh but I'll be damned if I let anything happen to her sister,” he said, with a smile.

I leaned my head on his shoulder, “Thank you”.

Sammy told me that occasionally he would fly or walk a little closer to town, keeping himself very well hidden where he would listen to the conversations of hikers, just to feel human again. One day he had heard two women talking about a young girl who had returned to live with her grandfather in Powell River. “When they mentioned Gabriel by name I knew it was you,” he said.

“Sammy, did you know that my mother had died too?” I asked.

He nodded, “She was murdered too. I think that was the spell Vivian was casting that day. She was trying to get rid of your mother and she succeeded. I'm so sorry, Lilly. If only I had managed to stop her.”

I reassured him that it would have been impossible. Nothing could have stopped her. Nothing at all.

For the next few hours, Sammy and I talked about what life had been like for the two of us over the years... me growing up in a kind of prison but not realising it until recently and him living in his own prison, hiding in the forest. We felt like life would begin to change again for us both, now that we had found each other. He was an important part of my family and I had to convince the rest of my family that this was so. But more importantly, I had to convince them that he was no killer. That Vivian was responsible for much more than just taking me and my father away from them.

But first, I had to get home.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

“Hold on tight, Lilly,” said Sammy as he put his arms carefully around me. His wings flared out to his sides and with a simple jump we moved skywards. Although terrifying, flying through the dark night was exhilarating.

The higher we flew, the colder the temperature became and I found myself shivering to such an extent that my teeth began to chatter.

“Don't worry, we're almost there,” Sammy said softly above the sound of his moving wings. I couldn't look down for fear. But soon enough, we were. He swooped down, staying within the safety of the forest although I recognised the area and knew I was close to home.

As we came to a standstill, he gently released his grip on me. “Are you alright?” Nodding, I hugged him tightly and told him that soon we would all be together again.

“How can I contact you though?” I asked, wondering how he would know when it was safe to return.

“I'll come back and meet you here again tomorrow night as soon as darkness comes. I'll stay hidden until I see you. Until then, Lilly. Keep safe. Good luck speaking to the rest of the family.”

I nodded as I watched him gracefully leap off into the sky again. I could hear his wings gently beating in the wind and wondered if, one day, I would be able to fly like that. I hadn't forgotten that I might possess the gene that could give me wings of my own. Or furry paws. But I was still waiting, nervously, for it to happen.

“Gabriel, Gabriel... wake up,” I said, gently shaking his shoulders as he slept peacefully, blissfully unaware of what had just happened to me.

As he came to, he suddenly sat upright and asked, “Lilly, are you alright? What on earth is the matter? Did you have another bad dream?”

I told him that I needed to talk to him urgently but I also needed to speak to Rose, Wyatt and Meredith... and Jo. “We must call them now and tell them to come over straight away. Something very important has happened.”

He turned and looked at his bedside clock. 4.57am.

“Perhaps it might be pertinent to just wait a couple of hours, Lilly. We don't want to worry the rest of the family... unless absolutely necessary. Is it, Lilly? Is it absolutely necessary?”

I thought for a moment and agreed that perhaps it could wait a few more hours. After all, it had waited fourteen years, what was another two hours?

I debated whether I should tell Gabriel about Sammy first but decided against it. I knew how he felt about the man and there was a possibility that he just might go a little mad at the mere mention of his name. At least with the others there, particularly Jo, they would help calm him down – that was my plan, anyway.

Gabriel wanted to know what was so urgent but I said I couldn't tell him until the others arrived. He wasn't delighted, of course, but he was understanding. Gabriel was always understanding. It was one of the many things that I loved about him.

We decided to telephone the others at 8am – it was a Sunday morning and calling any earlier might have panicked them, Gabriel had said.

Fortunately he hadn't noticed my unusual attire by then so I decided to go to my room and lie down for a while. It gave me the chance to remove Sammy's over large boots and hide them until the truth was told later.

Adrenaline pulsed through my body as I lay there, darkness disappearing for another day to be replaced by a gentle light as the sun slowly began its ascent. I thought about Sammy. He had spent fourteen years completely alone. Even though I had felt lonesome during my childhood years, I could have no idea what it must have been like to have had absolutely no interaction with other people during that time.

I wondered how he had managed to hang on to his sanity. Hidden from the world like some kind of freak, when that couldn't be any further from the truth.

This man was a gentle soul who had suffered more than any of us had at the hands of a truly evil witch. It saddened me more than words could describe that he was not part of this family. The family that would have been his had Neleh lived. He would have been my brother-in-law. In my eyes, he was and would always be Neleh's husband.

The others arrived as soon as they could after the phone call. Wyatt had also brought Jo, as I'd requested. The last to arrive was Rose at five to nine.

They all appeared to be consumed with worry but it wasn't too difficult to get them to calm down. They could see for themselves that I was safe and happy.

I had wondered about Meredith. I knew at times she had been able to read my thoughts but this time, she seemed totally oblivious as to what was going on in my head. I asked her about it and she told me that it's not something she can do all the time.

“It only happens occasionally and only when you are very close to me but I'm not getting anything at the moment,” she sighed, clearly wishing she was.

After I had made them all some hot tea, and requested that Gabriel bring the box of photos they had shown me before, I asked them all to sit in the living room together.

Gabriel handed me the box and I emptied it until I found the photograph I was looking for. The one of Sammy and Neleh happily together.

“I don't want any of you to worry, especially you Gabriel,” I said to start with, “and I don't want you to say anything until I've told you everything.”

Gabriel sighed and I continued, “Please, Grandfather. This is more important that anything. Not a word, okay?”

He nodded and smiled as best he could, unsure about what I was about to reveal.

“A few nights ago I had a dream and when I woke up, I discovered that it had caused me to sleepwalk.”

The others all looked at each other with worry.

“It's okay. That night I woke up inside the house and nothing happened to me,” I smiled before going on, “but last night something very different happened. I had the most vivid dream I have ever had and I sleepwalked... right into the forest.”

“Goodness, Lilly... you could have...” Rose began but I interrupted her.

“Please Rose, let me finish. I was led there by the ghosts of Serena and Neleh. They took me deep into the forest. I walked for a long time before I woke up but when I did, I knew that they had been trying to show me something. Well, not something, but someone,” I whispered.

I could tell my family were all biting their tongues, except Jo who was clearly excited and desperate to know the full story.

I held up the photo of Sammy and Neleh and said, “Last night I met Sammy Morton.”

Gabriel stood up so abruptly that he knocked his cup of tea to the floor.

“Lillian Tulugaq. What were you thinking? You could have got yourself killed. And then what? Then what?” he yelled and stormed out of the room.

That was exactly the kind of reaction I had dreaded, which was one of the reasons I had wanted the others to be there with me for support.

As I had imagined, Wyatt stood and followed him, as did Meredith who returned a moment later with a sponge and began mopping up the tea. She was soon followed by the others. Gabriel was obviously forced to bite his tongue, again.

I said nothing until everyone was sitting quietly.

“Sammy is not what you think he is. Sammy is not a killer.”

I could hear Gabriel huffing and trying so hard not to speak so I continued quickly.

“Sammy was a witness to my sister's death. Vivian is the true murderer.”

Although there were gasps, I could tell the information was being mulled over by them all.

“And he told you this, did he? And you naïvely believed him? Oh Lilly,” said Gabriel softly.

“There's more to it, Gabriel,” I said, “Sammy has been in hiding all these years. Not because he was involved in the death, but because she cursed him. She prevented him from being able to return home. She cursed him with wings. Two beautiful big black wings.”

Everybody suddenly began to speak at once and I waited a moment before hushing them so I could continue, “Sammy was the one who saved my life. He rescued me and you still have that feather to prove it... don't you, Gabriel?”

He stood then, his face white as a sheet and he walked into another room, returning with the feather that proved what I had been telling them was the truth.

“Goodness. All these years,” began Rose, “all these years he has been persecuted in so many ways. He was never even given the benefit of the doubt.”

“That's not all,” I said, “Sammy and Neleh saw Vivian putting some kind of spell on Serena. He believes that she was putting a spell on her to get rid of her. That's how Neleh was killed. She confronted Vivian and she was murdered, but not before...” I took a breath.

“Not before what Lilly?” asked Jo eagerly.

“Not before Neleh changed into a cat.”

Rose smiled then, “So she did carry the gene. And I thought I would never know the truth.”

“The scar that Vivian had on her face in this photograph was put there by Neleh. She managed to swipe at her with her claws seconds before she died.”

We all sat in silence for a few moments, letting the news sink in.

“So where is Sammy now?” asked Gabriel at last.

I explained that he had created some kind of a home within a cave deep in the forest, far from the town. He couldn't risk being seen by anybody. “He knew that if anyone saw him, he would be taken away like some kind of freak. He is such a gentle man. Even now, after all that has happened to him. Even after being so alone for all these years, he is still a truly wonderful, gentle man. He should be a part of this family. The way he was meant to be,” I said sadly.

Gabriel finally conceded and nodded, “I feel absolutely terrible. How could I not have known this?”

“He hid from the world. He didn't want anybody to know,” I replied.

“But the Elders. This is something the Elders should have known. We must go and see him,” he said.

Again, I explained that it would be very difficult to find his hiding place but told them that he had said he would return not far from the house that evening.

“He wants to meet with you all too,” I whispered, as a tear rolled down my cheek, knowing that he would finally be welcomed into our home with open arms. Fourteen years later than he should have been.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

That day had turned out to be one of the most surreal days I had spent in Canada so far. For me it hadn't been so hard to understand what had really happened all those years ago, because I had only learned the truth about myself a few short months before. I knew it was tougher for the rest of the family though as they had fourteen-year-old beliefs that had to be undone.

Of course they believed me when I'd told them what had happened – there was no reason for them not to. But it would be when they met Sammy again that the truth would really sink in. When they saw how much suffering he had been through, not just physically, but emotionally too, they would take him in with open arms. I had no doubt about that.

And it was this reason that I couldn't wait for the reunion to take place. I willed the hours to pass by, for darkness to fall.

There was another problem I had to deal with though. As much as I craved to be with Oliver that day, I knew I couldn't. He would have known there was something going on. Something big. And I couldn't tell him what it was. Oliver was as innocent and naïve about the truth of this world as I had been on my arrival to this magical place. If I told him that there were such things as witches who could cast evil spells, he would think I had gone completely mad. Wouldn't he?

When he had phoned me that morning to organise a time to come and pick me up, I had to make excuses not to go out with him, and that hurt me. I hated lying to him. But what choice did I have?

It was then that I began to wonder whether our relationship would survive. As much as I was falling for him, I knew that if he was kept in the dark, our relationship would predominantly be based on lies. And what relationship can survive that? But more importantly, it wasn't fair on him. There was love, but a really successful relationship had to be based on many things. Yes, love was at the top of the list, but it was followed closely by trust and honesty. No relationship could survive without all three.

I was forbidden to talk about our family's raven gene and the fact that I had been raised by a witch posing as my mother. I could not tell anyone that I knew this world was not just inhabited by normal animals and human beings, but also by werecats, werewolves, vampires, halflings, changelings and so on. I had to keep the secret, even if it meant ruining my own chances of love.

Sadness overwhelmed me but I wasn't ready to give up just yet. I had to try and be a normal teenager. Surely over the centuries, other half human half creatures had successful relationships with other humans... hadn't they?

I needed to find out and so later that day, I broached the subject with the person I knew would offer me the wisest words, Rose.

“I knew this subject would come up at some stage, dear, and it's a difficult one to answer. Sure, there have been relationships between changelings and humans. But not all of them have survived, I'm afraid. Yet others have,” she said with a sad smile, as I caught the remnants of a memory flashing across her eyes.

“What about you, Rose? Did you have someone once?” I asked, eager to find out what she had been thinking about.

We were standing in her conservatory where she kept a number of beautiful flowers. As she spoke she sprayed them gently with water, carefully breathing more life into the stunning different specimens of roses.

Her face lit up immediately as she said his name. Walter.

“He was the love of my life,” she said as she placed the water bottle down and turned to face me. She then opened a cupboard and pulled out an old photo album, the pages had become slightly withered with age.

She handed it to me and as I opened it, I could see it contained photos from many years ago. Most were black and white. The majority of them were of a very handsome young man with fair hair. There were a few which showed him standing very close to a stunning young woman with dark hair and very familiar cat-like eyes. It was Rose. Although she had aged, she was instantly recognisable. About half way through the album, the pages became empty. I felt a pang of pain for her; I guessed that he had not lived past his thirties, perhaps not even his mid twenties, judging by the images.

“What happened?” I asked, intrigued.

It was clearly, even after all these years, still painful to recollect but she spoke gently, “He just disappeared,” she said, taking my hand in hers.

So that was why it was painful for her to talk about it – because she knew it might be painful for me too. She knew that her words would reverberate with me. He simply vanished. Just as my own father had.

As she spoke, she flipped to the back of the album where a single photograph had been glued down. This one contained the image of not just the couple in love but of a tiny baby too.

“One day he took her out in her pram for a walk and they never returned. Nobody saw them. It was a complete mystery,” she stuttered, trying to hold back the tears.

“Rose, I'm so sorry,” I said wishing I could do something but knowing full well that I couldn't. When my father had disappeared it must have been absolute hell for poor Rose. It was as if she was re-living history. It must have been hell for her those fourteen years earlier too. A man and his baby being taken away from his family like that.

I felt such pain for her. Not only had she lost the man she adored, but she had lost their only bond, a tiny little daughter.

“How old was she?” I asked.

“Six months exactly,” she said as she blotted her eyes with a white cotton handkerchief, “her name was Lori.”

“When did they disappear?”

“A long, long time ago, my dear. He was 30 years old. I had just turned 21,” she answered before closing the album and putting it back in its resting place, before continuing, “we had known each other for many years and had begun dating when I was 16. Some people weren't so keen on us being together because of the age gap but we didn't care what they thought. We were so in love. We were soul mates and little Lori was the icing on our cake. That's what we used to say,” she said.

“Did he know about your... your 'abilities'?”

She chuckled then and nodded, “Things were a little different back then. I didn't know I could change until I was 18 and it wasn't because I was told. It was because it just happened one day. I was terrified. I didn't know what was happening to me. Luckily it happened while I was at home and my mother was visiting. Walter was out at the time and my mother had heard a commotion in my room. She walked in and I was no longer Rose the teenager. I was Rose the Canadian Lynx. You can imagine my shock when she began speaking to me softly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. She calmed me down though and I soon changed back to my human form. It was while I was changing back that Walter came home.”

“I bet that gave him the shock of a lifetime,” I said and she nodded.

“It was the only time I have ever seen a man faint,” she laughed. “When he eventually came to, he thought he'd had a strange dream but then he saw my ripped clothes and knew it hadn't been a dream at all. He took it surprisingly well. It was a shock to the both of us on the same day, and so we had to come to terms with it together.”

“So he accepted that it was a part of who you are?” I asked eagerly, thinking that perhaps Oliver would do the same.

“I was very lucky,” she nodded before slowly adding, “but his parents weren't killed by wildcats.”

The excitement that had been building within me was ripped out of me and I slumped back in the chair, closing my eyes and fighting back the tears that threatened to break loose.

“Lilly, Oliver and Ben have been through a lot over the years. They have had to come to terms with the fact that both their mother and father were killed by two wild mountain lions. If you told them now that you may well be an animal of the feline variety, they could see you as a huge threat. It's very risky,” she said gently. “You're still very young, Lilly. Oliver is your first boyfriend. Are you absolutely certain that he is the one? Because if he's not... and he finds out about this family, all hell could break loose. There are so many things you need to think about, to take into consideration. Ultimately though, it's up to you. We can't tell you what you should be doing with your life. That's for you to decide.”

Of course I knew what she said was true and, although it hurt in the pit of my stomach, I had gone to Rose for a reason. I trusted her and so I knew I had to think long and hard about my decision.

There was so much going on in my life and perhaps stringing Oliver along was the worst thing I could do. The problem was that my feelings for him were getting stronger. They were strengthened every time I saw him.

But on the other hand, I had to think of him and I did know that he would undoubtedly be safer not knowing the truth. But how could he continue to be such a big part of my life and not know? I felt so confused.

As I watched Rose continue to prune her beloved flowers, I couldn't help but think what a remarkable woman she was. She had been through so much, losing her true love and their daughter – and had never known what had happened to them – and yet she had remained clear-headed and, well, normal. She had continued to be a strong and loving woman in spite of it all.

It was then that I thought about how Vivian had taken my father and me away from our family, and I wondered whether someone like Vivian could have been responsible for Walter's disappearance too. I didn't mention it though; I had already drudged up enough heartbreaking memories. I didn't want to cause any more grief. As I left Rose's house a little while later, I thought that perhaps it was something I could talk about with Gabriel.

Walking back down the pathway through the trees, I decided to take the scenic route home, stopping along the shoreline to watch a single fisherman catch a small fish off in the distance. I began to think about Oliver and decided that I ought to ask Gabriel for his advice.

He was pleased that I wanted his opinion on the matter, particularly because he had raised the two boys himself and knew how difficult it was to keep the truth from them.

“But I am a strong believer in fate, Lilly, and if Oliver is meant to be in your life, then he will be.”

“But how can he be and not know the truth. Surely he needs to know who I really am. Who we really are. Doesn't he, and Ben, deserve to know the truth about the family that raised them?” I asked, almost wishing for him to just say 'yes, let's tell them the truth'.

But he shook his head and reiterated that what will be, will be.

As the afternoon turned into evening, the sky slowly became darker and the crucial family members began to arrive again. My worries about Oliver began to move towards the back of my mind as I began to feel excited about seeing Sammy again. I was eager for him to be welcomed into the family again after all these years. At least that was what I hoped would happen.

The six of us (again we were joined by Jo, on my request, for extra support) assembled just beyond the opening to the forest, where I'd followed my mother's ghost the night before, and stood huddled together for warmth as we awaited the arrival of Sammy.

We didn't have to wait long. We could hear the soft flapping of wings from above. It wasn't a frightening sound, just like a rather large bird flying down from the sky. Except for the fact that this bird was a man.

Over the years he had clearly perfected his flying and landing techniques and as he swooped down quite a few metres from us, he came to a gentle halt, before walking very slowly towards us.

I rushed forward with open arms and as I approached him, I could almost feel the tension from behind me but I ignored it completely, hugging Sammy like the long lost brother that he was.

“Sammy,” I whispered, “don't worry. I've explained the truth. They know what happened now and they have nothing against you... but it's been such a long time and it might take a little while for them to accept you and to come to terms with everything. Please bear with them.”

His face belied his body language, which was cool and confident. I could see in his eyes that he was nervous. Scared, even, about what was about to happen.

I took his hand in mine, and together we turned to face my family. We walked towards them and waited.

“Sammy... oh dear Sammy,” cried Rose, “we're so sorry” and she rushed forward and took him into a big hug, sobbing. I could see that she wasn't the only one crying. As I looked closely at all their faces, all were wet with tears and I smiled as they rolled down my own cheeks too.

This is what my mother and Neleh had wanted. They had wanted the truth to be known. They had wanted me to find Sammy and bring him home and that is exactly what was happening before my eyes.

Gabriel took his hand in both of his own then and smiled. He didn't say a word, he just stood looking at the man he had once held responsible for the death of two beloved family members. He now knew that he had been totally and utterly wrong.

Jo later told me that she had been a little afraid at first. Although she knew of the amazing things our family could do, she had never actually seen anything like that before and had hovered in the background waiting to be introduced, nervously.

Of course as soon as I'd done so, her nerves had melted away and she was won over by Sammy's gentle soul.

As we huddled together for warmth, we walked back towards the house, checking that there was nobody out and about before we quickly rushed indoors, cautiously hiding that magnificent set of wings. It was the first time that Sammy had set foot indoors in so many years and the simple act led him to break down in tears as he looked around and saw that everything was pretty much as it had been all those years before.

Meredith patted him on his back before quickly jerking her arm away for fear of hurting him. It broke the ice instantly and he laughed at her reaction, “It's okay”, he said, “they won't break. They're pretty strong,” as he wiped away the tears from his face.

“Come Sammy, come and sit down with us. Let's make some hot coffee, or tea?” Gabriel asked, unsure as to what Sammy would like to drink. We all wondered about what he must have survived on all these years and Sammy smiled, “It's been a long time since I had coffee,” he smiled.

“Coffee it is then,” said Gabriel standing quickly.

“No Gabriel, I'll do it. You guys have got rather a lot of catching up to do. Let me make the coffee,” said Jo as I walked with her into the kitchen, leaving them to reminisce about the happy times and get to know each other all over again.

Later that evening, it was decided that Sammy would move in with us. Gabriel's house was close enough to the forest and had easy access should Sammy need more space. And of course, should he need to hide from anybody that would visit for any reason.

Sammy shed plenty of tears that night, as all of us did. As I had hoped, he was welcomed back into the family with open arms. All was as it should have been. But there were still so many questions that needed to be answered. Things we needed to figure out together. A future to plan. A father, a son and a brother to find and bring home.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

The next few weeks were fairly uneventful and seemed to go by quickly. Sammy was a joy to be around and he and Gabriel were developing a close bond. He had even been introduced to the rest of the family, after they had suspected something pretty major was going on. Gabriel knew that it was wrong to keep it from them.

Meredith's husband John and their son Cormac as well as Wyatt's wife, Sonya, were told of his existence prior to them coming over to our house. They were told that a discovery had been made that proved, contrary to popular belief, that Sammy Morton was innocent. That he had nothing to do with Neleh's murder or Serena's 'suicide'. They weren't told, however, about the shocking curse that had been placed upon him until the small group arrived at the house.

Because they were aware of the strange creatures that already inhabited our world, they weren't as shocked as I thought they would be. Cormac, however, nearly fell off his chair when Sammy walked in with his huge wings on full view. After a few minutes, though, he declared it to be 'cool' and wanted to know if he could see him fly. Again, the ice was broken and Sammy no longer needed to be hidden from the rest of the family. Who he did need to be hidden from, however, were two men who had been a big part of the family for many years... Ben and Oliver.

Although it was discussed at length, we all felt the same. With their parents killed by wild animals, they needed to be shielded from the truth. The truth that could hurt them. So during those few weeks, I had to prevent Oliver from coming to the house. I knew eventually he would become suspicious but until then, I would go on as normal.

Unfortunately, things didn't go quite as planned.

It was an evening in early March. Gabriel had gone out to celebrate an old friend's birthday and Sammy and I were enjoying an evening in alone. We had eaten pizza and were watching an old film on the television. Ever since Sammy had moved in, we had just clicked. After all, we did have a lot in common. We had both spent many lonely years forced to live without so many things. Although I'd had a few creature comforts, there had been none for Sammy.

We had gone without things like TV and pizza so whenever we had the chance, we would savour every moment.

That night we were being silly and giggling away when there was a knock on the door. Sammy became nervous.

“Hide,” I whispered, giving him a few moments to slip away somewhere in the house.

“Who is it?” I yelled through the door, and as I slowly opened it, there was a beaming Oliver.

“Happy Valentine's Day,” he said with a beaming smile.

“But it's not Valentine's Day,” I answered hoping that Sammy had managed to hide himself well.

He grinned again and produced from behind his back a single rose. Handing it to me, he said, “I know, but as we haven't been able to do much together lately, and we couldn't celebrate Valentine's Day, I thought I'd surprise you tonight. I know Gabriel is at a birthday party so I figured you'd be alone.”

He bent down and kissed me softly on the lips. My concern for Sammy, however, meant that I didn't respond the way I should have.

He pulled back and looked at me strangely, “Is everything alright, Lilly?” he asked.

I nodded but I knew I had never been a very good liar.

“What is it?” he asked.

I smiled, trying to think of something to say when we both heard a noise from indoors.

It dawned on Oliver that I was not alone. He knew I was hiding something and I had no explanation. I was mortified and worried to the core.

“Oh God, Lilly. Are you seeing someone else?”

“No, of course not,” I whispered in response, though not convincingly enough for him. If only I could just tell him the truth.

Suspicion got the better of him and he pushed open the front door and walked in, “So who is he, Lilly? Is it someone I know? Someone from school?”

I repeated over and over again that there was nobody else but he just didn't believe me. He walked into the living room and when he saw two plates and two glasses, he knew, for sure, that I certainly wasn't on my own.

“Oliver, please don't do this. Of course I'm not seeing anybody else. You're the only one,” I sobbed.

“Then why all the secrecy, Lilly? Why have you been avoiding me for the past month or so?”

Again I was speechless, there was nothing I could say.

When I heard the front door slam, I knew that Sammy had made a run for it towards the forest.

Oliver followed and I was terrified that he would see him. I tried to grab him but I wasn't quick enough.

I followed hot on his heels and knew that he had seen the man leaving the house.

“Who are you?” shouted Oliver.

I watched in horror as Sammy turned slowly and the realisation hit Oliver smack in the face.

“But you're... you're a murderer. You're Sammy Morton. Oh my God, what the...? Wings?,” he said. Something clicked within Oliver then and I could see that he was going to try to catch him.

“No, just let him go Oliver,” I yelled as loud as I could, running faster than I'd ever ran before, chasing after them. The two men that meant the world to me. It was then that something extraordinary happened to me.

As I ran, I could feel a dramatic change within me. A fierce pain shot through my entire body, stopping me dead in my tracks. I screamed out in agony and at the same time noticed that Oliver had stopped abruptly and turned to see why I had yelped so loudly. For a moment, Oliver became the least of my problems as I felt my body trying to shut itself down. It was trying to black out. I fought the feeling to lose consciousness and remained awake throughout the process in which my body began to radically change beyond all recognition.

I had been wondering when this would happen but had not prepared myself for the fact that it might happen during the most inopportune time. Why, oh why did it have to happen while Oliver was there?

The ferocity of the pain continued to attack my every pore and I felt as though I wanted to die, and although it felt like this change took a long time, I knew deep down that it had almost been instantaneous.

I knew then that I was no longer the innocent young fourteen-year-old girl that had been chasing after Sammy and Oliver in the forest. And as I looked down, I saw the full extent of my new self. I saw that in place of my long pale arms and legs were four limbs of a completely different nature. Long, lean, incredibly strong and covered in soft black fur, I knew that my change into a feline was complete. Judging from my size, I realised that I wasn't your average house cat but a much larger animal. To my horror, it dawned on me that I had become one of the most fierce feline creatures in the region. I had morphed into a black mountain lion and I will never forget the look of absolute terror on Oliver's face at the sight of me. It would haunt me forever.

I had no idea what to do. For some reason I had not questioned Rose enough about the physical changes that happen during a transformation and we had certainly never discussed what I should do when it did occur.

After witnessing Sammy fly off into the distance, Oliver had then seen me become something terrifying, especially in his eyes, seen as I had become the very creature that had been responsible for his own parents' death. I watched as the utter shock of it all caused him to collapse right in front of my eyes.

Terrified that the shock had killed him, I rushed to his side and put my head above his mouth. I could feel his breath and his heartbeat was strong yet incredibly fast – I could hear and almost feel the rhythmic beating without even touching him. I dared not touch him in case he suddenly awoke. That would be an even greater shock, I was sure of it.

I came to the conclusion that he had most likely fainted. He needed to be taken back to the house but, being on four legs I knew I couldn't do it myself. I had no choice but to call out to Sammy and hope that he was merely hiding and had not flown too far away.

Forgetting that I couldn't call out his name, I tried to make some kind of noise to get his attention. It was difficult but I managed a deep howl. He returned almost immediately, landing just a few metres away from us. I could just see his face and I knew that he was not afraid of what I had become. He had witnessed his own girlfriend change into a cat, albeit briefly, and so the sight of me changing wasn't something that caused too much concern.

As if reading my mind, he approached quickly, bending down to pick up the still unconscious Oliver. Living alone in the forest for fourteen years had helped him become stronger than an average man and so he lifted him with ease. He walked as fast as he could back to the house, while at the same time I rushed off into the distance, heading towards the one person I knew would be able to help me in these strange circumstances I had found myself in. I ran as fast as my hind legs would propel me, trying to keep myself hidden, until I reached Rose's house.

I let out another howl as soon as I arrived, causing all of the other cats in the vicinity to howl back. Rose appeared quickly in the doorway, a look of concern across her face.

I approached her, not knowing how to tell her what had happened but she knew something wasn't right. As she peered down at me fearlessly, I bowed my head and looked to the ground, trying hard to think of a way to help her know that it was me. But I needn't have worried, for she knew immediately who I was.

“So it has happened, Lilly,” she said softly and I nodded, “I knew you would become a special beast. A black mountain lion, eh? Excellent,” she chuckled.

Rose then stepped right up to me and bent down so our faces were parallel to each other. She looked deep into my eyes and sensed the urgency.

I watched as she made the immediate decision to change too, “for speed,” she had whispered while still in human form. I nodded and then watched as the old lady morphed into a creature of grace, beauty and speed – all in a matter of seconds, completely silently except for the ripping on her clothes. It appeared that her change had happened painlessly.

It was only when she had become a smaller cat than me that we could communicate effectively. Although we were unable to physically speak to each other, we were able to read each other's minds. I explained to her exactly what had happened and I listened intently as she responded, telling me that we needed to get to Oliver immediately.

She sprang into action, leaping quickly and effortlessly down through the tall trees in the direction of my home. I followed as quickly as I could, noticing that we were using a different route to that which I had become accustomed. An easier route for beasts that could move the way we could, fitting through gaps within the trees that I would have struggled with in my human form.

I had little time to dwell on the change that had happened to me but I did notice a few things. My senses were like nothing I'd ever experienced before. Not only could I smell things I would never have even noticed, my eyesight and hearing were second to none too. But I couldn't think about that. I needed to think about Oliver. What had I done? We would never be the same again. He would hate me and wouldn't even want to lay his eyes on me, probably for the rest of his life.

I knew there was nothing I could do to change his feelings for me. I just hoped that he would be able to keep our secret. That was even more important than anything else now.

As I followed behind Rose, my mind strayed again and I couldn't help but notice how gracefully she moved. Graceful in human form, graceful in feline form – she was a true beauty.

Minutes later as we arrived at home, I wondered how I would change back. I had no idea how I had changed in the first place so I didn't know what to do. I watched as Rose didn't even give it a second thought. Well practised in the art, I watched as the cat grew larger, the fur giving way to pale skin and the whiskers disappearing from her face, her claws becoming long slender fingers. I was about to discover an unfortunate side effect of the change though, as she stood up proudly, I saw that she was completely naked.

She looked down at me and smiled, “It's something you'll have to get used to, I'm afraid,” she said.

“I've had many years to come to terms with it,” and then she opened the front door and tiptoed in quietly. I skulked in behind her, watching her as she opened a cupboard that I hadn't even noticed before and pulled out a pair of black trousers, a grey sweater and a pair of black pumps, which she hastily dressed herself with.

“I'll explain later,” she whispered.

Sammy appeared then, recognising Rose's dulcet tones.

“He's still out cold,” he whispered, “I didn't want to try and wake him in case he freaked out again. I think he's okay though.”

Rose nodded and told us to stay out of the room. She didn't want him to wake up and see us before he saw anyone else. She asked Sammy to call Gabriel immediately.

After he had done so, he came over to me and gently put his hand on the back of my neck, “Don't worry, Lilly. I'm sure everything will be alright.”

I let out a sigh and sat down on the cold stone floor, wishing I could morph back into human form. I wanted to speak to Sammy so badly but I couldn't. There was no way he could understand me so I just curled up on the floor, waiting. Waiting for something to happen.

We heard Rose's voice from Gabriel's bedroom, where Sammy had lay Oliver down until he came to. Although we couldn't hear what she was saying, we could tell that she was reasoning with him. Occasionally, his voice could be heard too – but he never shouted. There was no anger there, which was at least something to soothe my worrying head.

It wasn't much later when I heard the sounds of an engine roaring up the driveway. Gabriel was home. I leapt up, not sure what to do with myself but before I could do anything, Gabriel was at the door, opening it.

As he rushed in, he gasped at the sight of me with Sammy.

Speechless for a second, he suddenly gushed, “Lilly?”

I nodded and rushed to his side, brushing my head against his legs gently. I was afraid he might be angry but he looked so proud and he smiled at me warmly for a moment until Sammy filled him in on the evening's events.

“Oliver?” he said, “Where is he?”

“Rose is with him now. They're in your room.”

He patted me on the head and told us both to just stay in the living room out of the way until he had spoken to him.

I was desperate to see Oliver for myself. I was desperate to speak to him and plead forgiveness for keeping this from him. But the sight of me wouldn't help my case.

I watched as the door shut slowly behind Gabriel and waited patiently, not able to do anything but pace up and down the living room floor.

“Come and sit down, Lilly. There is nothing you can do,” said Sammy kindly.

I shook my head and sighed heavily, wishing that there was something I could do.

Then the phone rang. Knowing that he shouldn't answer it in case it was someone other than a family member, he picked it up without saying a word and listened carefully. It was Jo, however. Relieved to hear a friendly voice, he recounted what had happened and she told him she would be right over.

Luckily she only lived a stone's throw away so she arrived within a few minutes.

With a gentle knock on the door, Sammy gingerly peered through the window to make sure it was her. When he saw that it was, he opened the door and she stepped in, becoming speechless at the sight of me in all my feline glory.

“Wow, Lilly. This is amazing. You're a... you're a mountain lion. A black one!” she exclaimed, stating the obvious. “Do you mind if I stroke your head?” she asked tentatively.

I shook my head and she moved closer to me and I felt her hand softly touch the top of my head and move slowly down my back. It was a soothing motion, helping me to feel a bit calmer after everything that had happened.

Suddenly the bedroom door opened and Rose appeared, shutting it behind her.

“It's good of you to come, Jo. I think Lilly needs as much support as she can get right now. I'm afraid Oliver's not taking this very well.”

I sighed loudly once again, wishing I could rewind time and save Oliver and myself all this heartache. Although he was probably feeling something far more than heartache – shock, outright disgust, perhaps?

As the three spoke amongst themselves for a few moments, I tried to will myself to change back, closing my eyes hard and thinking, 'change, change, change'. But nothing happened and so I had no choice but to wait until it occurred naturally.

“Well, I have said everything that I can say. Done everything that I can do and Gabriel is the best person to reason with Oliver at this stage, so I think you and I should go back to my house, Lilly. Jo, can you stay for a while? Gabriel might need you.”

Jo agreed and asked whether she should call anyone else.

“I'll leave that up to Gabriel. He will let you know. Just wait for him, okay?”

Again she nodded, “I'll make us some tea, Sammy. You two go. Don't worry. I'm sure everything will be alright.”

Rose beckoned me to follow her as she opened the front door and so we walked in silence for a few minutes before she turned to look at me and smiled.

“A mountain lion, eh?” she said with pride.

“Your mother would have been so proud of you, Lilly. Of course we knew that you wouldn't just be any old cat... or raven,” she added.

It was then that I thought about ravens. I had become a cat, not a bird. Gabriel must have been a little disappointed that I had inherited my mother's genes and not my father's. Especially considering there was no other family member, at that stage, that was able to become the bird of our ancestors.

I thought how great it would have been to be able to fly, but as I looked around at my surroundings and smelled the wonderful things I could smell and heard the extraordinary things I could hear, I didn't feel any disappointment. Although I still wondered how I was going to return to my old self and I dreaded the pain that I had felt earlier that evening, I was still amazed at my whole transformation.

It hadn't happened how I had hoped it would. I had imagined myself something like Professor McGonagall in Harry Potter who could change in the blink of an eye, without an ounce of pain. That is how I'd wanted it to happen and in the company of a select few. Certainly not in the company of Oliver. But that is exactly what had happened and I couldn't take it back. My relationship with him was ruined. Totally and utterly ruined. And there was nothing I could do about it.

Rose had become quiet once again, deep in thought, I imagined as we trampled through the undergrowth beneath the tall trees and headed in the direction of her home. Although I wasn't looking where I was going, I knew we were close because I could hear all of her cats. I could smell them too but more than anything I could almost feel the sound of their hearts, beating gently, keeping them alive.

Of course I could 'feel' Rose's heartbeat even louder than anything, and it was beating a little quicker than when we had left my house. I looked up at her and it amazed me that this 70-plus (she still hadn't told me her actual age) year-old woman was capable of such a massive transformation. She was still incredibly fit and agile. She was a force to be reckoned with and I was intensely proud that I could call her family.

We arrived at the front door and as she pushed it open, Scully was the first to rush out. The hair on her back raised high as she saw me and she arched her back. I noticed that her eyes had become as black as coal again as she stared deep into my eyes. I just stood still, waiting for some kind of recognition. It didn't take long. Within seconds, she relaxed completely and approached me, purring happily.

Rose smiled too and patted her on the back, “I knew she would recognise you. She just needed a moment,” she said.

As I entered the house, I had similar experiences with the rest of the animals and soon it was as normal, the cats curling up in various nooks and crannies wherever they could.

Rose walked into the kitchen and sat down, taking off her black pumps and replacing them with a pair of warm slippers.

“Right,” she said, “we need to get you back to Lilly, the girl. As much as I love this new look.”

I sat beside her and waited for her to tell me what to do.

“And don't worry, I've got clothes for you to wear here,” she laughed. “You'll find that it becomes very useful to keep clothes at the homes of all our family members,” she laughed.

“Now, the key is to relax. It's really quite simple but it will take some getting used to.”

I tried to do as she said but nothing happened and so I sat and focused on relaxing and being calm. Nothing. I was still a mountain lion.

“Okay, let's try something different. Lie down completely,” I did as she said and curled up on the soft rug besides the kitchen counter top.

“Now close your eyes. Slow your breathing down and relax. Feel as though your muscles are falling away from your bones. That's it. Breathe in slowly. Breathe out slowly. In. Out. In. Out.”

Sure enough, as I completely relaxed my body, I felt something happen within me. There was no pain like before. It was incredibly uncomfortable but strangely pain free. And finally, moments later, I felt my whole body become human again. I opened my eyes to find Rose had gone. I stood up and turned round, conscious of my nakedness. At first I had felt very warm but I soon grew cold.

Rose appeared from another room carrying a pair of pink pyjamas and some thick purple woolly socks. “I told Gabriel you would stay here tonight. I think it's for the best,” she said as she handed me the warm clothes. I slipped them on, quickly warming up before I thanked her.

Once dressed, she hugged me long and hard, “It's a tough life sometimes, Lilly. We can never know what's going to happen. But you mustn't worry yourself over Oliver. What's done is done. He will survive.”

For the first time since early that evening, I broke down in tears. They flowed for a long time afterwards. No matter how hard I tried to choke them back, my cheeks would become soaked once again. Rose was the perfect company. She knew exactly what to say and when not to say anything and I was particularly grateful for her wisdom that night.

When my eyes and cheeks finally became drier, we decided to make some hot chocolate and we ended up staying awake for hours talking about love, life, Serena, Neleh, Walter, Lori, Sammy, Oliver, December and everything else that mattered to us both. We bonded more that night than we had ever done before. Rose had become something of a surrogate mother to me.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

I didn't speak to Oliver again after that. I tried phoning him but he ignored all my calls. My emails bounced back and my letters were returned unopened.

Gabriel had reasoned with him and thankfully he had agreed to keep our family's secret, but at a price. The price being that he no longer wanted to be a part of our lives.

I was heartbroken. Not just for me but for Gabriel who cherished him and had done so ever since he was born, and particularly since he became a foster parent to him after the death of his parents.

I was also sad for his brother Ben who was completely unaware about what had happened. Oliver had agreed Ben was better off not knowing the truth that surrounded him. He then left Powell River, out of our lives. I knew that the fault lay entirely with me.

Ben had attempted to find out the truth behind his sudden departure but we refused to give him any more details than absolutely necessary. All he had been told was that Oliver and I had a huge disagreement, so big that he no longer wanted to live here. Apparently, he'd told Ben he had always yearned for more than being stuck in Powell River, so it seemed the perfect  time to get away and explore what he really wanted out of life.

Not being the kind of person to pry, Ben accepted what he had been told. The excuses made sense to him, and so he carried on life as normal. Well, as normal as could be expected considering his beloved younger brother had effectively run away.

I could tell that it pained him that Oliver had left, but he told me that, regardless of his reasons for leaving, he was also proud that Oliver had decided to stand on his own two feet and had left for his own adventure.

After several weeks when I asked after Oliver, Ben told me that he regularly talked to him on the phone but when I asked for more details – how he was, where he was, etc, Ben just said that he was doing okay but that he had promised Oliver not to tell me where he was or what he was doing. His only message to me: 'please stay away and don't try to contact me'. When Ben told me those words, I hid myself away for a while, shed a few tears and did my best to move on, but it wasn't easy.

Although I blamed myself, I refused to let it affect my life negatively. I still had a life and I intended to live it as best as I could. That didn't mean I didn't miss Oliver though. I missed him terribly. He had been such an important part of my early life in Canada and I wished that things had happened differently with him. He deserved it... and so did I.

My life continued, not quite as normal as before, but continued nonetheless. With Oliver no longer in the picture, Sammy didn't have as much to worry about because we rarely had any other visitors to our home. The two of us became very close, he was like a brother to me and I loved him dearly and I knew he loved me too. I was the little sister he had never had and with us both having things to hide, we shared a lot in common. There were days we would spend hours in the forest, Sammy showing me how he had lived there for so many years.

Throughout that lonely time, he'd had no choice but to become totally self sufficient – hunting for food and furs to keep himself warm during the winters, creating shelter, building fires... he taught me all of this and more, at the same time helping me to develop my own fitness and strength too.

Whilst there, deep in the forest with him, usually during the hours of darkness, I spent much of my time as a mountain lion, running stealthily through the trees below with Sammy flying just above the tree tops. We would spend hours racing against each other and having fun.

It hadn't really occurred to me until then, but it was like Sammy was regaining those years of his youth, the ones he had lost. The ones that had been so cruelly taken from him.

As spring turned to summer, my thoughts of Oliver and our times together gradually dwindled and I began to concentrate on other things and to look to the future.

I hadn't forgotten Gabriel's promise to me, the one he had made earlier in the winter shortly after I broke my leg. I recalled him saying that he would take me on a trip to visit the Elders and he'd said that we would go when the weather had improved... in spring. Yet spring was now nearly over.

Although neither of us had broached the subject since that time, it was finally time to ask him about it.

He hadn't forgotten. In fact he was well prepared for my questions and had already begun preparations for our journey together.

With a smile, Gabriel nodded. “There's no need to worry, my dear Lilly. I have been planning our trip for a while, I've just been waiting for the right time and I believe that time has come.”

The thought excited me. Not just the fact that we were leaving Powell River for an unusual journey, but that I was to spend some quality time with my grandfather, something I hadn't really done.

When Gabriel had first mentioned that we should go to the Elders together, it was primarily to help unravel the mystery of who had rescued me after my accident, however, with the truth now fully known, we decided the journey was still an important one.

It was a rite of passage for me. At the same time, he told me, it was important for me to meet the Elders. “You never know when you might need their assistance or advice, Lilly,” he had said, almost in warning.

Of course, there was also the matter of my missing father and the Elders might be able to offer some insight as to what had happened to him and where he might be.

Gabriel explained that it would likely be a difficult trip to take and that it involved a lot of hiking through the mountains and forest trails. But, like him, it had to be taken in human form. I couldn't change into a mountain lion for ease of passage, he had warned me.

“In order for you to grow, truly grow as a young woman, you need to complete the journey as one,” he had added.

I knew I was ready, physically and mentally. I was also ready to learn more about the Elders and he told me he would enlighten me during our journey.

Gabriel had gained approval from the school to take me away for a while, with the simple agreement that I would take some extra classes during the summer holidays.

When I asked Ben if it was okay for me to take some time off work to go away with Gabriel, he had agreed that I could use a break. He was aware that I had never been on holiday before. But he'd no idea about the true purpose of this trip.

We had packed as if for a camping trip. Our backpacks filled with all the gear that we would need on our journey. The first part of our trip would take place by boat. It was a very small boat too – with just sufficient space for the two of us and all of our gear. Having no idea where we were going, this little boat surprised me. It frightened me too. The only other boat I had ever been on was the ferry with Ben when he had collected me from the airport. This was seriously tiny in comparison and I certainly didn't feel safe. But Gabriel's soft voice and his kind words helped me feel at ease after a few hours on the water. At least it had a small motor so we didn't have to row.

It wasn't until we were gliding quietly through the water did Gabriel begin telling me about the Elders. And from what he explained, they were not quite what I was expecting.

“The Elders live high in the Coastal Mountains, hidden from all eyes other than those they want to see. They are not all human, Lilly. Many of them are changelings, like you. Some are vampires, some are white witches. There are some creatures there that might even frighten you. But you must not be fearful. All of them are good and honest. They are very wise and they help people like you and me who know the truth about their world. You could say that they are authority figures for our kind. Somewhere we can go for help should we really need it,” he said and I nodded a little nervously.

I took a little time to let the information sink in. We were on a long and arduous journey to meet with vampires and witches? It sounded crazy but I knew that Gabriel knew what he was doing.

“Are they all really old then, Gabriel?” I asked wondering why they were known as the Elders.

“Many are very old, yes, although they will not appear to be old to us. The vampires, for instance, are immortal. They appear to be young and beautiful, when in fact they have been in existence for many hundreds of years. Some of the witches are the same. But those of them that are like you, half human, half animal, they look old because they are old. But they all have something in common. They are the Elders and they are called the Elders because they are full of wisdom and knowledge about almost everything,” he answered.

“How did they become the Elders?”

He smiled then and told me that he had been invited to join them, but only when he feels ready. This surprised me. I was not quite sure why it should shock me so much because Gabriel was a wise and honest man, full of advice for anyone that asks for it. A pillar of the community. But I was shocked nonetheless. And worried. It's a long way from his family. A long way from me. And when would he decide to join them? I hoped that it would not be for a long time to come.

But Gabriel continued to answer my question, not concerning himself with the worried look on my face, “All of the Elders are beings that have been strong and reliable members of their own communities who want to help on a larger scale. They are a kind of authority for people like us. They make rules we must follow, just like our own governments do. There is a large number of groups of Elders found throughout the world. All living in well hidden communes, like the one we're going to visit in the mountains.”

I listened intently and wondered what kind of 'people' they would be, and how many of them would be there. But the thing that really caught my attention was the fact that they make rules that must be followed by the likes of me – anyone that is not entirely human. The only rule I knew of at that point was the fact that we needed to keep our true selves a secret from the rest of the world. Cringing at the memory, I recalled how I'd already broken that secret when I'd accidentally revealed my true form to Oliver all those weeks before. I was lucky though that he'd agreed with Gabriel that he would continue to turn a blind eye to the truth. Knowing Oliver well, I knew he would stay true to his word and not utter a thing about us to anyone.

We continued to motor along the calm waters in silence for a while, myself deep in thought about the rules and the Elders while Gabriel contentedly hummed to himself. Looking down into the depths of the river below, I was surprised how clear the water was. Although inviting because of its clarity, it looked icy cold and I wasn't in the least bit tempted to jump in. Our boat made large ripples behind us as we chugged along, and I watched for a while as it mesmerised me, taking my mind off what was to come.

Looking up from the water, I noticed a number of small green islands around us. I assumed they were uninhabited but I was probably wrong. Knowing what I knew then, I changed my mind and decided they were probably full of vampires and werewolves, all waiting for fresh blood and meat to feast on. The thought made me shiver, and I decided I needed to cut down on the horror I'd been watching and reading lately. Gabriel watched me and asked what I was thinking about.

Grinning, I told him that I wondered who, or what, lived on the islands surrounding us. I didn't expect him to know the answer but he did. I should have known. He usually had answers to everything.

“Only a few of them are inhabited full time,” he said, “most are used on the odd occasion by passers by like us. But there are a few islands that have small communities of special creatures,” he added, “who would prefer that we avoided them entirely.”

“Why would they want us to avoid them?”

“These creatures do not want to be tempted by what they shouldn't have, which is why they live far from civilisation.”

I noticed that he neglected to say what kind of creatures they were and I decided I didn't want to know... at least until we had passed through and were well clear of them.

Changing the subject, I asked Gabriel why we were doing this journey by boat and on foot. “Isn't it possible to reach the mountains by car?”

He laughed then and reiterated what he had said before. The journey itself was a learning experience. Something that was an important part of my becoming a woman of strength. Not just physically, but psychologically too. I thought about those words for a moment while Gabriel watched me intently. “And besides,” he added, “you'd never get a car up there,” he chuckled.

I didn't have an answer to that so we sat in silence for the rest of the boat ride. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, as if he was trying hard not to smile.

Fortunately we reached the shore a short while later and Gabriel took off his shoes and socks and hopped out to pull the boat safely out of the water. I jumped onto the sandy beach and helped pull it further inland, where he carefully tied it to a large tree trunk before drying his wet feet and putting his shoes and socks back on before he caught a chill. He seemed to know exactly where things were and so I asked how many times he had made this journey before.

“Many, many times,” he said, “whenever I need to get away I come through here on my way to the Elders. I came a lot after your mother and Neleh died and when your father and you were taken away. The Elders knew it was the one place I found some peace. But, like I said, it's not just the destination where I found peace. It was the journey too.”

It was certainly peaceful and I could imagine how it would calm the soul after those awful things had happened.

After we'd had something to eat, the two of us set off on foot, leaving the boat and the river behind us. I was a little nervous about the hike – it was my first, after all. But I was grateful for all the exercise I had been getting with Sammy. It had made me fitter and stronger and ready for whatever the world had in store for me.

I thought of Sammy and what the world had in store for him too. He could never be a part of the world he had lived in all those years ago. As long as he had those massive wings, he would have to remain in hiding. It was a sad fact that made me heavy hearted. As far as I knew, the only way he could have his life back again was if we found Vivian and somehow reverted the curse she had placed on him. I had high hopes for these Elders.

Later that night after much walking, we had set up camp, built a small fire and ate supper, when Gabriel surprised me with another talent I knew nothing about. He carefully took out a small musical instrument from his rucksack and began to play the most beautiful tune I'd heard since my first arrival in Powell River when I'd heard that Portuguese song that had led me to Rose.

The instrument looked like a kind of flute and I was so shocked when he carefully put it to his lips and played it so beautifully, especially considering he'd never played it in my presence before.

Lying down by the fire and snuggling into my sleeping bag, I stared up at the night sky and listened intently to the lovely music. Even though it was quite chilly, I felt completely peaceful and comfortable. It was a magical feeling, lying there, listening to him playing and watching the sky filled with the brightest of stars. I enjoyed the moment, keeping very quiet until he had finished.

“That was beautiful Gabriel. How come you never play at home?” I asked, sitting up and leaning on my elbows as I looked across the softly burning fire towards him.

“It's something I only do when I come out here,” he said, before he continued to play some more. The music, combined with the gentle sound of the running water from a little stream nearby, gently lulled me to sleep.

Surprisingly I slept remarkably well that night. I had thought that the cold would prevent me from getting a good night's sleep, but the fresh air must have counteracted it. I awoke feeling fresher and more alive than ever before.

Climbing out of my warm cosy sleeping bag, I noticed Gabriel had already packed up his sleeping bag but he was nowhere to be seen. All his things were still there, though.

“Gabriel,” I called out and waited for a reply, but none came.

Again, I yelled his name even louder and hoped that he just hadn't heard me the first time. But nothing. I decided to sit and wait for a while, hoping that he had just gone for a brief walk while I slept.

It didn't take long for my mind to begin running riot with terrifying possibilities. Vampires, werewolves, witches, bears. Had any of these creatures taken my grandfather? I could feel my body twitching, wanting to change. I knew that my senses would be a hundred times more in tune with the nature surrounding me as a lion. If I changed, I might be able to find the creatures that had taken him. But he had told me this journey was one that must be taken in human form, regardless of what happened.

So I stood still and breathed deeply, just as Rose had shown me. I had to keep calm and relax.

“Ah... you're awake,” yelled a cheery voice and my entire body slumped forward in relief.

“Gabriel... I called you but you didn't reply. I thought something had happened to you.”

“You seem to forget that I am becoming an old man. My ears aren't quite as good as they were when I was your age,” he laughed, “I was just washing my face in the stream,” he added.

Since discovering the truth about myself, I had become more of a worrier. I decided it was something I needed to work on as we both sat down and enjoyed a nice cup of tea.

“We have a long and arduous hike ahead of us today, Lilly. It's important that we stay focused,” he said, adding “but if something should happen, remember what I told you. This is a journey to be made in human form. You are not to transform yourself, except only in the most dire of circumstances.”

I agreed, wondering why it was so important, but I didn't ask. I was too busy thinking what 'the most dire of circumstances' could be. A niggling little doubt crept into my mind, that something awful was going to happen.

On the other hand, it could be a test. Could Gabriel be testing me? Was this some kind of ritual that all changelings had to go through? I hoped it was, at least then I didn't have to worry about a nasty experience awaiting us. Did I?

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

After we had eaten a good, hearty breakfast and set off on foot, we spent the majority of that day hiking through forests until eventually the terrain began to change and the trees became a little scarcer. It was the beginning of the ascent towards the mountains. Although I loved being among the forested areas, I enjoyed the change of scenery and the mountainous region was absolutely breathtaking.

Gabriel and I spoke about all kinds of things as we walked together, him always in front, leading the way. He wanted to know more about my life in London, not that there was an awful lot to tell. He already knew what living there had been like for me, mostly lonely and uneventful.

But still, he wanted to know what my school had been like, whether or not I had ever had any friends, if the teachers had been fond of me – everything.

“December Moon was my best and only friend,” I had told him. “My life was incredibly dull until she arrived.” I smiled as I thought about the eccentric girl with the red hair that had brought some sunshine into my otherwise dark life.

I told Gabriel all about her and her own strange, unhappy life.

“Perhaps we could arrange for her to come and visit some time,” he had suggested.

“Oh Gabriel, that would be wonderful. I'd love it for you all to meet her. I just know that everyone would love her. She would just fit in with us all here, if you know what I mean?” I laughed.

Gabriel nodded and smiled at me and I was suddenly reminded of my father. I don't know what it was, perhaps an odd expression that Gabriel shared with him. I felt a sudden pang in the pit of my stomach and I had to stop walking for a moment.

“Are you alright, my dear,” he asked as he pulled out a bottle of water and handed it to me.

Taking a deep drink, I nodded. “Yes, I'm fine. You just reminded me of father.” He nodded too and smiled sadly, “We will find him, Lilly. If the search takes me to the grave, we will find him,” he said sombrely.

I gulped another swig of water and then attempted a smile. That was not a thought I would cherish. The search sending Gabriel to his grave, or the search taking that long.

My heart began to feel like it was breaking just a little bit more and Gabriel obviously sensed it so he changed the subject again.

He began to tell me about his long and eventful life in Powell River and I learned even more about my family. The heaviness in my heart was lifted and I became intrigued, as we continued our long walk.

Perhaps this was another reason for our journey. We could finally talk honestly together, just the two of us. It was a wonderful feeling and I began to feel even closer to my grandfather.

He talked more about his wife, Elsebeth, who had died of breast cancer when she was just 31. It had been a very aggressive form of cancer and she'd had little time between her diagnosis and her death, “but she was happy that she had the chance to say goodbye to everyone that she loved,” he said.

“I'm sorry Gabriel. It must have been heartbreaking to see her like that. How long ago did she die?” I asked.

“She's been gone about 30 years, but never forgotten,” he added, smiling. “She was a remarkable woman. Not unlike Rose, actually. They were good friends.”

“You and Rose are very close,” I replied and he laughed, nodding,

“Elsebeth made us promise that we would be there for each other. She wanted Rose to take her place. She felt that I needed a wife and Rose was the person she nominated,” he chuckled, “but Rose and I are, and have always been, just very good friends. I have managed on my own but Rose is always there when I need her, and vice versa.”

I agreed that he and Rose would make a great couple, but understood perfectly that some people are better off living alone – well, kind of alone. After my father disappeared, Gabriel raised Oliver and Ben and now he had Sammy and me living with him.

“Gabriel?” I said.

“Mm?”

“I'm sorry about Oliver. I'm sorry that I made him go away. I know that he is like a son to you.”

Gabriel stopped walking and turned to me, “Don't apologise for being who you are Lilly. It is not your fault that it happened the way it did. Oliver is a fine young man now, he can look after himself and I know he'll be okay. Like I said to you before, I am a strong believer in fate. What is meant to be, will be, so don't blame yourself” he said, “he'll be fine. And so will we.”

We continued walking uphill in silence, until the terrain started to become a little more rugged. Gabriel pointed to an area where there were a few more trees and told me that was where we would stop for the night. As we approached, myself a little breathless, I noticed a small cave, the entrance of which was well hidden by foliage.

“This is where I usually stop and sleep,” he said as we exhaustedly let our backpacks drop to the ground. I slumped down on a nearby rock until my breathing became slower and steadier, watching as Gabriel began collecting sticks and twigs and larger pieces of wood to create a fire.

He had barely even caught his breath. Feeling guilty for just sitting and watching, I stood up and began to help but I soon stopped when I had the feeling we were being watched.

I moved closer to Gabriel's side and whispered, “Gabriel, I think there's someone here. I think someone's watching us.”

“Stay close Lilly, and act naturally,” he replied without looking up as he continued to collect kindling for the fire.

I saw from the corner of my eye that he was discreetly looking around to see who it could be. Suddenly he stood upright and chuckled. I turned to see the source of his amusement and noticed a rather large white wild mountain goat perched slightly above us, watching us with beady eyes.

“Hello, old chap,” shouted Gabriel, “I thought I might bump into you again.”

The goat carefully and cleverly climbed down from the narrow shelf above us and as he did so, the top half of his body changed dramatically. Like Sammy, he was half animal, half human in every sense of the words.

His head and arms were that of a human and the rest of him was most certainly that of a goat. His hair was completely white, as was his long goatee. Age wise, I would have said he was in his sixties.

“Gabriel. Good to see you, old man. Frightfully sorry if I gave the young girl cause for concern,” he said in a posh British accent, which completely puzzled me.

“Hello my dear,” he said as he walked over to me, with his hand outstretched. I shook it, my mouth open in surprise.

“Close your mouth, Lilly,” laughed Gabriel, “this is an acquaintance of mine, Charlie.”

“Acquaintance? I would say friend... would you not?” he chuckled, before adding, “absolutely charmed to meet you, my dear Lilly. You must be the old man's granddaughter from London, I presume,” he said, still holding my hand in his.

I nodded, not quite sure what to say. I'd never seen a half man, half goat before. Especially not one with such a strong English accent.

“Nice to meet you Charlie,” I eventually managed to spit out.

He finally let go of my hand and turned his attention to Gabriel, just as Gabriel was explaining that he had met Charlie when he'd visited the Elders the previous winter, at about the same time I'd arrived – the reason Gabriel had been unable to collect me from the airport.

“I presume you are on your way to visit the Elders?” Charlie asked while he began to assist making the fire.

“Yes, I'm taking Lilly up to meet them. What have you been up to lately, Charlie?” asked Gabriel.

Charlie stuttered momentarily before explaining that he had actually been recovering from an injury and so he'd had little choice but to stay on the mountain for the last few months.

“What kind of injury?” asked Gabriel as he lit the fire.

“Oh, nothing to worry about really,” answered Charlie in a way that suggested he didn't want to talk about it. Gabriel promptly changed the subject, asking if he'd met anyone of interest there lately.

Charlie moved over to the now roaring fire and sat down, making himself comfortable as he told us about a small group of travellers he'd seen just a few weeks before. Having not recognised any of the group, Charlie had kept his distance, watching from above. They were a group of young hikers. “Kids,” said Charlie, “the human variety... not fellow goats!” he added, chuckling.

“I just stood grazing while I watched them attempt to make a fire. They drank lots of beer and acted like idiots,” he added, “other than them, there hasn't been much going on around here for quite a while... unless you count the time when a strange young woman stayed the night. It was around Christmastime, I believe.”

“A strange young woman?” questioned Gabriel, “I wonder who that was.”

“Her name was Tabitha, I think. That's it. Do you know her Gabriel?”

He shook his head.

I was intrigued. Who was this Tabitha? Where had she come from? Where was she going? What was she doing up here alone? And why was she strange?

Going by Gabriel's friendliness to the goat man, I finally accepted that Charlie must be somebody (or something) that could be trusted, so I pulled out my sleeping bag and laid it down next to Gabriel's where I curled up and listened to their conversation to find out more about the folk that often gathered around the mountain.

Charlie had obviously spent some time watching Tabitha, and he revealed that she appeared to be a witch.

“So what was she up to at Christmas, Charlie?” asked Gabriel as he warmed his cold hands over the flames.

“I don't know where she was coming from but she stopped at this very cave for a night. I was near enough to watch her without being seen,” said Charlie as I began to get the feeling that he was something of a voyeur.

“She was alone to begin with but was later joined by a young man who wasn't exactly the kind of boy you'd like your daughter to bring home, if you know what I mean. He was covered in those awful tattoos, all up his arms and legs. Dreadful things. I thought they were perhaps lovers but before I knew it, they were having a huge argument. I couldn't quite hear what they were fighting about but it was obvious it was serious. And then just when I thought they were over it, he turned into a wolf, of all things. I knew then that I needed to make a quick exit, so I went and hid away in my cave until they left. They were gone by the next morning. I was intrigued, to say the least. I'd have loved to know what that was all about,” he said.

“Interesting,” said Gabriel, “but I don't know either of them. Did you hear what the boy was called?”

Charlie sat motionless for a moment, deep in thought. “Aah yes. It was Zoltan.”

Zoltan and Tabitha. A werewolf and a witch. I asked how Charlie had come to the conclusion that she was a witch.

“I just knew... it was written all over her,” he chuckled, before adding, “that and the fact that she appeared to be attempting to cast spells before wolfie arrived.”

I was so fascinated that I decided I wanted to meet them. I wasn't sure why, there was just something about the way they had been described that intrigued me.

Gabriel and Charlie began chatting about things that were of little interest to me, so I decided to have a wander around on my own for a while.

“Be careful Lilly and don't go too far,” said Gabriel as I walked away from the two as they continued chatting.

Dusk was approaching and I knew it wouldn't be too long until it was dark so I kept fairly close to our camp. Since becoming a mountain lion, my eyesight had improved dramatically, even in human form, but because I wasn't familiar with the area, I certainly didn't want to tempt fate. And I never forgot that I had promised Gabriel that I would remain in human form.

As I walked out of sight of them both, I heard the gentle cooing of an owl. Following the sound, I saw the majestic creature sitting on the branch of a lone tree. As he cooed, he just sat staring off into the distance. I didn't want to disturb him, so I just stood for a few moments, watching. Looking around for somewhere to sit, I noticed a large smooth rock a few metres away but to get there, I'd probably make some noise. I tiptoed as silently as possible and, sure enough, he turned his head to look at me. He probably knew I was there all along.

Sitting down so he wouldn't feel threatened, I watched as he did nothing. He just sat and stared at me while I admired his unusual dark eyes. After a few minutes, he must have got bored of my face and so he turned to look in the opposite direction before he took to flight and disappeared.

I stayed where I was and, looking around me, I saw what a spectacular place it was. It was amazing how far we had actually climbed, the tops of the dense woods below were quite a distance away. Other than me, Gabriel, Charlie and the lone owl, we appeared to be very much alone. It was an excellent spot to get away from it all and I could certainly understand Gabriel's penchant for doing that occasionally. Whenever life had a strange twist to it, I supposed. Over the course of Gabriel's life there had certainly been rather a lot of twists and turns, and the majority of them weren't particularly pleasant.

I wondered then about Charlie. Who was he? And how did he have such a posh British accent? It was bizarre. As far as I knew, wild mountain goats didn't exist in the UK and for creatures that were capable of changing from animal to human, they must have been born into it. Like I was, it was in my genes. There was something about Charlie that was a little odd. Why had he changed the subject about his injury? And why had he been watching us for a while before coming down to greet us? After giving it even more thought, I decided that even though Gabriel seemed to, I wasn't so sure that I trusted him.

On that thought, I decided to walk back round to make sure everything was okay. Plus, darkness had fallen and I didn't want Gabriel to worry unnecessarily about my whereabouts. I also knew that he would be preparing some food before we called it a night.

Sure enough, as I wandered carefully over the rough terrain back to the camp, I could smell the food. I just hoped that the local bears couldn't smell the food too though. But Gabriel knew what he was doing.

He had cooked something delicious over the fire and was just dishing it up as I returned.

Although I watched Charlie carefully while we ate, I concluded that there didn't appear to be anything to worry about and so, exhaustion taking me by surprise, I curled up in my sleeping bag and drifted off to sleep. The sound of Charlie's and Gabriel's words did nothing to keep me awake.

“Lilly, Lilly.”

I awoke with a start, someone was nudging me, “Wake up, Lilly. It's Gabriel. He's gone,” said Charlie as he finally managed to drag me out of a comfortable sleep with a bang.

His words twisted my stomach into a knot, “he's gone? What do you mean, he's gone?” I asked, jumping out of my sleeping bag. I looked around and saw that Gabriel's sleeping bag was still there, exactly where it had been the night before, a few embers smouldered in the fire but Gabriel was nowhere to be seen.

“Are you sure he didn't just go to get some water or something?” I said, trying hard not to panic, even though I could feel it rising from the pit of my stomach.

Charlie shook his head and stuttered, “I've... I've been awake for over an hour. I thought the same. I assumed that he had gone for water or to the toilet. But he hasn't come back, Lilly. We must leave immediately. We must travel to the Elders together. There we will be able to get some help,” he said as he grabbed everything in sight and shoved it into mine and Gabriel's rucksacks.

I didn't even want to think what might have happened, but I couldn't prevent those negative thoughts from entering my mind. Had a bear attacked him? Surely I would have heard if something so large and ferocious had done, wouldn't I? What about a vampire? Or that man who could change into an alligator, the one Gabriel had first mentioned months ago? My mind was running riot. I thought of Rose, 'Breathe, Lilly, breathe. Slowly, in and out, in and out'. I knew that's what she would be telling me to do. It's the same breathing technique to calm down as it was to change back from lion to human.

Charlie stood looking at me, quizzically, “Lilly, my dear. What are you doing? We must get out of here.”

“I need to calm down, Charlie. I need to calm down and think. I need to think about this sensibly and not react wrongly. I wouldn't want to rush off only to find that Gabriel isn't far away. I can't just leave now. Anything could have happened,” I whispered while I continued to practice the deep breathing techniques.

“That's exactly why we need to leave now. We need to get to the Elders now,” he said authoritatively.

“You go and I'll stay here and wait,” I said, standing my ground.

“Lilly you are coming with me and you're coming with me now, young lady,” he said as his nostrils flared. He was angry. His whole face and demeanour changed suddenly and I began to get the feeling that Charlie wasn't who or what Gabriel thought he was. I began to think that my feelings the previous evening had been spot on. Charlie wasn't one to be trusted.

“Charlie... where is my grandfather?” I asked, knowing that Gabriel's disappearance was beginning to look suspicious. “What have you done to him?” I asked.

He turned then and laughed a deep laugh, “You're a smart girl Lilly, aren't you? I thought I had fooled you both last night, but clearly not. Now listen to me. If you want your grandfather to remain alive, you had better do as I say.”

I knew I had no choice but to do exactly as he said. Until I knew where Gabriel was I couldn't risk losing him altogether. I nodded, trying hard to keep myself from transforming.

“Pick up your bag and walk ahead of me... that way,” he said, pointing in the same direction where I had seen the owl the night before.

I stumbled ahead and tried to think of ways to escape this mad goat man but I knew I couldn't go anywhere. Because if I did, I might never see Gabriel, alive, again.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

“Why are you doing this?” I asked Charlie after we'd walked in silence for over an hour. “What have you done with Gabriel?”

“Be quiet and continue walking,” he said, while I wondered how my grandfather had trusted this beast. He was usually such a good judge of character, how could he have let this happen? But I knew it wasn't his fault. Being so close to the Elders, Gabriel had obviously assumed he could trust him. Clearly he had been wrong. But there was no point dwelling on it.

Charlie was after something. I didn't know what that was yet but I would find out soon enough.

The fact that Gabriel was gone and Charlie was kidnapping me suggested I had something he wanted. I dreaded to think what it was. As I thought about this evil creature, I began to notice something familiar on a tree a little further ahead. It was an owl. And if my eyesight served me correctly, it appeared to be the owl from the night before. It was watching me. I began to wonder if it was just an owl or if it had special abilities like me. I stared hard at it, hoping that it would swoop down and rescue me, somehow. But it didn't. Like before, it swiftly looked away and then took flight.

“Keep moving!” yelled Charlie and he shoved me causing me to stumble on the loose stones beneath my feet. As I fell onto my knees, I contemplated whether I should just change and rip the goat to shreds.

But I calmed myself down again, thinking only about Gabriel's safety. I pulled myself back onto my feet and rubbed my hands on the front of my combats, to get rid of the grit and dirt. In the distance I could see what appeared to be another cave. We seemed to be heading in that direction. After another ten minutes or so, as we approached it, I noticed that we were not alone. Somebody was waiting for us.

The person was well hidden by an old black cape that covered them from head to toe.

Charlie spoke first. “Here she is, Master, here she is. Just as you requested. Lilly Tulugaq,” and he pushed me so hard that I fell once again to the feet of the stranger.

The fall angered me and I yelped. It was with great difficulty that I stayed relatively calm.

“Don't you mean Lilly Taylor?”

As she said those words, I felt as if I had been kicked in the stomach. I was winded. I closed my eyes momentarily and then looked up as she removed the cape from her face. I gasped at the sight of Vivian.

But this wasn't the Vivian that I had lived with for fourteen years. This Vivian had thin greying hair and wrinkles. Her shoulders stooped forward and her back curled over, like a hunchback. This Vivian had become an old hag.

“I might have known that you would be responsible for all of this,” I spat. “Where is my father?” I demanded.

“Now that's not a very nice way to greet your dear mother, is it?” she spat as she circled me, looking me up and down with a scowl.

“My mother is dead... and you killed her, along with my sister,” I shouted, as I became increasingly angry.

Charlie shoved me down to the floor again and told me to shut up.

I could feel the lion in me trying to take over but I knew if I transformed then, not only would I lose Gabriel but I would lose my father too.

“I raised you and this is the thanks I get,” said Vivian cruelly.

“You haven't got a clue how to raise a child,” I spat back, adding, “why are you doing this? Where is Gabriel? And where is my father? If you've hurt either of them, I swear to God I'll...”

“You'll what, Lilly? You'll kill me with your bird's claws? I don't think so, my darling. A little raven isn't going to kill me. I'm one of the greatest witches that ever lived,” she announced.

“If you're so great, then why do you look like an old hag,” I asked.

“How dare you!” she yelled back, slapping me hard on the side of my face.

“You hit like an old hag,” I said with a glare, knowing I was hitting a nerve.

“Get her and bring her in here,” she ordered Charlie, who grabbed my arm roughly and pulled me after her. The entrance to the cave was small, but inside it proved to be a lot bigger than it first appeared.

“Throw her in there,” she said, pointing to a huge bird cage in the centre of the cavern.

As I was pushed into it, it dawned on me that Vivian had no idea about my true self. She thought I had the ability to transform myself into a raven, but she knew nothing about the mountain lion. I began to think that I could use it to my advantage.

“What are you going to do to me?” I asked her, watching as she read from a large ornate book that looked centuries old.

“I'm going to take your blood and your hair... not that you've got very much of that these days... and use it to make me young and beautiful again.” She said it as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Is that what you did to my father?” I asked, hoping to find out the truth.

She ignored me, instead standing up and walking over to a large shelf that had been created from an old log, similar to the ones I had seen on the beach at Powell River. On it were a number of vials filled with all kinds of creepy looking things. I recognised a few of them. They were just like the vials that the police had found in the black room where I used to live.

“Is that my father's blood?” I asked.

Again she said nothing, ignoring me as she continued to search through the little bottles. Her eyesight was clearly failing her and she had to hold things up close to identify their contents.

“Talk to me, Vivian. Oh I forgot. You never talked to me before did you? Years of no conversation. And you think you raised me,” I said, hoping to irritate her enough so that she'd tell me more.

“What happened to you? Why are you old and ugly, Vivian?” I continued.

“Old... of course I'm old. I've been alive for hundreds of years, what on earth do you expect. Why do you think I became a witch in the first place? Eternal youth, of course. Don't you know anything, girl?” she shrieked like the old hag she'd become.

“I can't believe I thought you were my mother. You're nothing like my mother. She was absolutely beautiful and so was my sister. No amount of my blood and hair will ever make you beautiful. You'll never be beautiful, Vivian. Never.”

“Damn you, Lillian!” she yelled, throwing a vial at the cage. The glass bottle smashed and I was spattered with blood. Whose, I didn't know.

“Is this my father's blood?” I asked again.

“No, it is not your father's blood. He's all out of that,” she answered with an evil smile.

I gasped. Did that mean he was dead? I felt as if my heart had been ripped out of my chest.

“When I ran out of your father's blood, this is what became of me, if you must know,” she said as she looked at herself in a large cracked mirror that had been hung on the wall. She touched her face gently, sadly.

“He gave me beauty and then he took it away,” she whispered.

“Is... is he dead? Vivian please tell me what happened to him. I need to know,” I asked, hoping that she might have just a tiny amount of compassion in her, somewhere.

“Dead... dead? Does it matter whether he's dead or not? It doesn't matter anymore.”

“It matters to me!” I cried, tasting a salty tear as it fell down my cheek onto my lips.

“I don't believe that Jack is dead. Not entirely anyway,” was all she would say.

Although it wasn't what I wanted to hear, it did give me a glimmer of hope. I just needed to know where he was to be able to rescue him from what sounded like near-death.

“Where is he? Is he here? Please Vivian. Tell me where he is.”

She shook her head and looked at me, “I can't tell you.”

“Please, Vivian, please,” I begged as I shook the bars of the cage.

“Lillian I can't tell you because I don't know where he is,” she answered finally. “He disappeared in London. I tried to find him but he just vanished. I don't know how he got away but he did. The second time that has happened to me, bloody men,” she said, “they always get away in the end,” she added more to herself than to me.

So my father managed to escape from Vivian and he didn't take me with him. My heart had truly been wrenched from the depths of my soul. He had run away and left me with a witch. What kind of father would do that? I was at a complete and utter loss.

“I have spent months looking for him. Months and months... and nothing. So now I have to find someone else to make me beautiful again. Until I can find myself another man, a special man, you will have to do. You are his daughter. You must carry the same blood as he. You will have to do... for now anyway,” she said with a smile.

“But why my father in the first place? There are millions of men in this world, why did you have to choose my father?”

“Oh Lillian... are you that dim? I need the blood, and sometimes the hair, of only very special people. They have special qualities in their blood. When mixed with certain other secret ingredients and drunk, by me, returns me to my youthful glow and extraordinary good looks. You have your father's genes, so you must have that quality, my dear,” she said as she approached the cage with a small dagger in her hand.

“Charlie, grab her hands,” she said as she opened the door to the cage and pulled me half out. Charlie appeared behind me and managed to hold both my hands while she cut off a very small tuft of my hair. I breathed a temporary sigh of relief as she walked away and dropped it into a small pot. But then she turned and walked back towards me and pulled my leg so that it hung out of the cage door. She grabbed my hiking shoe and sock and tugged them from my foot. Pulling up my trousers, she very gently placed the blade against my skin and then pressed hard so that blood oozed out from just above my ankle. I winced, trying hard to stay calm.

She placed a small bucket underneath my foot and waited for the blood to drip into it.

Adrenaline pumped through my veins but I took long deep breaths to prevent myself from changing. I needed to know where Gabriel was before I could do anything.

“Vivian, what have you done with Gabriel?” I asked. “Please tell me that he's okay. Have you hurt him?”

“I have no need to harm the old man,” she said and I was surprised. The evil things she was capable of made me think that she hurt people on purpose, whether she needed to or not. But perhaps she only did so when she needed something. That was until she continued, “The same can't be said for Charlie though,” and she laughed heartily as if she'd cracked a hilarious joke.

She released my leg and I pulled it back quickly. Charlie slammed the door shut and locked it.

“Charlie, where is Gabriel?” I asked, hopefully.

But he just sniggered and said nothing.

“There's just one important ingredient that I'm missing. I'll be gone a while. Charlie, keep an eye on her – she might try to change into a bird, although the cage should prevent her from escaping,” said Vivian before she grabbed her cape, threw it on and exited the cavern.

“Charlie... how did you get here? I know she must've cursed you. You're an Englishman that she made into a mountain goat. Isn't there a part of you, hidden somewhere in there, that hates her? A part of you that wants some kind of revenge for what she did to you?” I asked softly.

But again, he ignored me and sat staring off into space.

“Charlie please help me. If you can't, please just tell me where Gabriel is.”

“Shut up, Lilly. Shut up!” he yelled as he bent to pick up a small stone from the floor and then flung it against me. It pinged off the side of the cage and bounced against the wall before landing on the floor by the cave's entrance.

He wasn't going to tell me so I sat in silence and waited for Vivian to return. My leg began to throb, a dull ache where she had sliced into it. Fortunately the cut wasn't too deep and the bleeding had slowed. I feared that if I didn't escape she would bleed me to death. My father had obviously come close to that but he had managed to get away before death had come. How, I had no idea. He must have been so weak by that time and to get out of that room must have been near on impossible. I wondered if someone had helped him. But why? And how? And more importantly, who?

I would find out what had happened to him and I would find out where he was. I would also find out why he had deserted me and left me in the hands of an evil witch.

I pulled my legs up to my chest and rested my head on my knees and before I could stop myself, I began to cry. I cried for Gabriel, I cried for my father and I cried for me. I knew I could escape but I was so scared that Gabriel would end up dead if I did so.

That's when I heard the sound from outside. A soft cooing noise that reminded me of something. The owl. It was the sound of an owl hooting, the same sound I had heard the night before. I recalled how the bird had watched me but had then looked away and flown off into the distance. And then again, while Charlie had been dragging me to the cave, I had seen it but it hadn't taken much notice of me. It was a soothing sound but that's all it was.

The sound, however, began to get a little louder and then there was silence. As I looked towards the entrance to the cave, I could just about see it perched on the branch of a tree close by. It was looking towards me.

There were a couple of birds circling above the owl and I gasped when I recognised what they were. Ravens. Charlie looked over at me suspiciously and I coughed to try and hide my surprise. He stood and walked around the cage, checking that there wasn't something going on. Seeing that there wasn't, he returned to sit down and just as he let down his guard to relax a little, one of the ravens flew into the cave as quietly as possible. He didn't notice. I watched it surreptitiously as it stood on the floor behind him, waiting. Whoever it was, it had found me. But had it found Gabriel?

As I waited, wondering what it would do, I heard footsteps and the sighing of an old woman. The simple act of walking left her breathless.

Vivian had returned.

The raven was startled, clearly not expecting her to return so soon, so it hopped backwards and hid away in a dark corner while Vivian walked into the cave carrying the final ingredient that would help make her young and beautiful once again.

“So you're still human are you, Lilly? I'm surprised at you. I figured you might have tried to escape. Not that you would be able to. I raised you not to run away, didn't I? You never could get away from me,” she laughed as she began concentrating on her strange recipe for beauty.

I listened and watched closely as she read to herself as if from a bizarre recipe book.

“Let's see, two sprigs of rosemary, Lillian's blood, hair from a horse's mane and the sinew from a horse's leg, the hair from Lillian's head and a few tablespoons of pure spring water from the Pantheon Mountains... yes, I think that's about it.”

She placed all of the ingredients into a small bowl and mixed it up with a wooden spoon before placing it over the fire that Charlie had been busy preparing.

It was a surreal experience, watching this old Vivian becoming more and more excited as the recipe developed. She became almost childlike, skipping around the fire clapping her hands in anticipation. This was a Vivian I had never seen. The only Vivian I had ever known was sombre, strict and mean... and beautiful.

It didn't take long until the ingredients began to boil. I could hear the pot bubbling away. Vivian removed it from the fire and sieved it into a wooden chalice before picking it up and turning to me.

“Cheers, Lillian darling,” she laughed, before placing the cup to her lips and drinking it all hungrily without even taking a breath. She then threw it to the floor and wiped her lips with the back of her long black sleeve.

“Time to change,” she added before she took off the long black cloak and revealed her naked body.

Not a pretty sight, the old hag was covered from head to toe in deep set wrinkles, and her skin hung in folds all over body. This was the body of an ancient woman, not the Vivian I remembered.

She didn't stand naked for long. She stepped carefully into a crisp white gown that Charlie held open for her. All the time she maintained a wicked smile on her lips. The smile of a mad woman.

Even though she was barely recognisable, seeing her in white reminded me of the times we had lived together. She had never worn any other colour. She always presented herself, from head to foot, in white. White trousers, white blouse, white pumps, sometimes even a white head band. Every day, something else white. She had long white dresses, skirts, jeans even.

She had presented herself so beautifully, while at the same time had presented me in such an ugly way. Dowdy, old, used clothes that didn't fit properly. In yellow, the one colour that did nothing for me. The one colour that made me look ugly. That's what she had tried to do. She'd wanted to make me look uglier so that she could feel even more beautiful. Me, Mellow Yellow. It had all been done on purpose.

As she stood there, looking at herself in the mirror waiting for something to happen, I noticed the raven had managed to sneak closer to me. It stared at me and I could see something startlingly familiar in its eyes. Then suddenly, it winked at me and I knew exactly who it was. Jo. She often winked at me. She had finally made the transformation. But how had she known where to find me? And then I thought of the owl. And if the owl knew where I was, it would undoubtedly know where Gabriel was. I smiled at her and winked back to tell her I knew her true identity. Relief flooded through me and I felt as if I could finally make my escape, but before I did, I eagerly waited to see what would happen to Vivian.

She stood smiling at herself in the old full-length mirror on the wall, waiting for her own transformation to begin.

After a few more minutes, I could see for myself that it was working. Her saggy skin began to tighten up and the colour of her hair slowly began to change from grey to bright red. Her sallow eyes began to gleam and her lips, and not to mention her breasts, plumped up. All age spots disappeared and I began to see the Vivian that I remembered. Except she appeared to be even more beautiful than before.

She breathed in a long happy breath and sighed out in happiness before she began to laugh uncontrollably.

“I'm back and I'm even more beautiful than before,” she giggled, as she touched her face and her neck and then her breasts and bottom.

“Why didn't I think of doing this before? I should have used your blood from day one. Instead I wasted years on that father of yours, and before that I wasted years on Walter, when I could have used the blood from his damned daughter. And I let her go. How stupid of me,” she said to herself as she continued to admire herself in the mirror.

As she said the words, I thought of Rose. How her husband and daughter had disappeared all those years ago, when in fact they had been kidnapped, just like my father and I had been. And they had been used for the one single reason: to achieve her own flawless beauty. It disgusted me.

But Vivian had just let it slip that she had let the daughter go. Just when I thought I could make my escape, I discovered something new. Something else I needed to find out more about. And I needed to find out the truth for Rose.

Just as I began to think of ways to investigate what had happened to Walter and his daughter, Lori, Vivian shrieked.

“What is this?” she cried turning to me, “What is happening to me? Lillian what have you done?”

I watched, stunned in silence as whiskers began to sprout from her cheeks and out of her ears. Her hands and feet began to mutate and suddenly I knew. She didn't know the truth about my own transformation. She didn't know that I was capable of changing into a mountain lion. The combination of my feline and raven genes must have been affecting her in ways she could never have foreseen.

I couldn't help but smile at her affliction.

“How... is this possible?” she sobbed as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Part woman, part cat. Not at all attractive.

“How could I have been so damn stupid? The girl, Neleh, she was your sister. I thought I'd just miscast a spell on her the day I killed her. But I hadn't, had I? She'd really changed into a cat herself. No!” she cried while I nodded, smiling.

“But that means...” and before she could finish, I transformed myself into a mountain lion, breaking the cage into a hundred pieces right in front of her eyes. I pounced on her and pushed her to the ground, ready to get the revenge I had craved ever since I had learned the truth.

“Lilly!” yelled another voice as I saw a very naked Jo had changed back into human form and had managed to throw Charlie to the ground too. He had hit his head on a rock, knocking him unconscious in the process.

“Lilly... no. Let the Elders deal with her,” she shouted as I held a razor sharp claw close to her jugular vein. “Lilly, you're not like her. You're not a killer,” she said, but I couldn't move. All I could think of was Serena and Neleh, the years I'd spent practically a prisoner in my own home, my poor father and Sammy, Walter, Rose and Lori and what she had put us all through. And Gabriel. Poor Gabriel, wherever he was. She had done all of this damage just so that she could be beautiful and young. I wanted her to die more than anything but, as I looked up at Jo's face, I knew it couldn't be by my hands. She was right, I wasn't a killer. I wasn't anything like her. I wasn't a monster.

I leaned back away from her and instead pulled her up and pushed her hard against the cave wall, winding her. Jo took over. Finding some rope, she tied Vivian up so there was no way she could release herself. Not even a witch could escape. But Vivian didn't even struggle, she was too busy sobbing about her appearance.

I made the transition back to my human self, using the breathing techniques Rose had taught me. After a moment, I was human again. Both Jo and I managed to clothe ourselves using items from my backpack.

Jo gave me a long hard hug afterwards, all the while the other raven just sat outside, perched quietly on the same branch the owl had been on earlier that day.

“I'm so glad you're okay, Lilly. We were all worried sick,” she said.

“But how did you know?”

“Both Sammy and Meredith felt something was wrong so we contacted a close friend, one of the Elders, who sent someone to search for you,” she said.

“Let me guess, that someone was an owl?” I asked and she nodded, “so you saw him then?”

I nodded and then suddenly remembered Gabriel. I asked her if he was okay and she reassured me that the owl had witnessed everything and had gone to get help straight away.

“Gabriel was in quite a bad way, but I'm told that he's recuperating well with the Elders. They sent one of their raven friends to tell us what was going on. But at that stage, we didn't know that Vivian was involved. So I'm so relieved that you're okay Lilly.”

“Thank you for coming so quickly. But how? When did you learn to transform?” I asked.

Jo explained that the family's only chance of getting someone here quick enough was for her to change into a raven. “I couldn't wait for it to happen naturally so Rose helped me make it happen for myself, that was this morning,” she said proudly.

I was amazed at her transformation, and even more amazed that she had taken it upon herself to come and help us.

“Sammy wanted more than anything to come and help but it's daylight. It was too much of a risk. We practically had to tie him up to stop him from following me,” she said as I imagined him getting angry at not being able to do anything.

“A few of the Elders are on their way now. They should be here soon. Come, let's wait for them outside.”

Before we walked outside, we tied Charlie up and dragged them both out into the sunlight where we sat on a large boulder as we awaited the arrival of the Elders.

As we sat, I saw that the other raven and the owl were waiting patiently with us and so I stood up and walked over to them. Bowing my head, I thanked them for all their help, “I don't know if you can understand me or not, but I just want you to know how grateful I am.”

Both birds nodded their heads at me and I knew then that, through some kind of magic, they could understand my every word.

“I know Meredith can occasionally read minds but I thought that was just when we're close,” I said to Jo as I returned to her side, “how was she able to do it this time?”

“This is the first time that she's been able to pick up on something so far away. I think the fact that Sammy was picking up on the same feeling helped,” she answered.

“So were your mum and dad okay with you coming all this way to help?”

“They were obviously really concerned about you and Gabriel. They were worried sick when I told them I wanted to come but they understood that it was something I had to do. They were really proud that I finally changed though,” she said.

As we sat chatting to each other awaiting the Elders, I was developing a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. I had been trying to ignore it but it just wouldn't go away. Some of the things that Vivian had said had crushed me and no matter how hard I tried to push them to the back of my mind, I struggled to maintain them there.

As I watched Vivian still sobbing to herself, I thought of the evil things she had done, not just in my lifetime but way before that too. She had taken the two loves of Rose's life and ruined any chance of her finding love again.

Rose had no idea what had happened to Walter and Lori, but now it seemed that her husband was probably dead and her daughter could be anywhere in the world, probably never to be found again. She was just a baby when she was cruelly ripped from Rose's life – just as I had been when I had been taken, so she would probably have no idea as to the true identity of her real mother.

Rose would need answers and Vivian was the only person who would be able to give them. Once she was handed over to the Elders, perhaps the answers to these questions could finally be resolved. I hoped so. Not just for Rose's sake, but for Lori's too. Wherever she may be.

I worked out that Lori would be in her late forties now. Perhaps she had children of her own. I hoped Rose would find her one day. She deserved to know the truth. Just as I had deserved to find out the truth about my life. But my father had escaped Vivian's clutches and left me behind. He'd abandoned me and now I didn't know if he was dead or alive.

If he was dead, was he finally resting in peace with his beloved Serena and Neleh? If that was the case, wouldn't he have come to me in a dream, just as they had before? Perhaps the Elders would be able to help us solve the mystery.

As I sat there with Jo, my mind quietly wrestling with itself, I noticed a small group of people approaching in the distance. The owl and the raven immediately withdrew from their branch and flew towards them. We knew it must be the Elders and so we stood up and waited for them to come closer.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

They were a group of five; three men and two women. An odd-looking bunch, but I wouldn't have expected anything less after Gabriel had told me a little about them.

The eldest was an old white-haired man who ambled along slowly with a walking stick. What I noticed most about him were his massive grey eyes. They made him look more like a caricature than a real person. But they were friendly eyes that twinkled and smiled at us, even though his mouth, initially, did not.

Walking slightly behind him was a younger man, of about 40 years, with red hair and green eyes and covered in freckles. His pale, almost translucent skin suggested he didn't venture out into the sunlight very often. But again, he had a friendly and, despite the colour, a warm face.

The third man was barely 20 years old and I knew he was a changeling – I guessed a werewolf. His strong attractive features and golden eyes gave him away. He was quite tall but very stocky and, although wolf-like, I wasn't afraid of him. I could tell he was trying to appear fierce but I could see right through him. He was a softy at heart.

The eldest woman was probably in her 60s and she commanded a certain presence. She was more striking than beautiful and had shoulder length grey and black hair. I could imagine her as a school teacher, strict and bossy. A little bit intimidating.

And the last woman was a bit of an enigma. Her face and body suggested she was around the same age as me yet she had grey hair, short and spiky. For some reason I was drawn to her, there was a certain familiarity to her. I could tell she was feisty, rebellious... fun.

“Lilly, my dear child. We are so relieved to find you safe and well,” said the old man with the large eyes as he held out his arms and pulled me into a gentle hug, “your grandfather is also safe and recovering well, so you need not worry too much about him now. Hello Jo. It's good to see you again. You won't remember me though as you were just a toddler when we last met,” he chuckled, hugging her softly too. “I am one of the Elders. I am Finley. We came to help but by the looks of it, you are not really in need of any assistance. You appear to have everything tied up rather well,” he said, with a wink, as he approached the two sorry creatures and gave them a prod with his walking stick.

When Vivian lifted her face from her knees, Finley did a double take before turning his attention back to us. “Oh, let me introduce you to the others,” he said as they all stepped closer as if they had been awaiting his instructions.

“Rupert here is our newest addition to the Elders,” he said as the red headed man stepped forward and shook my hand. “Good to meet you Lilly... Jo,” he smiled, shaking Jo's hand too before stepping back.

“And this lovely lady is Ursula. She has been with us for many years,” and the older, slightly frightening looking woman stepped forward, nodding her head at us both before stepping back.

“And our other friends here are not members of the Elders but were with us when we heard about what was happening and they wanted to come along and offer any assistance. I think they're perhaps a little disappointed at missing out on all the action,” he laughed.

The two stepped forward and smiled at us, clearly pleased to see some younger people.

“Hi. I'm Tabitha and this is my boyfriend, Zoltan,” said the young woman with a grin, “we had hoped to get in on a bit of action. There hasn't been much going on lately,” she laughed and I felt immediately at ease. So these were the people Charlie had seen arguing at Christmas. Zoltan stepped forward and shook Jo's hand and then he turned to me to shake my hand but as our hands touched, he let out a deep snarl and snatched it back.

I immediately felt defensive and took a step backwards, pulling Jo with me.

“Don't worry about Zoltan. I got the same reaction from him when we first met too. You've probably realised that he is, in fact, a werewolf?” asked Tabitha and I nodded, “Well sometimes the wolf overpowers the man and that kind of thing happens,” she laughed, “but you'll find that he's pretty harmless... to us, anyway.”

He turned to look at me and smiled apologetically. I forgave him easily.

While we had been talking, the others had been into the cave to investigate what was there. I heard them whispering to each other about how they had not known of the cave's existence. How a witch had been under their very noses and they'd not seen what was going on. It perturbed them, which in turn, worried me a little.

When they came back out into the sunlight, Rupert pulled both Vivian and Charlie up from the ground, ensuring the ropes were tied tightly enough and then we prepared to set off back to the Elders' home. I grabbed Gabriel's and my backpacks and we soon began our hike back up the mountain.
Jo walked ahead with Finley and Ursula; Vivian and Charlie were pulled in the middle of the group by Rupert, and I walked behind with Tabitha and Zoltan.

Tabitha was eager to know what had happened and so as we walked, I relayed our adventure to her. When she commented on my British accent, I also told her about my life before and how I had managed to find myself in Canada in the first place.

She was intrigued by my tale and impressed that we had managed to capture the evil witch. “I would have probably killed her,” she said.

“Well, I was pretty close but, as Jo told me at the time, I'm not a killer. Vivian needs to take full responsibility for the evil murderous things she has done. The Elders will make sure of that,” I answered.

“Yeah, I guess you're right. You've got more self control than me though,” she added.

“I doubt that. I'm sure had it been you, you would have been able to stop yourself.”

We continued to tell each other about our lives and I discovered that Tabitha had been raised in New York but had moved to Canada as soon as she was old enough to fend for herself.

“I always felt like I had some connection to this part of the world you know,” she said.

“Well, it's not difficult to connect is it? Just look how breathtaking it is,” I said as we stopped momentarily to take in the utter magnitude of the view surrounding us. Tabitha laughed then and agreed with me but I knew she had meant it in a different way. There was some kind of pull that brought her here. She didn't know what or why but she wanted to find out.

“But how did you find the Elders? How did you know about... you know... all this supernatural stuff?” I laughed, not knowing of a better way to describe it.

“My mother told me actually. She had a lonely childhood, brought up by a strict mother and a father she rarely saw. When her father took off one day, her mother went crazy and started casting crazy spells. My mother freaked out and managed to run away. But after a few days, she decided to go back and when she did, she found nothing. Her mother had gone too. She'd just upped and left. Never to be seen again,” she explained.

“So that's how your mother learned?” I questioned, thinking it wasn't really enough to make you believe. But Tabitha shook her head, “Oh no... God no. It was when her father returned one day that she finally understood about it all. He was different. Mum told me that he actually scared the hell out of her. He was so incredibly pale and his eyes would change colour from yellow to red. He told her that he had been made a vampire.”

“Oh,” I exclaimed, “well, that would do it.”

Tabitha smiled, “My grandfather was a vampire. He told my mum he loved her more than anything else in the world but that he had to go away. He said it was too much of a risk for him to stay near her. He couldn't bear her being in danger.”

“Wow, that must have been hard,” I whispered.

“She knew he was telling the truth and so she accepted it. She started doing loads of research into the supernatural, paranormal... whatever you want to call it. Eventually she started discovering all kinds of freaky stuff. So I learned all about it from a very young age, I guess.”

Her mother had never married and still lived in New York. Tabitha was the result of an intense affair she'd had with a very wealthy man who had adored her. “But my mum didn't want to settle down, she likes her own company and she likes to travel a lot... for research purposes. My dad never married either, so occasionally they get together. He's been very good to her, and to me. He's a good man,” she said.

I thought of my own father and felt a tug of sadness at the pit of my stomach. I wish I knew the truth. Where was he? Was he alive? Did he desert me on purpose? So many questions and so few answers.

As we had been chatting, we had fallen behind. The rest of the group were quite far ahead and so we walked on in silence, increasing our pace until we caught up with them.

A few hours later, in darkness, we arrived. It wasn't what I expected.

The main entrance to the mass of caves beneath the mountains was well hidden. If I'd have been there alone, there was no way I'd have known anything was there.

But a large group of people and creatures were waiting for us. I later found out that the raven and the owl had flown on ahead and notified them of our impending arrival.

I wasn't prepared for such a large group and was therefore a little nervous. But everybody was very pleased to see me safe and well. Many of them patted me on my back and welcomed me into their home. However, my number one priority was to see Gabriel and so I asked to be taken to him.

“Ursula will take you both to him. Now I must sit down. It has been a long day and a long walk for my old legs,” chuckled Finley as he was led in the opposite direction.

“Come, girls. This way,” ordered Ursula in a thick German accent. It was the first time we had heard her speak.

“You're German, Ursula?” asked Jo tentatively.

“I am, yes,” she answered and continued walking in a fast pace.

“How did you get here?” I asked, hoping to get her to loosen up a little.

She stopped and turned to us. “Now is not the time for conversation,” she said and turned brusquely and carried on walking, taking large strides. We struggled to keep up, especially after such a long hike up the mountain.

Jo shrugged her shoulders and we walked quickly in silence, having little time to take in our surroundings. What I did notice though was that the sequence of caves rolled easily and smoothly into each other and it was warm. I had expected something cold and damp but it was quite the opposite. It felt homely.

“Come!” yelled Ursula, “Gabriel is in here,” and she pulled back a heavy thick green curtain to reveal a large oval-shaped room covered in wall hangings and thick warm rugs on the floor. There were two old red leather sofas facing each other, with a mahogany coffee table carefully positioned between the two. Behind was a large king size bed and in it, lay Gabriel. He was surrounded by pillows. He grinned the moment he saw us. I noticed then that he was on a drip.

“Girls, girls... I was so worried. Lilly I am so sorry,” he said with open arms but he winced as he moved.

“Gabriel, I was terrified something awful had happened to you,” and I suddenly broke down in tears, “for a while I thought you might be... might be... dead.”

“Dear Lilly. I'm okay. Everything is alright now. Come now, no more tears.”

But they continued to fall, preventing me from being able to speak. Jo, instead, spoke for me, telling him all that had happened.

“Jo, you have been so courageous, my dear,” he said to her.

“But I didn't do anything... Lilly was the one who captured Vivian.”

Finally able to speak I said, “But I couldn't have done that had you not captured Charlie, Jo. And when you winked at me I knew you were telling me Gabriel was safe. I couldn't have done anything without you.”

This time, it was Jo's turn to shed a few tears. After a few minutes, we laughed and hugged each other.

“You are both the most courageous girls I know and I am so proud that you are my granddaughters. Now that you are safe we need to send a message to the rest of the family to let them know. They're probably worried sick,” he said, adding, “if only this place had a cell phone mast. There's no signal around here.”

We giggled with him then and pondered the quickest and safest way to get a message back. Ursula, who had been waiting outside, stepped in and suggested we send a changeling. Jo offered to fly back home but she was too tired. She needed rest.

“I will talk to Finley. We will decide who to send, okay?” she had said before walking back out again.

“She's a strange one,” I said to Gabriel quietly and he laughed loudly.

“Perhaps a little. But she is an incredible woman. She is responsible for saving the lives of hundreds of people during the First World War,” he said clearly in awe.

“But surely she's too young to have been involved,” I asked confused.

“Ursula has recently celebrated her 200th birthday,” he said, impressed, “when she was 61, she was bitten by a vampire.”

I gasped, not expecting it at all.

“She wasn't directly involved in the war itself, but there was a very nasty vampire around at that time, Olivier was his name. He was ruthless, killing anybody and everybody. Ursula made it a point to stop him. She prevented hundreds of murders. That's how the Elders discovered her. They're always on the lookout for those that help other people like that. So they sent a couple of people over to France and they worked together to stop Olivier.”

“Wow,” said Jo, “that's impressive. Did they kill him?” she asked.

He shook his head, “Unfortunately he managed to escape. He hasn't been heard of since though so we're hoping that he now keeps his killing to a minimum.”

“But how does Ursula survive? She needs blood doesn't she?” I asked and Gabriel nodded, assuring us we weren't in any danger from her.

“She has extraordinary self control. She usually feeds off the blood of other animals, occasionally from the stock they keep in their medical supply here.”

Tabitha appeared with Zoltan, “Can we come in?” she asked.

“Of course, come in, come in,” said Gabriel.

“Zoltan is probably the fastest here at the moment and so he'd like to deliver your message to your family, if that's okay with you,” said Tabitha.

“That would be wonderful. It's very kind of you to offer Zoltan. Thank you. Perhaps we should write a letter. That would be best. Jo dear, please hand me the ink pot and some paper... thank you.”

After he had written a lengthy note to our family and Zoltan had taken it away, Jo stepped out with Tabitha for a while and I stayed with Gabriel.

“Gabriel?” I asked.

“Yes dear?”

“What did Charlie do to you?” I whispered.

“It's not important now. You can see I'm okay,” but he decided to tell me after seeing the expression on my face. I could be stubborn, he knew that by now.

“I believe that he drugged me before I went to sleep. I think he must have put something in my tea. It paralysed me but I was conscious of what was happening. He removed me from my sleeping bag... and told me that he was going to... deliver you on a plate to Vivian.” A tear fell from his eye as he spoke. “And then he pushed me down the mountain. I couldn't even lift my hands to protect my face from everything that I fell on, stones, twigs, branches, rocks. I seemed to fall forever. It was cruel. Very cruel. But I am safe and I am recovering. And more importantly, you are safe and well,” he said as he lifted a bruised hand to my face and softly brushed my cheek with his fingers.

“I fear I will never forgive myself for putting you in that position,” he added.

“No Gabriel, no... please don't think like that. There is nothing to forgive. She would have got me somewhere else if it wasn't here on the mountain. She was desperate for my blood, Gabriel. But she got what she deserved in the end,” and I told him how my blood had affected her, how her face had changed beyond recognition. All the beauty she craved, gone for good.

He smiled and I could see in his eyes that he was exhausted.

“I should let you sleep now, Gabriel,” and I kissed him gently on the cheek and went to stand up, but he took my hand before I could go.

“Lilly... did she tell you anything about your... father?”

So I sat back down and took his hand in mine and held it tightly.

I had hoped to wait until he was better before I told him the truth but he needed to know. Just as I had needed to know. And so I told him. I told him that she had almost killed him, 'almost bled him dry' and then he had escaped, without taking me with him. I told him that we didn't know if he was alive or if he was... dead.

Gabriel and I sat sobbing together, thinking of the man he had been and wondering what kind of man he had become – dead or alive.

“Lilly, please sit here with me for a while. At least until I fall asleep,” and I nodded as he closed his eyes while I sat quietly by his side.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Gabriel had been asleep for an hour when Jo tiptoed back into the room. When she saw that he was finally asleep, she ushered me out.

“Come on, Lilly, it's time for supper. You must be starving? I know I am. But first, we've been given these clothes to change into,” she said as she handed me a small bundle consisting of a long red dress and black pumps. I noticed she'd been given a similar dress in green with a slightly different pair of black shoes. We quickly changed, before I followed her back through the maze until we found ourselves in what must have been the main dining 'room' within the caves. The ceiling was particularly high, but as there were no windows, it would have been very dark were it not for the hundreds of candles placed at regular intervals along the walls and along the centre of an unusually long dining table.

I wondered how the Elders had managed to get all of this beautifully fine furniture all the way up the mountain but before I got the chance to ask, we were greeted by an abundance of friendly faces – all of the people that had been waiting for our arrival outside the cave.

It was the first time I had managed to get a good look at them and I was surprised at how many normal looking people there seemed to be. Of course there were a fair few rather odd looking ones too. Some looked very old indeed, needing assistance just to move across the floor to their seats where they struggled to sit down, with their old joints creaking.

I noticed a woman with bright red hair and skin so pale that I could almost see through it. I wondered if she was related to Rupert. She was chatting quietly to an older woman who appeared to have dark scales all over her face and when she reached for her chair, I saw that her fingers were webbed. As the candlelight caught her face, the dark scales appeared to sparkle. She noticed me staring and smiled kindly. I blushed and looked away, embarrassed to be caught looking.

The last creature to walk in came as a bit of a shock. It was huge, about seven feet tall and covered from head to toe in fur. He looked a little like a giant ape, except that he walked exactly like a human and his facial features were soft. He was laughing at something someone had said in front of him. He laughed like a human too.

They all sat at the table and Rupert called Jo and me over to sit at either side of the head. We had figured that Finley would be sitting there, assuming him to be the head of the Elders, but we were wrong. He was sitting a few chairs down from us, chatting quietly to Tabitha who grinned when she saw us.

We waited a few minutes and then everybody stood up – apart from the really old ones. We followed suit and stood up too, waiting for something to happen. We didn't have to wait long. A very attractive young man appeared. Jo gasped at the sight of him and blushed, making me smile, which I tried to hide, but failed.

“Good evening my equals,” he said in a deep smooth voice, “I trust you are all well? Please sit.” We all sat down and waited. “This evening we are honoured to be joined by two of Powell River's greatest changelings. Two very brave young women, Lilly and Jo. Welcome,” and then everybody lifted their glasses to us and we blushed crimson.

“We also have with us another very special guest but sadly he is recovering from a brutal attack. Fear not for him, though. The girls' grandfather Gabriel is recovering well and I believe he is currently sleeping. But we shall lift our glasses to him nonetheless.” And we all raised our glasses and said 'to Gabriel' before everybody began talking amongst themselves while Jo and I sat nervously to the side of what appeared to be the Elders' number one man.

“I'm sorry I wasn't able to come down to help today. I have literally only just arrived back home. I have been away for a few days. But I have been told of the news and I know of your bravery… and yours Jo, too. Remarkable. Absolutely remarkable. So young and so brave. Excellent.” We smiled shyly and wondered who this man was.

“Forgive my manners. I haven't introduced myself yet, have I? I am Carmelo. I founded the Elders many hundreds of years ago. It is a pleasure to meet you both,” he said.

“It's an honour to meet you, Carmelo, but it's a little difficult to comprehend how you can be hundreds of years old,” I said, wondering how he could possibly be.

“I am surprised you do not know about me, but yes, I am 435 years old. I am what people call, a vampire,” he smiled.

It made sense. From the research I had done, I understood that vampires were usually beautiful people and Carmelo certainly was that. As I looked at my surroundings, I wondered how many other vampires lived in the caves and I shivered involuntarily.

“Please do not be afraid of us here, Lilly. We are not the kind of vampires you should be frightened of. In fact you should not be afraid of anyone that lives in these caves. You can trust everybody here. Although they are not all Elders, some live here because they have nowhere else to go. You can probably imagine how difficult it is to blend into the crowds when you look like Theodore over there,” and he pointed to the ape man, “or Carla,” and he pointed to the lady with the webbed fingers.

I nodded and asked why he had created the Elders in the first place.

“After two hundred years of having nobody to go to for advice, or nowhere truly safe to go to when I needed to hide, I decided to create somewhere myself. I searched for a few years to find the right place and the right kind of people and creatures and we slowly built this place here in these caves. Our kind know this is a safe haven of peace.”

“Wow... that's impressive,” I uttered as I took in more of the surroundings, amazed that this was created because of one man's, or should I say one vampire's, dream.

“That's absolutely amazing,” said Jo dreamily.

“Thank you, Jo,” he said, smiling as she sat staring at him.

“Perhaps I can show you around when we have finished dining,” and he looked deep into her eyes as if he was looking right into her subconscious mind. Jo nodded gently and that was the moment I realised that Jo had fallen head over heels in love with a 435-year-old vampire.

A vampire and a raven? Anything could happen in this world.

After the majority of us had eaten (the vampires just stayed to keep us company), Carmelo and Jo headed off for a walk together and I went to check on Gabriel. As he was still fast asleep, I quietly tiptoed out and went to explore a little bit. On my way, I bumped into Tabitha... literally.

“Oops, sorry Tabitha. I was just having a wander around,” I said as we had rounded a corner and, both deep in thought, had bumped straight into each other.

“Sorry, I was in another world there for a minute. I was actually looking for you. I wanted to talk to you about something,” she said as we found a comfy old leather sofa to sink into.

“What is it?” I asked, seeing that she was preoccupied.

“I was thinking about what you mentioned on our way up here. When you spoke about your transformation you said that it had all started happening with the strange dreams.”

I nodded, wondering what it was that was bothering her.

“Well, it's just that a few weeks ago I started having really bizarre dreams, a bit like yours.”

“Everyone can have strange dreams and nightmares. Mine were only significant because of my blood relatives. Well, my genes I guess. Why are you worried?”

“I've been dreaming that I am an animal too, a lynx, actually. Oh, it's probably silly. It's probably nothing.”

“No, go on, what else?” I asked.

“Do you remember Zoltan's reaction to you when he touched your hand?”

I nodded.

“When he first touched me he had the same reaction. Apparently that only ever happens whenever he is very close to cats. He didn't tell me before because he didn't think it was relevant but after having met you, I just wondered whether, somehow, I have the same ability.”

I was intrigued and we decided that we would speak to Gabriel the following day. It sounded like there was something important going on deep within her.

I told her about what Charlie had seen at Christmas – that he had thought she was a witch.

“Charlie was there?” she whispered and I nodded. “And he saw our fight?”

And then she laughed. “Zoltan and I are always at each other's throats. We fight like cat and dog... oh...” as she said it, she realised what she was saying and we both began laughing. “Maybe you really are then,” I giggled.

“But a witch? He got that wrong,” she insisted.

“He said you appeared to be casting spells,” I said and this time she nodded.

“Yes, that's right. I always try to do the right thing and then find out that it wasn't the right thing. That's why I've come back to the Elders now. I want them to teach me where I'm going wrong.”

I didn't have a clue what she meant and so she tried again, “I want to help fight evil, basically. But there have been times when it might have looked like I was evil, when I was just trying to go 'undercover' if you know what I mean. But it never worked and the Elders ended up having to rescue me.”

When I understood what she meant, I felt like I had met a kindred spirit in Tabitha.

Later that night as I lay down in a warm and comfortable bed, with Jo gently breathing as she slept peacefully in the bed next to mine, I came to the conclusion that Tabitha was truly a good person, she just needed some guidance. I fell asleep with the most minimal of fuss after such a hard and gruelling few days. Content that we had finally caught the woman responsible for so much pain, but sad that my father was nowhere to be found.

Jo woke me up the following morning. She was still in bed but she was desperate to talk to me.

“Lilly are you awake? Lilly? Lilly?”

“No I'm still asleep,” I grumbled and turned away from her.

“Lilly. Wake up.”

But it was too late for me to enjoy my slumber any longer. I was awake and I knew I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep again and so I turned to face her. Her face was bright, as if she'd been awake for hours and she looked excited. I knew why, of course. Carmelo.

I shook my head and chuckled to myself.

“What? What's so funny?” she said, frowning.

“Jo... you're glowing.”

“I am?”

“One word, Jo”

“What's that?”

“Carmelo.” The second I said it, she glowed even more and her eyes lit up like never before. “I can't believe you're falling for a man who is  hundreds of years older than you,” I said as I lifted myself up in bed.

“He's 25... he just happens to have been 25 for a very long time. And... I'm not falling for him. Don't be ridiculous,” she said, trying not to giggle.

“It's written all over your face, Jo. I could tell the second it happened last night at the dinner table.”

“It is? And you could? Oh, Lilly... I've never had this feeling about anyone before.”

“How long did you stay up with him last night?”

“For hours and hours. We talked for ages and then he walked me here. He was such a gentleman, Lilly. I can't stop thinking about him,” she said almost to herself as she peered up at the cave's ceiling.

The dreamy look on her face reminded me of how I had felt when I was with Oliver. I missed him and I still had that horrible feeling of emptiness in the pit of my stomach whenever I thought of him. I wished things had happened differently and that he had accepted who I was. Perhaps we would still be together if he had. But I couldn't think about him. He hadn't accepted me and I wouldn't dwell on it. I had moved on. At least I had thought I'd moved on.

“But doesn't it bother you that he's a vampire, Jo? He survives by drinking people's blood,” I asked.

“Technically, he survives by drinking the blood of animals. He hasn't drunk human blood for a long long time,” she answered and I knew that she had already made up her mind about him. Deep down, I doubt that it would have bothered her even if he did drink human blood. She was in love and when love hit you like that, nothing else seemed to matter.

Later that day, when Gabriel was feeling a little stronger, I took Tabitha to see him. For a split second, he had looked at her as if he knew her. When I asked him about it, he just said that she looked familiar, that's all.

And then we told him about her dreams and her concerns. He was quiet for some time and Tabitha and I exchanged glances.

“Tabitha, tell me about yourself. Tell me about your family, where you have come from, how you ended up here.” And so we made ourselves more comfortable and she began to tell him all about her upbringing, everything that she had told me the day before.

After about an hour, Gabriel turned to me and asked if I would mind making some tea for us all, “I'm quite thirsty and you must be too, Tabitha, after all that talking,” he laughed. I did as I was asked and went in search of some tea.

On my way, I noticed Carmelo and Jo laughing and talking together as they walked through the maze of the caves. They were holding hands like lovestruck teenagers and I could easily see that he had fallen for her in just the same way she had fallen for him. She glimpsed at me and winked when he wasn't looking. I laughed and carried on looking for the cave's main kitchen.

I followed the sounds of voices and the clanking of pans and sure enough, found a large room containing everything necessary for the preparation of food and drink.

Two elderly women were gossiping while they prepared what looked like soup over a large open flame. Before I could introduce myself I heard them talking about Carmelo. “I've never seen him act this way before. This young girl seems to have bewitched him,” said one.

“But don't they make a lovely couple. It's about time he found true love. It's been a long long time since Rebecca died,” said the other.

I cleared my throat to make myself known and they both turned and smiled widely at me.

“Hello, dear. You probably heard that,” chuckled one.

I nodded and she continued “But it's true. That cousin of yours, Jo, seems to be brightening Carmelo's day. He's quite smitten. It's been a long time since he knew love. What can we do for you, dear?”

We spoke for a little while longer before I thanked them and left the room carrying a tray with tea for the three of us.

When I eventually found my way back to Gabriel's room, he was alone. Tabitha was nowhere to be seen.

“Where's Tabitha?” I asked, noticing that he was smiling more than he had been before.

“I sent her to find Carmelo.”

“What for?” I asked, and he told me that there was something important he needed to speak to him, and us, about.

As I set the tray down I asked Gabriel what he thought about Carmelo.

“He is perhaps the most remarkable man I have met, the most remarkable vampire anyway,” he chuckled, “why do you ask?”

Not sure whether to say anything or not, I decided that rumours were already doing the rounds so he should know.

“Because it seems that Cupid has shot him with his arrows,” I grinned.

“Cupid is here? When did he arrive?” he asked seriously.

I shook my head in disbelief, “Cupid is actually real?”

Gabriel began to laugh and I grinned. He had caught me out.

“Very funny,” I said, gently punching him on his good shoulder. “What I meant to say was, it appears that Jo and Carmelo have bonded.”

Gabriel smiled and relief flooded through me. “You're okay with it?” I asked.

He nodded, “Since you arrived Lilly, my outlook on life has changed quite a lot. You have helped me become more open minded,” he whispered gently, stroking my face as he spoke. “Especially since you brought Sammy back into our lives.”

Before I could answer, Tabitha returned with Carmelo and Jo in tow.

“Now you need to be equally open minded, Lilly,” he whispered out of their ear shot.

“Gabriel. How good to see you. My apologies for not coming to see you sooner. I was away for a few days and only returned yesterday evening and I certainly did not want to disturb your sleep last night,” said Carmelo as they gently shook hands.

“And you have had far more important matters to attend to, Carmelo,” Gabriel replied, looking at Jo, who blushed and smiled at the same time.

“Ahh, so the cat is out of the bag,” laughed Carmelo.

Gabriel nodded and said, “Well, it's funny that you should use those words exactly Carmelo because I believe that the cat is quite literally out of the bag... I believe that Tabitha here is, in fact, of the feline variety.”

Jo moved forward to sit at the foot of the bed, clearly curious. Carmelo followed, standing behind her with his hands lovingly on her shoulders.

Tabitha sat on one side of the bed and I sat on the other.

Gabriel took a sip of his tea and then handed it to me to put down.

“I believe Tabitha is part of our family.”

We all gasped.

“But how?” I asked.

“Tabitha has kindly filled me in on her life but it wasn't until she mentioned, right at the very end, the name of her mother... Lori,” he said and he turned to look at her, “that's why you looked so familiar to me when you first arrived. You are Rose's grandchild, Tabitha. You are Lilly's second cousin.”

And we both shrieked and laughed and leaned over Gabriel to hug each other.

“That means that Lori is still alive!” I gasped, “We must return home to tell Rose.”

“This is wonderful news, Gabriel. Would you like me to send news to Rose?” asked Carmelo.

But Gabriel declined, “I think this is something that needs to be done in person by Tabitha and Lilly. But thank you, Carmelo. In the meantime, I need to decide what I am going to do. And you, Carmelo, and you, Jo, need to decide what you are going to do too. If you understand my meaning.”

Jo turned to look at Carmelo and he smiled down at her.

“Perhaps you would like to discuss this in private?” asked Gabriel.

“Well, actually. We've already decided,” Jo answered quietly, “I am going to go home and finish high school and then I am going to return to live with Carmelo and help with the Elders,” she said and Gabriel smiled.

“That is a wise decision, my dear. It also gives your parents a few months to come to terms with this situation and to accept Carmelo into the family... but don't look so worried Jo, I believe that your parents will understand. After all, this family has a long history of love at first sight,” he chuckled.

His earlier words hadn't gone amiss with me and I asked nervously, “But what about you, Gabriel? What do you mean you need to decide what to do?” as I remembered that the Elders had invited Gabriel to live with them in the mountains.

“We will leave you two alone for now, Gabriel. So you can talk,” said Carmelo as he, Jo and Tabitha walked out of the room. At the same time I heard Tabitha asking Jo if she could tell her a little about Rose.

“So what did you mean, Gabriel?”

“Lilly, I already knew that I would one day come and be with the Elders. I just thought that it wouldn't be for a few more years but since this has happened to me, I feel like an old man. I don't think I will ever fully recover from the fall. I think you know that too,” he said sadly. “This is my destiny and I have therefore decided not to return home with you.”

I sobbed, not just because he wasn't coming home, but because Vivian had hurt us once more. She had injured my grandfather and although he would recover, his body would never be as it once was.

“What am I going to do without you?”

“You'll be fine. You'll be absolutely fine. And with your amazing ability, you can come and visit me whenever you want to, okay?”

I nodded sadly. “But what will I tell the people in town?”

“I will give you letters to give to my close friends. I will tell them that I had to move away to take care of an elderly relative in the north. They will understand.”

“But what about Ben? He'll be devastated,” I whispered.

“I will tell him the same thing. He will get over it. He is young.”

I knew he would, but he would be hurt not to see Gabriel for one last time. Not to be able to say goodbye. I knew how he would feel and I didn't want him to have to go through that.

“Through you, we can exchange letters. Then it won't be so bad for him, okay?” and I agreed.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Three days later, we were ready to set off home but there was one thing I needed to do before I left. I asked Carmelo if I could see Vivian. Although he wasn't keen, he did understand that I needed some kind of closure. And since coming to Canada, I had changed. Not only was I turning into a young woman, but I had also become much stronger and I felt the need to stand up to her once more.

“It is very cold where she is being held beneath the mountains. You will need a cape or a coat to keep you warm,” said Carmelo.

“Here, have mine, Lilly. I will wait up here until you come back up,” said Jo as she removed the coat she had put on in readiness for our departure.

I took it and wrapped it around my shoulders before I followed Carmelo and a few others deep down into the mountain where she and Charlie were being held until their trial.

“What will happen to Charlie?” I asked him.

“Some of our witches are working on a spell to try and undo the curse she has placed on him. If we can do so, we will return him to his original self and he will be set free, although he will have no memory of what happened to him,” I wasn't sure I liked the idea. He was responsible for seriously injuring my grandfather after all.

“Lilly, please remember that this poor man was not responsible. He has been changed at the hands of one of the most evil witches we have ever seen. If we change him back, he will be a different man. We cannot hold him responsible. However, if we cannot reverse the curse, we will have no choice but to hold him accountable with his mistress, Vivian.”

Charlie was being held in a cell beneath the mountain. It was clean and comfortable and he was being fed and looked after. As I peered through the tight bars, I tried to see him as the man he used to be. An Englishman who had been kidnapped and cursed and forced to do the most evil things. I suddenly had a vision of London all those months before when my father and Vivian had vanished, I had a flash of a newspaper headline, 'Entrepreneur Charles Austen Missing'. I wondered if this could be the same man.

“Charles? Charles Austen?” I said gingerly, hoping for a response.

Charlie looked up and for a second there was recognition in his eyes.

I explained this to Carmelo, who assured me that it might help the witches return him to his former self and I felt some relief. I knew I couldn't lay the blame with the poor man. Full responsibility was with the witch who was being held even deeper into the mountain. Even with Jo's coat enveloping me, I felt chilly and shivered as we approached another cell which was smaller and not quite as comfortable as Charlie's. There were several people outside on guard, but from what I could see, there was little need. Vivian was still pining for her beauty. The looks that would probably never return, thanks to me.

She sat curled up on the floor in the corner, even though there was a perfectly comfortable bed. As she looked up, I saw that the scar had returned to her face. The scar given to her years ago by my brave sister just seconds before her death.

She sat rocking backwards and forwards like a little child, repeating the same words over and over again.

“I am beautiful, I am beautiful, I am beautiful...”

“No, Vivian, you're not beautiful. Not at all,” I said, wanting to inflict more pain. “You will never be beautiful again. I've seen to that. You will spend the rest of your life ugly. You have whiskers on your face, hair on your hands and a scar that will never disappear. You deserve even more suffering for what you have done. You deserve to rot in hell.”

In what seemed like less than a split second, Vivian was standing inches from me. Her fingers had poked through the bars of the cell and she had seemingly picked something from the coat I was wearing. I looked at her face and saw that her eyes had turned red. She was whispering something, something incomprehensible. A spell.

“No!” I screamed.

Carmelo moved like the speed of light towards us, he opened the cell quickly and grabbed her, holding her by her neck up against the wall. She could barely speak and I feared that it was too late. What spell was she trying to cast?

He loosened his grip for just a second and she began to laugh, an evil sound that echoed throughout the mountain.

“Too late,” were her final words before he tightened his grip. I heard a crack and her head flopped to one side. She was dead.

But it was not over. A scream was heard from the top of the steps and a desperate voice shouted, “Carmelo, Lilly, hurry!”

Running as fast as I could, I dreaded to think what we would see when we reached the top. But I knew that it must be Jo. She had been standing there waiting for us. She had given me her own coat and Vivian had removed something. A hair.

Tabitha was crouching down, holding Jo's body in her arms, “She just collapsed. She said she couldn't breathe and she collapsed. Do something. Quick. She's dying!” she cried.

I couldn't see straight. The image before me made me feel physically sick. Jo was going to die. It was Vivian's ultimate revenge. The death of a loved one. Perhaps she had thought that I would die. She probably thought it was my hair she had taken. She was wrong. It was Jo. My lovely cousin Jo was on her deathbed.

I cried, sobbing loudly while Carmelo held her in his arms as the life slowly drifted from her body.

“Carmelo!” shouted a familiar voice. Gabriel. “Carmelo, you must save her. You know what to do. It's the only way. Carmelo... you must. It is meant to be.”

I was confused, how could she be saved? She was on the brink of death. Seconds until Jo no longer existed in this world.

Carmelo turned to look at me, “I'm sorry,” he whispered before he leaned forward and took her arm to his lips and bit her gently, then harder until I could see her blood drip onto the ground.

I couldn't take in what was happening and before I knew what was going on, my vision blurred and I fell to the ground.

CHAPTER THIRTY

“Lilly, Lilly,” said a soft voice as I felt a damp cloth being dabbed across my forehead. I looked up to see Tabitha smiling down at me. Zoltan stood at her side.

I had been carefully laid on the bed in which I had slept the last few nights. Confused, “How did I get here?” I asked and then I turned my head to see the empty bed to my side.

“Jo!” I shouted and jumped up. I suddenly had a vision of her death and I felt like I'd been kicked hard in the stomach. It almost winded me and I had to sit back down again.

“I'm so sorry, Lilly. Carmelo had no choice. It was the only way she could live,” Tabitha said as I recalled seeing Jo being bitten by a vampire, the vampire that loved her.

“I'm okay,” I said, “can I see her?” I asked.

Zoltan shook his head, “They won't let anyone see her for a while. She needs some time to adjust to the change. They're not quite sure how it's going to work, her being a changeling and all.”

I told them I needed to see Gabriel and so we walked to where he was waiting, sitting in a large armchair outside the door of the room where Jo was being cared for.

“Oh Gabriel,” I said when I saw him. I rushed to his side and knelt down, putting my head on his knee.

“There there. Don't worry, she'll be fine. I'm just sorry you had to see that,” he said reassuringly.

“It's all my fault, Gabriel. I wanted to see Vivian for the last time. It wouldn't have happened if I hadn't gone down there to speak to her.” He gently stroked my back and assured me that it wasn't my fault at all.

“It would have happened one way or another, Lilly. At least Jo is alive, in a manner of speaking. And this, this is something that she would have eventually wanted. She would have asked Carmelo to do it. Don't blame yourself, Lilly. Don't do that.”

I heard noises from the other side of the door, and then it opened and Carmelo walked out, closing it behind him. He looked sad. My stomach twisted, fearing the worst.

“Jo is going to be fine,” he said. “Lilly, I'm so sorry. I hope that one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”

I stood up and stepped towards him. I put my arms around him and hugged him tightly, “Carmelo, there is nothing to forgive. You saved Jo. That is what matters. I just wish I hadn't wanted to speak to Vivian. This may never have happened otherwise,” I whispered.

“Lilly!” shouted a voice from the other side of the door. Although it sounded like Jo, the voice was slightly different, smoother somehow but in pain. “Lilly!” she yelled again.

Gabriel looked concerned, “Is it safe Carmelo? Surely not so soon?” he asked.

Carmelo explained that when somebody becomes a vampire, they usually need weeks, sometimes months or more, to adjust to the transformation. They have a thirst for blood that cannot be quenched until they have mastered the art of control.

“So at this stage, Gabriel, no, it is not safe,” he added.

“But she wants to see me, and I want to see her,” I said, stepping forward and putting my hand on the key to unlock it.

“No!” Gabriel yelled, “No, Lilly. I will not lose you,” and he tried to stand up. He was very weak though and he struggled.

“Gabriel, please. If Carmelo comes in with me, and perhaps Ursula, I'll be safe. I need to see her. I'll be safe,” and he nodded his head and gave in. Tabitha knelt by his side and took his hand in hers tightly and they sat and waited patiently while I turned, took a deep breath and opened the door.

Jo was lying on a bed, handcuffed. I was sure though that if she really became desperate she could easily break them off her wrists. I'd heard how strong vampires could be.

I stepped further in and whispered her name.

She turned to look at me, “Lilly,” she cried. She looked as if she was in a lot of pain and it hurt me to see her like that.

Even in pain, she looked absolutely stunning. The combination of vampire, woman and raven had an extraordinary effect on her. She was beautiful before, but now everything about her beauty was increased a hundred fold. Her black hair had grown longer and even darker, if that was at all possible. Her blue eyes had turned so deep in colour that even though they continued to be blue, they were almost black. Her pale skin sparkled and her nails had become like talons.

“Jo... I'm so sorry,” I whispered.

Jo shook her head, “Lilly, eventually, this is what I would have wanted. I wanted to be with Carmelo and this would have been the only way. It was just sooner than I thought it would be, that's all,” and she squirmed and winced again. “Vivian is dead now. That's what really matters. When I can, I will come home, okay?” and I nodded as the tears rolled again. “Lilly... thank you. Tell my family I love them and that I will be home when I can. Please tell them the truth. Tell them they can't come here until I have control, okay? I love you Lilly and I will see you soon,” and she tried to wink at me. “Now go... please go,” she said as she pulled uncontrollably on the handcuffs, while Carmelo and Ursula held her down.

“I love you too Jo. I will see you soon,” and I tried to smile as Ursula moved towards the door and opened it, ushering me out as I attempted to hold back the tears.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

I had been home for just over three weeks. It was strange living in the house without Gabriel, but I had accepted the fact that he was meant to be with the Elders and I would see him soon. Sammy and I had decided that once Jo was strong enough to come back to see us all, we would return with her to visit the Elders, Gabriel in particular. We had decided that we would leave at night and travel together as mountain lion and raven. Well, part raven.

I had hoped that when Vivian had died, her curse on Sammy would automatically be lifted. Even the witches with the Elders had said that the curse should disappear but when I finally returned home, Sammy was still the same. A man with two big black beautiful wings. Wings to be proud of, I told him at the time. We were all confused why the curse had not been dropped, but nobody had the answer.

The curse on Charlie, however, had been lifted and he was now a free man. Carmelo saw to it that he had found his way back to London safely. I had seen his return home on the news on TV. He maintained that he had absolutely no idea what had happened to him or where he had been.

His family were shocked and amazed when he came home safe and well and I was happy for him. Truly. Vivian was responsible, not him.

I was adjusting to life without Gabriel at home. It was a strange time in my life, especially considering that Sammy and I were now living in his house with two house guests... Tabitha and Zoltan had moved in, making it an unusual household – a changeling, a werewolf, part raven part human and a potential changeling in the making! Although we were an odd combination of people, we got on tremendously well together.

Rose had been ecstatic to see me when I came back. She told me that she had been so worried and hugged me tightly. I had decided not to mention my momentous discovery until Tabitha was there with me. I knew she would arrive a day later so Rose and I just enjoyed some time together, just the two of us. We spoke about Gabriel, Jo and Carmelo and of Vivian's death. When I left her that night, I was so excited about what would happen the next day.

I had knocked on Rose's front door later the following day and greeted her with a hug before she noticed I wasn't alone.

“I've brought someone to meet you, Rose,” and Tabitha stepped forward with the biggest grin on her face. Rose's face changed immediately and she had to sit down, “Oh my goodness,” she said, knowing immediately that she had a strong connection with this young girl.

“This is Tabitha... your granddaughter.”

Rose let out a gasp, both her hands moving to her cheeks.

“My... granddaughter? You are Lori's child?” she whispered and Tabitha nodded. Crying, Rose stood up, steadied herself and took her in her arms. “Lori is alive?” she asked and again, Tabitha nodded and smiled. “I have a picture of her,” and she put her hands in her coat pocket and pulled out a small wallet. Opening it, she revealed the face of a woman smiling happily and Rose began to cry tears of joy as she hugged her long lost granddaughter for what seemed like ages.

We spent hours and hours talking about our lives, Tabitha explaining to Rose what had happened to Walter and to Lori and how she had come to be in Canada again. When we finally called it a night, we had left Rose looking more peaceful and happy than she had ever looked before, eager to get to know the granddaughter she never even knew existed. And ecstatic that she would finally get her daughter back after all these years. The daughter that she had never given up hope on, and the daughter she had never stopped loving.

Although I had still not discovered what had happened to my father, I was one step closer. I knew that he had not perished at the hands of Vivian. There was still a chance that he was alive and I knew that one day, I would find out the truth.

Books II and III in The Raven Saga: December Moon and The Lost Soul are now available!

About the author

Suzy Turner has worked as a journalist, assistant editor, features editor and magazine editor. Early in 2010 however, she began writing full time and has since completed six books for young adults: The Raven Saga trilogy and The Morgan Sisters series, as well as a chick lit novel entitled Forever Fredless.

Although Suzy is a Yorkshire lass at heart, she left her home town of Rotherham, UK, to move to Portugal with her family when she was ten. The Algarve continues to be her home, where she lives with her childhood sweetheart and husband of 16 years, Michael, and their two neurotic dogs and a cat who thinks she's a princess.

Website: http://suzyturner.com

YA Blog: http://suzyturner.blogspot.com

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A Note from all the Authors

The six of us would like to give a huge collective thank you for your support by buying our boxed set. If you enjoyed the books, you can also connect with us online. It would also be fantastic if you could leave a review on the site where you bought the book. We’d love to hear what you thought!

Table of Contents

- When Darkness Falls
- HIDDEN
- Mary Hades
- THE FOREVER GIRL
- The Forgotten Ones
- Paradox – The Angels Are Here
- RAVEN
- A Note from all the Authors