Evanescent Page 10

  “I left it in the corridor,” he said, jogging off to retrieve it. Seconds later he returned, the Piriot slotted awkwardly under his arm and his eyes already scanning the open book. But instead of sharing the leather-bound pages with the others, he carried the volume to his alcove and sat amongst the bedding, settling down to read.

  “Interesting…” he muttered to himself, nursing the book in his lap.

  Bronwen looked between Alistair and Loki.

  “Now here’s something that might be of use to us.” Even as he spoke, Felix’s eyes stayed locked on the page. “It says here that a werewolf named Jeremy Smith was shot in the town of Rushwood. How far away is that?” His gaze lifted to Alistair.

  “Not far,” Alistair replied. “I’d guess it’s a day, round trip. Half a day if we run.”

  Running. Bronwen groaned inwardly. She cleared her throat. “I probably should admit that I’m not the best runner.”

  Felix smirked at her. “I think it’s safe to say we could have figured that one out on our own. No, you’ll stay behind while we dig up ol’ Jeremy.”

  “Great idea,” Bronwen shot back dryly. “So I stay behind with the Severan while you three go gallivanting off to dig up werewolves?”

  “Excellent point,” Felix noted. He shot a glance at Alistair and Loki. “Split up?”

  “Seems like the only option,” Alistair agreed. “Loki and I will go. We’ll leave at once.”

  “Whoa!” Loki held up his hands in protest. “It’s daylight now. If we wait until sunset, there’ll be less chance of being spotted. We can be back by sunrise, I’m sure.”

  “I’d certainly feel more comfortable hidden,” Alistair agreed. “Although, if the Severan attacks again, I’d imagine it’d be at night. You’d be on your own, Felix.”

  “I’m not worried,” he said. “Get that bullet. That’s all that matters.”

  Alistair stared at him carefully before he spoke. “Right. We’ll get to Rushwood. We’ll find the grave of Jeremy Smith, and we’ll get the bullet.” He hesitated, biting down on his lower lip. “Felix, you’re absolutely sure that you can handle the Severan on your own if it comes to that?”

  Felix smiled vaguely. “Absolutely. Or I’ll die trying… and we all know that’s not going to happen.”

  Chapter Ten

  Depth Perception

  Later that afternoon, Felix set to work boarding up the broken window in the alcove while Alistair and Loki gathered essentials for their mission. Rather insistently, they sent Bronwen off in search of salt. Neither of them could agree on why exactly they needed salt, but they were both certain it’d be vital.

  With the kitchen being the first logical port of call, Bronwen began her search. However, as the boys weren’t the most logical of thinkers, salt was nowhere to be found. But she did find something else. Something far worse.

  Left stewing on the burner was a huge metal pot. It was filled to the brim with water and was bubbling lightly under the heat of a low flame. Whatever it was had been simmering for quite some time.

  Bronwen switched off the knob and peered into the pot. For several seconds, she was utterly baffled. Crammed into the boiling water was some sort of material. It looked like… clothes.

  With a lurching feeling in her stomach she heaved the pot to the sink and poured out its contents. The water swirled down the drain, leaving a heap of sodden rags moulded together in the sink.

  She quickly snatched a pair of salad tongs and sifted through the pile, extracting one steaming, dripping scrap for inspection. It was as she’d feared.

  “Loki!” she screamed.

  The thud of three pairs of feet moved into the corridor, followed by a creak as the kitchen door swung open.

  Bronwen held out the tongs, waving the sodden garment at the three boys. Steaming water splashed onto the white floor tiles.

  “You boiled my clothes!” Bronwen exclaimed, her eyes on Loki.

  Felix’s lip quivered, and Bronwen’s eyes shot to him before he dared laugh.

  “I washed them,” Loki explained, fidgeting anxiously. “They were muddy, so I washed them. For you,” he added.

  Bronwen silently counted to ten. He didn’t do it on purpose, she reminded herself. After all, he’s only had two hundred years to figure out that you don’t…

  “You boiled my clothes!”

  Felix laughed.

  “Hot water cleans things,” Loki reasoned. “Doesn’t it?”

  “Yes. And boiling water boils things,” Bronwen groaned. “Everything has shrunk.”

  “Alistair does the washing.” Loki thumbed towards Alistair, who cowered behind the doorframe. “He told me the water should be hot. Very hot, he said.”

  “I had nothing to do with this,” Alistair put in hastily.

  Felix held up his hands. “Nor me. I was with you the whole time, remember?”

  Loki shifted from left to right. “I’m sorry,” he offered.

  Bronwen squeezed her eyes shut, and when she opened them again, three sets of nervous puppy-dog eyes were peering back at her. “It’s okay,” she said at last. “It was very…” Say something positive, say something positive… “Well, you tried. It could have happened to anyone.”

  Loki brightened. “Really?” he asked, relieved.

  “Yes,” Bronwen replied stiffly. “Thank you for… trying.”

  “You’re welcome, Bronwen,” he said joyously. He ventured into the kitchen and prodded at the t-shirt drooping sadly from the tongs. “It does look smaller.”

  Felix smirked. “Don’t worry, Snow. One thing I’ve learned from our library outing is that shrunken clothes appear to be the fashion these days. I imagine you’ll fit right in.”

  Bronwen shot him a cantankerous look.

  Hovering at her side, Loki pried the top from the tongs. “I’m sure we can stretch this,” he muttered, tugging at the arms. “It’ll be as good as new…”

  Suddenly there was a sharp tearing sound, and the next thing Bronwen knew, Loki stood with one half of the top dangling from either fist.

  Silence fell over the kitchen.

  “I think you might have made it worse,” said Felix.

  Bronwen glared at him.

  “Oh dear,” said Loki. He delicately placed both pieces of the tee on the countertop and flattened them out carefully. “Sorry,” he said meekly.

  Bronwen stared down at the rest of the clothes in the sink, still steaming from the heat of the water. “Never mind,” she sighed. “I’ll just have to go back to the cottage to pick up a change of clothes.”

  “No!” Felix howled. “Not again! We’ve just come from there.”

  “What do you expect me to do, Felix? I have no clothes.”

  “What about the ones you’re wearing?” he argued.

  “I’ve been wearing these for two days!”

  “Well…” He staggered for a comeback. “Whoever said you had to wear clothes at all? Lord knows, not me! In fact, I distinctly discourage it.”

  Bronwen held his gaze stonily.

  “It’s too late to go now, anyway,” Felix went on. “It’ll be nightfall soon.”

  Bronwen glanced out the window behind her. “Not for another few hours. We can be there and back before dusk.”

  Felix slammed his palm against the doorframe. “Damn and blast it, Loki!”

  Loki sucked in his breath. “It could have happened to anyone!”

  “Come to think of it,” Felix ranted, “I wouldn’t be surprised if this was your plan all along, Snow,” he said, returning his attention to Bronwen. “Any chance you get, you drag me to that infernal cottage. I’ve seen enough of that place to last me a lifetime. To last me several lifetimes, in fact.”

  Bronwen folded her arms. “I’m not in the mood for this, Felix. Are we going or not?”

  He folded his arms, matching her stance. “Well, that all depends, doesn’t it. If you truly insist on ensuring that my every waking hour is spent utterly miserable, filled with torture and despair, then yes
, by all means, we can go. If your own private fashion show is more important to you than the sheer suffering that I will endure as a result, then I will not stand in your way.” He paused to smile persuasively. “I know you’ll make the right decision.”

  ****

  When Bronwen and Felix arrived at the cottage, a light wind had picked up and Ada’s laundry was swaying gently on the washing line.

  They ducked underneath it and made for the kitchen.

  “Hello?” Bronwen called. The kitchen was empty, save a half-empty milk bottle standing out on the counter. “Ada?” she tried again.

  The adjoining door swung open and Ada appeared. She looked surprised to see them back so soon.

  “Bronwen,” she said, her voice faintly tense.

  “And Felix,” Felix added.

  “Yes,” said Ada distractedly. “What’s happened? Is something wrong?”

  “No,” Bronwen assured her. “I’m here to collect some clean clothes, that’s all.”

  Ada’s frail shoulders relaxed slightly. “Oh. Of course. Some of your things are out on the line. I’ll see if they’re dry.” She hushed her voice. “I should warn you, we have a visitor.”

  “Who?” Bronwen frowned.

  “Tom. You remember him, don’t you?”

  “Tom Jenkins?” Bronwen sounded surprised. Tom had lived nearby when she was younger, but had moved away some years ago. He was only a neighbour, but growing up she’d thought of him as a part of the family—and she knew Ada considered him to be like a son.

  Ada nodded. “Yes, he’s back in town for a visit.”

  “Oh,” said Bronwen. “Where is he?”

  Ada gestured to the living room door and stepped aside for Bronwen to pass.

  There, sitting in the very same armchair that Felix had placed himself in just hours before, was Tom Jenkins. For an instant, Bronwen stopped dead, as though she’d seen a ghost.

  “Hi,” she managed. “Welcome home.”

  Behind her, Felix stood rigid.

  “Hello, Bronwen,” Tom replied. He attempted a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His face was just as she’d remembered—only now he’d aged into his late thirties. There were traces of grey in his unruly brown hair, creases on his brow, and dark stubble on his chin.

  “Are you here on holiday?” Bronwen asked.

  Tom rested his coffee mug on the arm of the chair. “Something like that,” he said, still trying to muster a smile. “You know what this place is like. You can’t stay away for too long without it calling you back.”

  Bronwen thought of Felix, and of how he’d returned to the Cynon Valley after all those years spent roaming the world. What was it about their humble little town that was so compelling?

  “Will you be staying long?” she asked Tom.

  He looked to the carpet. “I’m not sure yet.” His eyes moved to Felix, who remained in the doorway, motionless and breathing stiffly.

  “This is my friend Felix.” Bronwen gestured vaguely over her shoulder.

  Tom gave him a polite nod.

  Felix’s lips pressed together for a few bated seconds. When he finally spoke, his tone was barbed. “And you are?”

  “Tom.”

  Felix eyed him warily. “What’s your connection with the family?”

  “I’m an old friend,” he answered.

  “An old friend,” Felix repeated.

  Bronwen cleared her throat. “Anyway,” she broke the uncomfortable tension, “it was nice seeing you, Tom. I hope we’ll get a chance to catch up properly while you’re here.” For a moment, saying those words made her feel sad somehow. And she was sure she detected something sentimental in Tom’s eyes, too. Perhaps it was the nostalgia of seeing a face from the past, or perhaps it was the poignancy of such a fleeting visit. Either way, Bronwen brushed it aside and said her goodbyes.

  She led Felix into the hallway and stopped at the foot of the narrow staircase. Felix stood quietly beside her, his hand folded over the banister and his eyes cast down to the Persian rug beneath their feet.

  “My clothes are upstairs,” Bronwen said. “I’ll pack a bag.” But she didn’t move. She simply gazed at the staircase.

  “Are you okay, Snow?” Felix broached carefully.

  She nodded. “I’m fine.”

  “Bronwen,” Felix began again, “how do you know that man?”

  “Tom? He used to live around here. I don’t remember him all that well, but Ada used to really look out for him.”

  “Do you know much about him?”

  “I know enough to know that there’s nothing suspicious about him, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  Felix gave her a cat-like smile.

  She patted him on the shoulder. “You should try trusting people more often. You might just find that you like it.”

  He grinned. “I doubt it.”

  She returned his smile. “Okay, Felix,” she said, heading up the staircase and leaving him lingering below. “I won’t be long,” she called over her shoulder. “Try not to offend anyone while I’m gone!”

  “No promises!” he called back.

  Once upstairs, she trotted along the hallway to her bedroom and opened the door. But as she crossed the threshold, she stopped in her tracks. Her once-familiar little bedroom might as well have been on another planet.

  She hadn’t been back to her room since she’d fled in the middle of the night. The sheer white drapes were still drawn as she’d left them, and the window was still ajar. The only thing that had changed was her. Just a few days away from the cottage had somehow segregated her from the world she used to know. She was bowled over by the significance of her return.

  She perched on the edge of the bed and let out a long breath. Here she was, back in her same old room, on her same old bed, but she was no longer the same old person. A few days ago, Felix hadn’t even existed to her, and now not only did he exist, but he existed within her. He was in her thoughts, on her skin, and in her heart.

  Bronwen chewed on her thumbnail as she stared vacantly into her dressing table mirror. The girl in the mirror stared back at her with a face that was almost not her own. Two marble-like eyes fixed her with an enigmatic gaze.

  Bronwen inhaled and exhaled, watching as the girl in the mirror did the same. Those eyes burned through her, speaking to Bronwen with their intensity—although she couldn’t quite understand the message they conveyed.

  Downstairs, the sound of the kitchen door opening made her jump. She heard Tom call goodbye, followed by the indistinct murmur of voices drifting up from the garden.

  Bronwen turned her attention to the window.

  The voices outside continued to drone indistinctly. Whatever they were talking about seemed to be getting heated.

  She rose from her bed and stepped over to the window. Easing the drapes apart, she peered out into the garden.

  On the lawn, Felix and Ada stood face to face. They huddled together, hissing at each other through clenched teeth. Bronwen was just in time to catch Felix’s words.

  “I will see to it that it is you who suffers the consequences of this.”

  “Felix!” Bronwen shouted. “What are you doing?”

  Two pairs of eyes shot up at her, their expressions frozen in surprise.

  Without thinking, Bronwen reached for a vase of long-stemmed roses that sat atop her window ledge. One at a time, she plucked the flowers from the vase and began lobbing them at Felix in the garden below.

  “Bronwen, please!” he cried, covering his head with his arms. “Is this really necessary?”

  “Get away from my grandmother!” she yelled, throwing another rose at him. It bounced off his head and ricocheted onto the grass.

  Ada gasped. “Good grief, Bronwen! Be careful, dear. You’ll have his eye out with those thorns.”

  She threw another rose.

  “Bronwen!” Felix bellowed, cowering behind Ada. “Don’t make me lose an eye! Think of my depth perception!”

  Bronwen ignored h
im, looking only at Ada. “Is everything alright?” she called down.

  “Everything’s fine, dear,” Ada returned, brushing the wayward petals from her long skirt. “Felix and I were just having a nice little chat, that’s all.”

  What? she frowned. It hadn’t seemed like a nice little chat. It had seemed like a nice little threat.

  “Are you sure?” she stuttered. “It didn’t sound that way.”

  Two innocent faces stared back at her.

  “Of course I’m sure, sweetheart,” said Ada. “You must have been imagining things.”

  Bronwen blinked in confusion. Imagining things?

  Ada and Felix sported matching amiable smiles.

  Did I mishear? Bronwen glanced back at her reflection in the dressing table mirror. I’m imagining things, she repeated silently. But the girl in the mirror didn’t look quite so convinced.

  Chapter Eleven

  Be Like Me

  The sky bled burnt orange over the tree tops as the sun dropped ever lower. Bronwen and Felix walked steadily uphill until Felix eventually came to a halt.

  “No,” he said abruptly.

  Bronwen stopped, waiting for him to elaborate.

  “No good,” he muttered. “It’s too late. It’ll be nightfall soon.”

  She looked up to the sky. It wasn’t quite dusk yet, but it was certainly heading that way.

  “No,” Felix went on. “I don’t like this. The risk is too high.”

  “Then what?”

  He glanced back the way they’d come, down the gently sloping hillside.

  “Back to the cottage?” Bronwen guessed.

  “Perhaps,” he said slowly. Furrows formed on his brow while he silently mulled it over. “Damn it, Snow!” he cursed, stamping his foot. “We should have left an hour ago.”

  “We didn’t get there until an hour ago.”

  “Then we shouldn’t have gone at all.”

  Bronwen sighed passively. “Well, we did. So now we have two choices—try making it to the castle before dark, or going back to the cottage.”

  “Is there a secret option number three?”

  “Stand out here debating it all night.”

  Felix smiled. “Right,” he began. “As a rule I’d vote castle every time. But in this instance…” He looked up to the sky again. “We can’t be out here at night. Not while I’m on my own. We’ll have to turn back.”