Evanescent Read online

  “Will we be safe at the cottage?”

  “In theory, yes. The Severan will be expecting you to be at the castle. In fact, this could work in our favour.” He glanced at Bronwen. “Just one minor catch.”

  “Go on.”

  “Your skin.”

  She touched her cheek. “What’s wrong with my skin?”

  Felix leaned into her. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, his lips almost close enough to graze her throat.

  Bronwen’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Yes,” Felix uttered. “That’s you, all right. Unmistakable.” He stepped back.

  “Okay,” said Bronwen, trying not to sound too affected by him. “What does that mean?”

  “Well, as I said, the Severan will be expecting you at the castle. That’s where it last picked up your scent. Your scent will still be there, faintly, just as it is at the cottage. However, you—the undiluted you—won’t be there.”

  “I’ll be in the cottage.”

  “Precisely. And if it picks up the trail to the cottage, it will eventually trace that scent directly to you.” He shook his head reproachfully. “Pesky hunters.”

  “Is there any way to disguise my scent? What about perfume or something?”

  Felix laughed. “There’s not a perfume in the world strong enough to mask…” he waved his hand in vague circles around Bronwen, “that,” he finished.

  She hugged her arms around herself. “You know how to flatter a girl, don’t you?” she said dryly.

  He grinned. “Sorry. In my day, you reek was considered the highest form of compliment.”

  “Nice try. You’re from the eighteen hundred, not the eight hundreds.”

  “Well, anyway, the best we can hope for is that my scent dilutes yours somewhat.”

  “Will that work?”

  “Possibly,” he replied.

  “If we go to the cottage, though, I need to be sure that we’re not putting Ada in any danger.”

  “She’ll be fine,” he said, disinterested. “You should stop worrying about her and start worrying about yourself a bit more.”

  “I have you for that.”

  Felix rolled his eyes before beginning back down the hill.

  They retraced their steps along the route they’d come until they reached the cottage fence. By now, the sun had slipped even farther below the horizon, and dusk was hanging in the air.

  “Go inside,” Felix told Bronwen, nudging her towards the gate. “I’ll circle the area a few times to mask your scent.”

  She did as he asked, glancing back at him as he disappeared amongst the maple trees. Inside the fenced-off garden, Bronwen closed the gate and crossed the lawn towards the cottage’s back door. The kitchen light was on, illuminating the blue and white wall titles and the potted plants on the windowsill. Ada stood at the sink, washing dishes. She looked lost in thought. The worry lines around her eyes framed a gaze set to something unseen.

  Bronwen opened the door and stepped into the kitchen.

  “It’s only me,” she said quickly, just as her grandmother dropped a dish into the sink, startled.

  “You’re back?” She did a double-take. “Where’s Felix? He’s abandoned you!”

  “No,” Bronwen assured her. “He’s outside. It was getting late, and we decided it would be safer to stay here tonight. Is that okay?”

  “Of course it’s okay! More than okay. I’m glad to have you in my sights for once. Perhaps tonight we’ll both sleep a little easier.”

  Bronwen wrapped an arm around her grandmother’s frail shoulders. “I hope so,” she said. “Here, let me make you something to eat. You need to rest.” She guided Ada into the living room and steered her to the armchair beside the fireplace.

  “Bronwen,” Ada protested, “you shouldn’t be taking care of me. You’re the one who’s been through an ordeal.” She moved to stand up.

  Bronwen eased her grandmother back down. “Relax. I’m fine. You, on the other hand, look exhausted.” She lit a reading lamp to counteract the building darkness outside, and then left Ada alone.

  Back in the kitchen, she began preparing sandwiches. She’d filled an entire tray before Felix finally reappeared. He walked into the kitchen and locked the door behind him.

  With his dark hair windswept and a flush along his cheek bone from the cold night air, he looked timelessly handsome. His eyes landed on her in the same contented way that hers held him.

  “Any problems?” Bronwen asked.

  “No. I’ve done all I could out there. Now for in here…” He shrugged out of his jacket and swept it around Bronwen until it landed like a cape on her shoulders.

  She jumped in surprise as the jacket enveloped her, filling her lungs with the smell of the castle. Her heart fluttered in exhilaration.

  “What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly.

  He took the jacket by the lapels and pulled her closer. “Keeping you safe,” he said, grinning down at her. “Making you me.”

  The soft leather weighed on her in the most comforting of ways. She slipped her arms into it, relishing the silken lining against her bare skin.

  “That ought to cover your scent,” said Felix. “Now the only one who gets to breathe you in is me.” He smiled carefully, inhaling through his parted lips.

  Bronwen enfolded the jacket around her, almost drowning in the excess material. She stared up at him, suddenly lost for words.

  “Are you hungry?” she said at last.

  “Always,” he whispered with a touch of ambiguity. He smiled and, reaching around her, lifted a sandwich from the tray.

  Bronwen stepped away from him, composing herself. “Do you think we’ll be safe here tonight?” she asked.

  Felix shrugged.

  “What about Alistair and Loki?” she added. “Will they be okay?”

  He took a bite of the sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “Yes, they’ll be fine. But…”

  “What?” she prompted.

  “Nothing. It’s just strange, that’s all. Do you realise that this will be the first time I’ll have sat down for a meal without Alistair and Loki since…” A flicker of sorrow clouded over his face. “Since forever started.” He stared at the half-eaten sandwich in his hand.

  “You miss them?”

  He smirked. “Will you think me an utter wimp if I told you that I do?”

  Bronwen smiled. “No.”

  “Good. Because I do. I miss them terribly. Isn’t that pitiful? They’ve only been gone for a few hours! And it’s not as though they’re never coming back.”

  “I can understand why you’d feel that way. You’ve been with each other for hundreds of years.” She glanced down at the sandwich tray. “Okay,” she said, returning her eyes to Felix’s. “So, I have an idea. How about we don’t sit?”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “You said that this will be the first time you’ll sit down for a meal without them, so how about we stand?”

  For several seconds, Felix’s expression was unreadable, but then his mouth turned up at the corner and he laughed under his breath.

  “Okay, Snow,” he said. “Let’s stand.”

  ****

  The last of the daylight waned like the final grains of sand dropping in an hourglass. Long after Ada had gone to bed, Felix and Bronwen stayed curled up in the living room, watching the log fire burn down to ashes.

  “Just like home,” Felix remarked, idly poking at the fire’s embers from the armchair where he sat.

  “Only smaller,” Bronwen added.

  “Much smaller.”

  Bronwen smiled at him sleepily. He looked placid, his face shadowed in the fading light. “So how does it feel, your first night away from Alistair and Loki?”

  “Strange,” he answered at last. “Being separated from them has opened my eyes to certain things.”

  “Such as?” she coaxed.

  He sighed pensively. “I suppose I underestimated how essential we’d become to one another.”

 
“Well, sure. You’ve been through a lot together.”

  “Yes. And you are the first outsider we’ve allowed into our lives.”

  Bronwen paused. “Is that what I am? An outsider?”

  “Oh, no,” Felix amended hastily. “Not now, anyway. More like you’ve brought the outside in. You’ve brought us life—something we’d learned not to anticipate.”

  “Have things really changed that much?”

  “Yes. But lord knows we needed a change. One thing’s for sure—I will never be the same for knowing you.”

  Bronwen rested her head on the sofa cushions. “I know that feeling,” she said with a smile.

  Felix tore his eyes from the fire and looked at her. “It’s funny how things work out, isn’t it?”

  She nodded, quietly contemplating his words.

  “To think,” he went on, “if I’d have been born two centuries later, or you two centuries earlier… well, I suppose we’ll never know.”

  “You’re here now,” Bronwen said softly.

  Felix stared at her for a long moment, then cleared his throat. “You’re tired,” he stated. “You should get some sleep.”

  “As much as I hate to admit it,” she conceded, “you’re probably right.” She rose wearily from the sofa. “You can sleep in my room, if you want.”

  Felix stood up too, just as the crackle of the fire slowly fizzled away into smoke.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll wait outside your bedroom,” he said. “I’d like to be near enough to ensure your safety, without crossing the line of gentlemanly conduct.” He winked at her.

  “We share a room at the castle,” she reminded him as they headed into the hallway. “I think I can trust your conduct by now.”

  Felix shook his head. “That’s different. This is your room, and I wouldn’t want to dishonour you by spending the night in it.”

  Bronwen stifled a laugh as he followed her up the narrow staircase.

  “Laugh all you want,” he said, smirking ever so slightly. “You may think I’m old fashioned. And boring, no doubt. But in my day, it was a sign of respect.”

  They reached the landing and Bronwen turned to face him.

  “It still is,” she told him.

  In the darkened hallway, she saw him smile diffidently before she tiptoed towards her bedroom.

  The door creaked as she opened it, and the room was bathed in silver moonlight. Bronwen crept to her bed and crawled beneath the covers. The door stayed ajar, and just outside it, Felix took his post.

  “Felix,” Bronwen murmured, closing her eyes as she sunk into her pillow. She still wore his jacket, swathed around her like a coat of armour.

  “I’m here,” he replied.

  “Thanks,” she said. “For everything.”

  “Thank you,” he returned, “for finding me.”

  There was a quiet pause between them.

  “I’ll miss you,” Bronwen whispered at last.

  Felix held his silence for a little while longer. “I’ll miss you, too. If that’s possible. I mean, where I’m going…”

  Bronwen opened her eyes, tracing his silhouette with her gaze. He was leaning against the hallway wall, staring at the empty staircase.

  “Where do you think you’ll go?” she asked, not even sure if she wanted to hear his answer.

  “I don’t know.” He glanced over his shoulder into the room, a look of contentment on his face. “I just know it’s where I belong.”

  “I wish you belonged here.”

  “I suppose, right now, I do,” he admitted. “You know, I never imagined my life would have such purpose. I simply existed, day after day. But, right here, at this very moment, this is what it’s all been leading up to. Not just to save you, but to meet you.” He laughed quietly. “By logic, I should have left this earth many years ago. But something, a force greater than logic, kept me around. I like to believe it was for you.”

  Bronwen smiled sadly. “What will I do without you?” she whispered.

  “You’ll grow,” he replied.

  Bronwen felt a lump form in her throat. “Don’t you want to stay?” she asked. Even as the words left her mouth, she knew they’d come from a selfish place, but they were words she’d needed to say.

  When Felix answered, he spoke so quietly that Bronwen scarcely heard him. “Of course I do. But I won’t.”

  Her eyes smarted with tears.

  “It wouldn’t be fair to you,” he said a little louder.

  Bronwen sat upright, the covers sliding down around her waist. “But it would be fair,” she insisted. “It’s what I want.” The urgency in her voice sliced through the dim room like the crack of a whip.

  Felix moved into the doorway, meeting her eyes in the darkness. “No, Bronwen. You can’t see it now, but I can. I’ve watched people grow with each passing year. They have families, they age, and they move on. Then their children have children, who have children, who have children, and the cycle continues. And all the while I stay the same. For me to take you from that world, to deny you of a life—a real life… it would be unforgivable.”

  “But I don’t want those things,” she choked. “I only want you.” A solitary tear spilled over onto her cheek.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not? It’s true.”

  Felix raked his hand through his hair. “In all my life, I’ve never cared so much…” he trailed off. “And that’s exactly why I want better for you. I want more for you. More than what I had.”

  Crushed, Bronwen sank back down into her pillow and closed her eyes. She had nothing left to say.

  ****

  An hour later, once Bronwen had finally fallen asleep, Felix hovered in the doorway watching her breathe steadily beneath the covers. Everything in his being drew him closer to her; just to see her, to take in her scent, to steal one more second with her. Unable to resist the pull of temptation, he stepped through the invisible force-field and crossed into the room. He moved tentatively at first, almost guiltily, but he wouldn’t turn back. Not now.

  He crept silently to her bed and gazed down at her peaceful face. She looked angelic, he realised. How could anything want to harm her? He trailed his finger across her cheekbone. She didn’t stir. When he brought his hand away, he noticed that beneath her eyes it was damp. His heart twisted at the thought that she’d been crying. Worse, that she’d been crying because of him. The residue of her tears clung to his fingertips and tingled on his warm skin.

  Life had been so simple before—tedious and painful at times, but simple. And now nothing was simple. He cared too much. He knew too much. The slightest wrong move on his part and everything would crumble. Maybe he should just give in, tell her everything, and let the cards fall where they may.

  The spineless option, he mused. No, he thought resolutely, I have a duty to protect her. And that is exactly what I’ll do. It’s time to start covering my tracks.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rushwood

  By the time Alistair and Loki reached Rushwood, it was a little after midnight. The streets were deserted, curtains were drawn, and the only sound was the chime of the town clock that echoed in the tranquil night.

  The boys paced along a tarmac road, heading for the old stone church in the heart of the little town. It wasn’t hard to find—especially seeing as it was the largest building for miles around, surrounded by a wooden picket fence, and lit by the misted glow of street lamps.

  Loki gripped Alistair’s shirt, his eyes darting furtively between the Edwardian-style houses lined along the pavement.

  “It’s alright,” Alistair assured him. “We’re perfectly safe.” He patted his young friend on the shoulder, trying to disguise the fact that he wasn’t nearly as confident as he’d made out. That truth was, all three of them had been so isolated from the modern world that they knew nothing of it. The last interaction they’d had with humans—aside from Bronwen—had been terrifying, and haunted Alistair even now. He cast his mind back to that day, as he often did
when he was feeling vulnerable. It was the day his family had turned away from him, and the day he’d realised he was no longer human and the world as he knew it was over.

  Alistair shivered. He would never forget the hollers of the townsfolk and the glare of their burning torches. But what had been engrained in his mind most of all was the coldness in his father’s eyes.

  “Give me back my son,” his father had spat, looking straight through him without a glimpse of recognition.

  “I am your son, Father,” Alistair had wept. “It’s me. I promise you, it’s me.”

  “You are not my boy,” the normally gentle man had hissed.

  “No, Father. Please, it’s me. I’m Alistair.”

  “Do not speak my son’s name! You are the devil.”

  And the last thing Alistair remembered was the heat of the flames darting towards him, and the tormented screams of the women—women who were not screaming for the lives of the three young boys caught in the blazing inferno, but who were screaming in horror at the three devils who did not flinch under the fire’s scorch.

  Alistair had fallen at his father’s feet, begging to be recognised. It had been Felix who had lifted him from the ground and dragged him to safety. He could picture it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. They fled the Cynon Valley then, Loki clinging onto Felix’s back, tearful and frightened.

  It was a long time before any of them were able to sleep without being plagued by nightmares. That was why they’d always shared a bedroom—because at least that way they’d never be alone when they awoke in a feverish sweat. And, gradually, the nightmares became less and less frequent. The boys began laughing more, too. Felix always made sure there was laughter wherever they went. And he always made sure that when he grieved, he grieved alone. Of course, he’d shout and complain to anyone who would listen, but his grief was always private. In fact, in their many years spent together, Alistair had only ever seen Felix cry once.

  It had been early in the nineteen hundreds. They’d settled in a desolate landscape in Morocco. Felix would walk alone in the desert at night, sometimes not returning until sunrise. One evening, while Loki slept soundly, Alistair had decided to follow him. He’d found Felix kneeling on the parched dunes, silent tears escaping his eyes.