How I Found You Read online

  When we emerged onto the dirt road and the manor came into view, the real world suddenly seemed a lot more real.

  “I need to speak to Caicus,” I muttered, mostly to myself.

  I must have inadvertently picked up my speed, because I noticed Rose trotting to keep at my side. I had a tendency to move a little too quickly when I wasn’t concentrating. I slowed down and smiled at her.

  She smiled back.

  We were almost at the house when I heard a noise from inside the walls. There was no way Rose could have heard it—not without witch’s hearing—so I grasped her wrist and signalled for her to halt.

  I pressed my index finger to my lips and listened attentively.

  Kitchen.

  Roger.

  “What is it?” Rose mouthed.

  “Roger,” I said quietly. “He’s awake. He’s in the kitchen.”

  Rose stared at the closed door, probably wondering how I knew that.

  “I don’t want him to see us sneaking in,” she said at last.

  New plan.

  “Close your eyes,” I said.

  Instead of closing her eyes, she rolled them at me.

  “I thought we were past this—” she began.

  “Just do it,” I groused, rolling my eyes back at her.

  She did it—pouting, though.

  I hoisted her off the ground and swept her around to the side of the house, then carefully placed her onto the grass. All of which took place in under a second. I shouldn’t have needed to explain why I’d asked her to close her eyes; the motion sickness from a manoeuvre like that would have been ghastly.

  She blinked up at me, disorientated. “How did we…?” She touched the conservatory side door, evidently baffled by how we were no longer at the front door.

  I rattled the conservatory door. It was locked. But this lock was old, and I figured I could probably bust through it without damaging another entryway. Shame about the bathroom door, I mused. Anyway, I gave it what I would describe as a forceful nudge, and it swung open.

  We stepped into the conservatory and listened as Roger’s shoes clacked along the hallway and out through the front door.

  “Successfully averted,” I commented once the door had clicked shut behind him.

  “It must be around six o’clock if my uncle’s setting off for work.”

  “Probably,” I agreed, scrutinising the position of the rising sun. I liked this room; the walls were mostly glass, so it gave an impressive panoramic view of the grounds.

  “We stayed up all night,” Rose said with a yawn.

  “Why don’t you get some sleep?” I suggested. I obviously knew the answer to that, but I didn’t want to validate her reasoning.

  She lowered her eyelids. “No,” she said quietly.

  “Come on, now. Dreams can’t hurt you. Besides, you’ve already seen tonight’s episode.”

  I detected a weary smile.

  “Go to bed,” I implored her. “I’ll sit with you if you like.”

  She looked up at me, her gaze soft. “Okay.”

  “Okay,” I replied.

  We slunk upstairs to Rose’s room, glad that the rest of the house had not yet woken. I wasn’t tired. Tiredness was not something that generally affected me. In fact, I could go days without sleep and still be as sharp as a razor.

  Rose, however, crawled into bed with the rigidity of someone suffering from severe bruising. She half-heartedly pulled the covers over her and closed her eyes. My jacket still cosseted her like a coat of armour. It had never served a more worthwhile purpose.

  I sat on the floor, in the same spot that I had been only nine hours earlier. From my post, I watched Rose. Her hair curled like ivy over the pillow and her breathing fell into a steady rhythm.

  The minutes ticked by, and, sitting in my own meditative state, watching Rose sleep, I was pleasantly contented. I could have quite happily stayed there for hours, but unfortunately I had other obligations.

  Where the hell are you? Caicus’s voice shouted in my mind.

  In the attic, I responded to him silently. Where are you?

  Where do you think I am? he fumed. I’m in bed. Where else would I be at six in the morning? Imbecile.

  All right, all right. Don’t get your apron all in a bunch. I’ll be there in a minute.

  Where the hell have you been all night? he demanded.

  I groaned at his irritability. I’m on my way down, I told him.

  Reluctantly, I stood up and stretched out my arms. This was most definitely a conversation that I’d rather avoid. I suddenly had enormous empathy for the Grim Reaper.

  Poor guy. That must be a tough job.

  Before I left the attic, I crept over to Rose. She was definitely sleeping, so I didn’t wake her. But I brushed the hair from her face and kissed the top of her head.

  I exhaled heavily.

  Here we go.

  It didn’t take me long to get back to my own bedroom, and that was even with the dawdling I did along the way. I let myself into the room and shut the door behind me.

  Caicus was sitting atop his daisy bedspread. He looked surly, to say the least.

  “Honey, I’m home,” I joked.

  He glared at me.

  Point taken. Not a great time for humour.

  He looked at me with his I-hate-you face.

  “Tell me you got the talisman back.”

  Wow. He was still on that? He was way behind.

  I’d almost forgotten that all of this had started with the stolen talisman. Boy, was he in for a shock.

  “I did,” I said.

  “And? Where have you been all night?”

  “With Rose. Did Mary ask about the hole in the bathroom door?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I said I fell into it. Why were you with Rose?”

  This was what experts call the pull-the-plaster-off-quickly technique.

  “I told her.”

  Caicus froze.

  “Are you…okay?” I hovered at a safe distance from him, weighing his expression. Which was wide eyed and blank, by the way. Like a taxidermy rabbit.

  “Hello?” I snapped my fingers in his line of vision.

  “What did you tell her?” he asked in a stony voice.

  “Um…” Lies or truth? Lies or truth? Truth. “Everything.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and pursed his lips so tightly that they turned white.

  “In my defence,” I added, “she figured it out for herself. Well, most of it.”

  “You told her that we’re witches?” Caicus seethed through clenched teeth.

  “That’s the part she worked out for herself.”

  “You told her about the prophecy?”

  “Yes. I had to.”

  “Why?” he hissed.

  “I don’t know, Caicus. She just asked me.”

  “Then you lie!” he shouted.

  “I couldn’t. Anyway, what difference does it make? She’d already figured out that we’re witches.”

  “So, then what? You told her we were sacrificing her to Lathiaus and she was just okay with that?”

  “Well, not exactly,” I stammered.

  “Don’t not exactly me!”

  “I left out some parts.”

  “But you told her about the prophecy?”

  “Yes.”

  He frowned at me. “What, you conveniently left out the tiny detail of her death? Which, you might say, features highly in the narrative?”

  “No. I explained that her death is foretold…”

  Caicus massaged his temples. Thick strands of blonde hair coiled around his fingers.

  “I’m confused,” he said.

  “Me too,” I chuckled.

  “Oscar,” he barked, “explain to me how it’s possible that she’s simply accepted the fact that we’re going to kill her?”

  “I didn’t tell her that we planned to kill her.”

  Caicus hesitated. “Okay. That could work.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Things will go
somewhat smoother if she doesn’t know what we’re doing.” He relaxed slightly. “Okay. Good work. Sorry I went all Sergeant Major on you.”

  “Yeah, no problem. But I should tell you one other thing.”

  He stiffened again. “Yes?”

  “I’m not going to do it.”

  Caicus stared at me for a long, tense moment. I waited for his response with bated breath. It was taking a while. I considered offering to put the kettle on.

  But then, he reacted. “What exactly are you not going to do?”

  “Kill her. I can’t do it.”

  Caicus fell silent again. He sat there so still that I was pleasantly surprised by how calm he was about the whole thing.

  He was taking this better than expected.

  And then he let out an almighty roar. He leapt off his bed and dived on top of me like a rabid dog.

  We tumbled to the floor and scuffled around, colliding into furniture, and walls, and whatever else happened to have the misfortune of being in our path.

  “Caicus!” I yelled. “Get off me, you lunatic!”

  He took a swipe at my face, which I dodged, causing his fist to pound into the carpet. Ha.

  “I knew you’d do this to me, Oscar!” he howled. “This is typical of you!”

  “Typical of me?” I shot back. “Oh yeah, this is classic me. I’m always not killing people.”

  He heaved his weight on top of me and pressed my face into the carpet—which I’d only just noticed was the most putrid shade of brown I’d ever seen.

  “You may be not killing her, but you’re happy enough to be killing me!”

  That hit me harder than any punch could have.

  I stopped trying to wriggle free of him and instead just lay on the floor, defeated. I waited for him to dole out his beating. But it never came.

  Caicus flopped down on the carpet beside me. Neither of us spoke for what may have been five or so minutes.

  I made the first move. “So…” I said, sprawled out on the floor, twiddling my thumbs. “Is your hand okay?”

  “Yes,” he mumbled.

  I waited a minute or two before I tried again.

  “This carpet is ass-ugly, isn’t it?”

  Caicus let out a weary sigh.

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “It’s vile.”

  Good. We were friends again.

  “Sorry I… you know, took you down,” he offered his olive branch.

  I glanced at him. He was staring up at the ceiling.

  “I deserved it,” I replied.

  “Oscar?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Please, don’t do this.”

  I sat upright and shuffled back until I was leaning against the wall.

  “What am I meant to do, Caicus?” The despair in my voice was strange to hear. I didn’t like it.

  Caicus sat up, too. “Just stick to the plan,” he beseeched me. “Don’t do this. Not for some girl.”

  “She’s not some girl.” All of a sudden I was overtly protective, as though he’d slandered her somehow. “What can I do? I can’t let her die.” I pondered over it for a moment. “But I can’t let you die, either.”

  “Well, you can’t have it both ways,” he pointed out.

  “I know that.”

  “Stick to the plan,” he said again. “Look, if you save her, then only she survives. Not even you. What would be the point in that? You won’t even get the glory for doing it.”

  “I don’t care about the glory. I just…”

  “What?” he pressed.

  “I don’t know. I just don’t want her to die.”

  Caicus raked his hands through his hair. “Oscar, please, I’m begging you, don’t do this.”

  I swallowed. This was impossible. Sitting with Caicus, my brother, my best friend, I knew that there was no way—no way—I could let him die.

  Funny, though. The most astonishing thing about tackling this dilemma was that there was one person whose wellbeing I had no interest in accounting for. Mine. It was an odd feeling. You naturally assume your own life will always be most precious to you, but when you’re forced to choose between yourself and the two most important people in your world, yourself immediately becomes expendable.

  It was either her, or him.

  Time to pledge your allegiance.

  The Fractured Heart

  ANOTHER HOUR PASSED BY AS Caicus and I remained on the floor.

  We talked—mostly in short, emotionally charged bursts, followed by long spells of silence.

  I despised the fact that I was beginning to yield. When I was with Rose, it was all so clear: I was saving her. End of story. But my mulish friend did a first-rate job of presenting the opposing argument. Caicus made damn sure to drill his standpoint into my head. I’m talking pneumatic power tools, here.

  “You must think of the bigger picture,” he said.

  I stared at him, fearful that he was slowly breaking down what I’d thought had been an impenetrable wall.

  “I know you want to save her,” he went on, “and that’s just…well, that’s just swell. But think about what you’re doing, Oscar. It’s selfish.”

  I looked down at the carpet.

  “This isn’t about the one, it’s about the many. You’ve known that from the start.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You have to,” he stated frankly. “It’s not your place to interfere with her destiny.”

  I punched the floor in frustration. “Then why are we here? Why did I have the dreams? I was sent here to save her—”

  “No, you weren’t,” Caicus cut me off. “You were sent here to save an entire race of witches. You were sent here for the greater good. Maybe this is your test.”

  I frowned.

  “It’s your time to step up,” he insisted, “and do what you know is right. Save the world. Save our world.”

  I bit down on my lip until I drew blood. I wanted to feel the pain. I wanted to feel something other than the agonising ache of my impasse.

  Caicus studied me watchfully.

  I licked the trail of blood from my lower lip and then spoke again. “I can’t do it.”

  “You won’t need to. I’ll do it.” He gave me a look of loyal solidarity. The sunlight gleaming through the window caught in his powder blue eyes. “I’ll do it,” he repeated in earnest. “All I ask of you is to accept it.”

  My mind swam. Deep down, I knew Caicus was making sense. One life in exchange for many. And this was Rose’s destiny.

  But what was mine?

  In the solitude of my head, I recounted the words of the prophecy.

  It is foretold, on the day of his end,

  so doth life begin

  At the stroke of the eleventh hour,

  he shall awaken

  All will bow before him

  All will perish at his mercy

  Only one can end the blood spill

  She, the girl with the heart of a witch

  Before the hour turns to twelfth,

  she must grant him her death

  Two will take her to him, and all will be spared

  Two will turn away, and all will be slaughtered

  Our fate awaits

  I sighed. Damn it.

  “Oscar,” Caicus reached out and gripped my shoulder, “I’m sorry. You know that, don’t you? If there was any other way…”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll do it all,” he assured me—as if the consolation was worth anything more than the breath it was spoken with. “The only thing I ask of you is to turn away.”

  Turn away, I thought, noting how ironic his choice of wording was.

  “Can you do that?” he persisted.

  What other choice did I have?

  I nodded my head.

  There was a knock on our bedroom door.

  On reflex, I identified the scent in the air. It wasn’t Rose.

  “Come in,” Caicus sang out.

  Neither of us was surprised when Mary poked her head around the door.


  “Hello, boys,” she beamed, not venturing beyond the doorway.

  “Hello, Mary,” we replied in unison.

  She peered down at us, to where we sat on the carpet, clearly thinking it strange.

  Caicus and I shared a look.

  “Now, boys,” Mary carried on, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper, “I’ve come to talk to you about the big day.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck bristled.

  How the hell does she know about the big day?

  Caicus began to babble. “No. Truly, Mary, it’s not what you think—”

  I cleared my throat to interrupt him. “Big day?”

  Mary’s eyes widened and she held her finger up to her lips. “Shh.” She glanced over her shoulder into the hallway.

  “Sorry,” I mouthed. “Big day?”

  “You know… the big one-seven.”

  What’s a big one-seven? Caicus asked me silently.

  How should I know? I responded. Must be some kind of woman thing.

  Mary looked at us expectantly.

  “Yes,” I said slowly. “The big one-seven. Very exciting.”

  She gave me an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

  What was going on here?

  I returned her thumbs-up, which seemed to please her.

  Is the big one-seven something to do with Lathiaus? Even in silence, Caicus’s tone was frantic. She knows, doesn’t she?

  No, of course she doesn’t know. My brow creased in irritation. She doesn’t know a thing. She doesn’t even know what day of the week it is.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Caicus smile.

  Hey, Oscar, he signalled to me mischievously, what day of the week is it?

  I don’t bloody know, I huffed. And stop smiling; she’ll think you’re a crackpot.

  “So,” Mary continued, deaf to our private conversation, “how about we go to Hutton Ridge and pick up a few things? We’ve only got a few days left.”

  “A few days?” I echoed.

  “Yes. It’s on Friday.”

  Oh, that’s right. It was Wednesday.

  It’s Wednesday, I hissed to Caicus. Ha.

  “Friday,” Caicus chimed in. “The big one-seven.”

  “Yes,” Mary’s cheeks puffed out to allow for her enormous smile.

  “What the hell is the big one-seven?” I blurted out.

  Oh damn, I winced. I hadn’t intended on saying that aloud.