Evanescent Page 16

  Felix pursed his lips. “Technically,” he answered.

  “She’s my—”

  “She’s your nothing,” he snapped.

  “What does this mean?”

  Felix was silent.

  “She was a witch,” said Bronwen, her voice trembling. “Does that make me a witch, too?”

  Felix took hold of her shoulders. “By blood, perhaps. But you are nothing like that woman. Do you understand me? Nothing.”

  Tears began to prickle her eyes. “She did this to you,” she whispered. “And I’m her descendant.”

  “But you’re not her. You’re you.” His expression was urgent now, desperate to protect her from the truth. “I didn’t want you to find out because it doesn’t matter. You’re just you, and nothing else matters.”

  “I’m a part of her.”

  “You’re not. You’re a part of me.” He wrapped his arms around her and drew her to him. “You’re a part of me,” he repeated softly into her ear.

  “I have her blood,” Bronwen realised, slipping free and staring at him in disbelief. “Felix,” she breathed, then paused, scarcely able to process her own thoughts. “I’m the cure, aren’t I?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Charmed Life

  Sixteen Years Ago…

  Ada Snow sat in her rocking chair beside the fire. The wind howled outside and the record player crackled with a lulling wartime tune. She closed her eyes and listened to the songbird voice of the woman on the stereo. This was one of her favourites. A true classic, in her opinion. She resisted the urge to mutter about how they didn’t make them like they used to, and smiled at the thought. Of course, in her day, things were a lot different from how they were now. Sometimes she felt as though she didn’t belong in this world.

  She sighed, quietly reminiscing about her life, feeling melancholic that it was nearing its end. She was still young in many ways, in mind if not in body, but she couldn’t help but wonder how life had managed to pass her by so quickly. There had been a time when she’d lived, and loved, and considered children even. But those years had simply slipped by, and she’d found she’d said no too often. No to invitations, no to proposals, no to life. And now she sat alone, too old to work, too weary to start again, and left only with her memories of missed opportunities.

  Nonsense, she thought ruefully. How could I have said yes? How could I have let people into my life? They’d have called me a madwoman and run for the hills. A woman of my age, claiming to have psychic visions? It’s unheard of! Premonitions? Oh, they’d have had me committed as soon as they looked at me. She forced another smile, reminding herself that being alone was just fine. More than fine, even—it was how she wanted it.

  She gazed into the wavering fire. Her mother had called her visions a gift, but they’d never seemed like much of a gift to her. More of a punishment. Sometimes she simply didn’t want to see the truth, yet she was forced to, like it or not. Although there was one vision that was far from the truth. One that still haunted her to this very day. It was a vision of her, cradling a baby girl. A beautiful baby girl whom she loved with all her heart, despite having never met her.

  Perhaps I’m a madwoman, after all. Ada looked down at her frail hands—hands that had never nursed a baby. She had never even come close.

  The needle on the old record player jammed, and the female voice skipped back. “Gone… gone… gone…” she repeated, caught in the jerky loop.

  Ada rose to her feet and ambled across the room. She lifted the needle and set it back to the start. It crackled before the music began, and in the quiet limbo before the song started there was a thud on the front door.

  Ada jumped, startled. The weather outside was wild and it was nearing midnight. Who would be out on a night like that? And besides, who would visit her? She had no family left, and no friends to speak of.

  I must be imagining things, she decided, returning to her seat. No doubt I’m going senile in my old age. However, she sat warily now, not relaxed and contemplative as she had been before. She pushed away her thoughts and focused on the soothing melodic voice floating from the speakers. But it happened again. A single knock on the door, loud and urgent.

  Ada gripped the arms of her chair. “Who’s out there?” she yelled.

  The knock came again. Three consecutive raps this time.

  “Go away!” Ada barked. “I’ve called the police!”

  “Ada Snow!” a voice came from outside. “Please, let me in!”

  A man, Ada realised at once. There’s a man out there! “Get gone!” she shouted, standing up and swooping upon the iron fire-poker. “I’m warning you!”

  “Please,” he begged, again knocking frantically on the front door.

  “What do you want?” she yelled back. “I’ve got no money.”

  “I don’t want money. I just want help. You’re the only one I can trust.”

  “Who are you?” She gripped the poker tighter. “What do you want from me?”

  “My name’s Tom. Samantha sent me. She told me I could come to you. She told me I could trust you.”

  He must be drunk, Ada guessed. He’s some sort of lunatic, I bet.

  “Ms. Snow, please,” the man tried again.

  “Now listen here! I don’t know who you are or what you’re after, but—”

  “I know about your visions,” he interrupted, “and I need your help.”

  Cautiously Ada edged closer to the door. She crept into the hallway and tentatively peered through the spyhole. It was dark outside and the storm was raging. There, on the other side of the door, stood a young man. Not long out of his teens, Ada presumed. His scruffy clothes were soaked through, and his matted brown hair was dripping with rainwater.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have let him in, but something about the state of the boy tugged at her heartstrings. Her repressed maternal instinct nagged at her to open the door to that pitiful sight. So she did.

  The boy stood on the porch, stunned, until Ada beckoned him inside. He staggered into the hallway, dripping on the carpet and shivering. His face was drawn and his eyes were riddled with anguish and fear. Anyone could see that this man was burdened, lost and out of his depth.

  “Sit down,” Ada said, guiding him into the living room. “What’s the matter with you, boy? Does your mother know you’re out this late?”

  “I haven’t got a mother. It’s just me.”

  Drunkards, Ada thought disapprovingly. “What do you mean, you haven’t got a mother? That’s the biggest load of codswallop I’ve ever heard.”

  “I’m an orphan.”

  Ada looked away, embarrassed.

  “I had to come to you,” he explained, his eyes wild and afraid. “Samantha told me if I ever needed help, I should come to you. You, and no one else.”

  Ada’s eyebrows knotted together in irritation. “Now, who’s this Samantha you keep talking about?” She sat in her rocking chair and glared at her guest. “I don’t know any Samantha. You’ve got the wrong person. You should get your head read, coming ’round here at all hours—”

  “She knows you. She knew you,” he corrected himself. “My Samantha.” He paused to take a shaky breath. “She had visions, just like you. And she saw you.”

  Ada swallowed. “This Samantha, are you saying she’s some kind of psychic?” It felt strange to say the word aloud, and she detected a note of disgust in her own voice when she did so.

  “She was a witch,” said Tom without batting an eyelid.

  “Was?” Ada echoed. “She’s not anymore?” A glimmer of hope sent her stomach fluttering. There was a cure? Would she finally be rid of this curse?

  “Samantha…” He struggled to speak. “She was killed. Tonight.” He turned pale and his eyes welled with tears.

  Ada’s jaw dropped. “No,” she said. “This is some kind of practical joke. You damn kids. What kind of sick—”

  “It’s true,” he choked. The tears began to spill from his eyes and roll down his cheeks. He wiped them away
briskly. “Let me finish,” he rasped. “Then you can decide whether to believe me or not.”

  Ada gave way to silence, her mind already whirling.

  “Samantha,” Tom winced at the name, “was an orphan, like me. We grew up not far from here, in Lantrice House. It’s an orphanage.”

  “I know it,” Ada said stiffly.

  “Her mother was killed when she was just a kid, and Samantha always said the same thing would be coming for her one day. Only I never thought…”

  Ada clasped her hands together, watching as he held his voice steady even with tears pouring from his eyes.

  “She said it comes to end the bloodline. Witches, you know. I never believed her, of course. I thought she was as mad as a box of frogs, but I loved her.” He swallowed. “Anyway, all this time she was right. It really did come for her, Ms. Snow. And it was strong. Samantha… didn’t stand a chance.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ada murmured.

  He shook his head remorsefully. “She knew it was on its way. From her visions, you see. So we did what we had to do. We hid the little one. We hid her in Lantrice House where she’d be safe.”

  “The little one?”

  “Our girl. Bronwen. She’s three months now. Doesn’t seem like we had much time with her, does it? Three months.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “But we had to do it, for her. It’s not going to end with Samantha—not while the little one’s still out there. Samantha said it’ll come for Bronwen next, and that’s why we hid her.” He looked pointedly at Ada.

  “What’s all this got to do with me?”

  “This witch hunter, it won’t stop until the job’s done. It won’t rest until it’s tracked her down. Something will eventually lead it to her, but with you, she’s got a chance. Your visions will be the warning. With you, she’ll be safe.”

  “But you’re the child’s father. Can’t you keep her safe? Can’t you run away with her?”

  “It’ll track me. It’s seen me tonight with Samantha. It’s already got my scent. The only thing I can do to keep Bronwen safe is hand her over to you and get as far away from here as possible. I’ll let it track me to the ends of the earth. I’ll never stop running, so long as I’m drawing that thing away from Bronwen.”

  “Are you telling me you expect me to adopt a baby?” Ada spluttered. “At my age? I’m an old woman, and I want nothing to do with any of this!” The image of the baby in her arms flashed through her mind, but she pushed it aside.

  “Please,” Tom begged, his hands clasped together. “I wouldn’t have come if there were any other way…” He dropped from the chair onto his knees. “Please, Ada.”

  “Oh, get up off the floor, boy,” she said huffily. “Listen, even if I were to agree, those at Lantrice House would never allow someone of my age to adopt a baby! They’d think I was potty for even asking!”

  Tom clambered back into his seat. “It’s already been arranged,” he said, a glimmer of hope returning to his eyes. “Samantha left Bronwen at Lantrice House with a note citing you as next of kin. On the birth certificate, it says no known father. We thought that would be safest.” He winced at the memory. “So nobody’s going to be coming around asking questions. She’s yours, if you’ll have her.”

  Ada’s lips pressed into a thin line. “If I was to say yes,” she began, hardly able to believe she was entertaining such a ludicrous idea, “what happens to you? Where will you go?”

  “Like I said, I’ll keep my distance. I’ll never stay in one place for too long, just in case it’s tracking my scent. Maybe in the future, if I’m certain there’s no risk, you’ll let me pass by every now and then. Just to see her, y’know? She’ll never find out who I am. She’ll grow up thinking I’m no one.”

  Ada felt a pang of sorrow for him. “And if she asks what happened to her parents?”

  “You can tell her we passed on. That way she won’t ever try to look for me. Tell her I died of a broken heart.”

  Ada was sure that a part of him already had.

  “But don’t tell her what’s coming for her. Not unless a time comes when you need to. I saw how Samantha worried every day, always wondering when her time would be up. It was no life. I want Bronwen to have a wonderful life.” He met Ada’s eyes earnestly. “I want her to never be afraid of the darkness, and to live fully and freely.”

  Ada bowed her head. She knew she should say no. The whole thing was utterly absurd. She should turn this man out on the street and pretend she’d never met him. She should look him square in the eye and tell him no.

  But she didn’t. She said yes.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Needs Must

  “Yes,” said Felix quietly. “Yes. Your blood is the cure. For us to be cured, you must die.”

  Bronwen stared at him, desperately searching his eyes. “Do they know?” she murmured, glancing to the courtyard staircase.

  “No! Of course they don’t know. And they’re not going to know, either.”

  “Felix, I have to tell them. They want this more than anything. You want this more than anything,” she reminded him.

  “Did want,” he hissed. “Past tense. Now I want you more than anything.”

  Bronwen dropped her head into her hands. “No,” she muttered. “No. We can’t do this to them.”

  Felix took hold of her hands and coaxed them down from her face. “Yes, we can,” he insisted. “They don’t suspect. As far as they’re concerned, Margo never had children. No one in our time ever presumed otherwise. To them, she was merely a bitter old woman who’d lived a life of solitude.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “The Severan,” he explained. “It’s not just any hunter. It’s the hunter. The witch hunter. And then when I saw the Christmas card from Lantrice House…”

  Bronwen cast her mind back. “So, all those times I saw you arguing with Ada, it was about this?”

  Felix nodded.

  “What happened to my parents?” she asked weakly.

  “Your mother was taken by the Severan, and your father…”

  “Died of a broken heart,” Bronwen finished.

  Felix rolled his eyes. “Is that what they told you? Well, I must say, he looked very much alive when I saw him.”

  “You’ve seen him?” Bronwen exclaimed. “How could you have seen him? You don’t go out—” Suddenly she staggered backwards, holding the stone wall for support. “Oh, my god,” she whispered. “It’s Tom Jenkins.”

  Felix slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her into him, letting her fall against his chest. “I know this is a great deal to take in,” he murmured into her hair, “but you must try. If Alistair and Loki see you like this, they’ll know something’s wrong.”

  Bronwen listened to his racing heart. “They’ll know anyway,” she muttered. “We can’t hide this from them.”

  “Yes, we can. They’ve no more reason to assume you’re the cure than they do to assume that Ada’s cure simply didn’t work.”

  Tears spilled from Bronwen’s eyes, soaking Felix’s shirt. “I can’t take this away from them.”

  “You don’t have a choice.” He eased her upright and began wiping her tears with the tips of his fingers. “You won’t die for us. I won’t let that happen.”

  Hearing those words made her feel sick. She was the cure? Her entire life had been a lie, and now she was thrown into a reality where she was the ultimate cost for their freedom.

  “All I ask of you is to stay calm and say nothing,” said Felix. “I’ll take care of the rest. I promise. Forget you know anything.”

  “Forget?” she stammered. “How am I supposed to forget?”

  Felix leaned forward feverishly. “The same way that I forced myself to forget the price we’d pay every time I convinced myself that it was okay to touch you, to crave you. And to allow you to want me.”

  “This is different,” she choked.

  “Is it?” he shot back. “Because the consequences are the same. If we choose each other, we will have each
other.”

  “And what will Alistair and Loki have?”

  “I can’t think about that right now,” Felix replied evasively. “But letting you die for them is not an option.”

  How can I not? Bronwen thought ruefully. How can I deny them their cure? By doing that, she’d be no better than Margo Bates. She was robbing them of an end, just as the curse had done. What if I explained things to them? she wondered. What if they were willing to wait until I was old and… Somewhere in the haze of whirling thoughts, she became aware that Felix was speaking to her. His voice was calm and controlled now.

  “Come back inside,” he was saying. “It’ll look suspicious if we stay out here for too much longer.”

  Bronwen decided to voice her thoughts to him. “I think we should be upfront with them,” she said. “If we explained the situation, then maybe they could wait until I was older.”

  “No. You said it yourself—they want this too much. They care about you, Bronwen, but it’s only a matter of time before something snaps inside of them… or they’re driven insane by the desire. Believe me, it’s better they never know than be subjected to living with the knowledge that their salvation is there for the taking.”

  He stroked Bronwen’s hair away from her tearstained cheeks. His gaze lingered on her eyes, waiting for her reaction.

  “What about you?” she stuttered. “How will you cope knowing that I’m your cure? Won’t it be unbearable for you, too?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Why not? There must be a part of you that still wants this.”

  “I swore to protect you, and I intend to—and that includes from myself. That’s the overriding desire I have, and that’s what will keep me sane.”

  “But it doesn’t make sense. Why would Ada have sought out your help, just to have you kill me in the end?”

  Felix held up his palms. “Maybe she thought I wouldn’t find out. Or maybe she foresaw that I’d never let it get that far…”

  Bronwen winced.

  “Let’s just make it through tonight,” he suggested. “We’ll have plenty of time to agonise over the details. Just please, Bronwen, try to act normal?”