Evanescent Page 9

  “Sugar?” Ada asked, jolting her attention back to the tea.

  “Huh?”

  Ada poised a spoonful of white granules over one of the mugs. “Felix. Will he want sugar?”

  “Uh… I’ll ask him,” she mumbled. A little disorientated, she wandered back into the living room.

  But as the door swung open, she stopped in her tracks. Felix was not in the chair where she had left him—he stood at Ada’s bureau in the corner of the room. At the sight of Bronwen, he hastily slammed the desk drawer shut.

  Bronwen stepped onto the carpet, letting the door fall shut behind her with a thud. “What were you doing?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he stammered. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

  A statement that did little to alleviate her suspicion.

  When she moved towards him, he stiffened and angled himself to block her path.

  “Okay, you’re acting seriously weird,” Bronwen said nervously. She reached around him and eased open the desk drawer. Crammed into it were loose papers and pamphlets—none of which seemed particularly out of the ordinary.

  Bronwen peered down at the top of the pile. The first thing she noticed was a small beige envelope. Printed on the front was the cottage address; next to the postage stamp were the letters LH in faded ink. As she reached for it, Felix caught her arm. He met her eyes, almost pleadingly.

  The look made Bronwen flinch. “What’s wrong?”

  He licked his lips. “Nothing,” he said, releasing his grip.

  Bronwen lifted the envelope. The seal was broken, and there was a card inside.

  It was a small, mass-produced Christmas card with a nativity scene printed on the front.

  Bronwen opened the card.

  To Ada & Bronwen,

  Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

  Warm Wishes,

  From all at Lantrice House

  Felix stared at Bronwen, waiting for her response.

  “It’s just a Christmas card,” she explained. She gestured to the fireplace mantelpiece where a myriad of cards still lingered in the aftermath of the festivities some weeks earlier. There was every design, from twinkling gold stars to snow-covered polar bears to sketches of cats wearing Santa hats. “Ada must have forgotten to put this one up.”

  Felix held his breath for a second. “Yes. I see.”

  The living room door opened again, and Ada walked in carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. Her gaze shot to the bureau where Felix and Bronwen stood, and then to the card in Bronwen’s hands.

  “What’s that, dear?” she asked, placing the tray on the coffee table.

  “It’s just a Christmas card. It was in the drawer.”

  “Oh?”

  Bronwen checked the inscription again. “Where’s Lantrice House?”

  Ada wiped her hands on her pinafore. “Lantrice House? Hmm… Isn’t that the place on Corriton Road where I go for my medical check-ups?”

  Bronwen thought about it for a moment. “Maybe. Are you on their mailing list?”

  “I don’t know, dear. I expect so,” said Ada. “Felix, do you take sugar in your tea?”

  When Felix didn’t reply, Bronwen glanced at him. His jaw was clenched.

  “No,” he said stiffly. “No sugar, thank you. Actually, we won’t have time to stay for tea, after all. Bronwen and I have so much to do this afternoon.” He picked up the library book from the coffee table and slipped it inside his jacket.

  Bronwen stared blankly at him. “We have time to stay for a drink—”

  “No,” he cut her off. “No, Bronwen, we don’t. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

  “Felix, please,” she protested. “Don’t be so rude.”

  “I said no,” he snapped. “I’m sorry, but now’s not a good time.”

  It was as though he’d knocked the wind right out of her sails. How can he be so cold? she fumed, frustrated with herself for caring so deeply for someone whose mood could switch so drastically. For someone who could be so callous for no apparent reason.

  For someone, she realised, who wasn’t even human.

  ****

  “Please, Snow,” Felix bemoaned. “Please talk to me. Haven’t I been punished enough? And for crimes I didn’t commit, no less!”

  Crimes he didn’t commit? Bronwen thought furiously. He’s the most insensitive, oblivious person in this entire—

  “What are you so upset about?” Felix carried on. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked without even so much as a murmur of complaint…”

  Ha! He’s even more deluded than I thought.

  “The silence is killing me!” Felix exclaimed. “Or it would, if I wasn’t immune…”

  So now he’s playing the sympathy card, Bronwen noted.

  “All I ask is to hear one single word. One single syllable of your heaven-sent voice,” he said as he smiled virtuously at her. “The voice of an angel gifted to this world in the form of my dear Snow…”

  And now the flattery card…

  “With a voice so sweet it rivals the strum of cherub’s harp—”

  “Be quiet, Felix!” she snapped.

  “Ah,” he breathed. “Music to my ears.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “There are many things I don’t want to do, Bronwen, but I do them anyway. Living forever being the most noteworthy.”

  Bronwen rolled her eyes.

  “Look,” said Felix, changing tactics as they trudged uphill, “I’m sorry about our abrupt exit—if that’s what has you so riled, that is—but we simply don’t have time to sit around drinking milky tea all day. We’ve got to find the Piriot if we want any chance against the Severan.”

  Bronwen sighed, yielding slightly. “I know that, Felix… But…”

  “But?”

  “But I hate leaving Ada alone. And I hate the way you spoke to her. She’s my grandmother.”

  “I said I was sorry,” he offered.

  “She looked exhausted. I’m worried about her.”

  “Well, don’t be,” Felix said scornfully. “She can take care of herself, I’m sure.”

  “But she’s getting older, and—”

  “She’s a psychic,” he pointed out. “She’s not as helpless as you romanticise her to be.”

  Bronwen pushed aside tangled branches from her path. “She’s my family. My only family. I can’t help but worry about her.”

  “I see,” said Felix. “You have no other relatives? No aunties, no uncles, no third cousins twice removed?”

  “No. Ada only had one daughter—my mother—and after my parents passed away, there was no one else left.”

  “What about your father’s family?”

  “Ada has no contact with them. I’m sure there are relatives somewhere around the world, but I’ve never met them.”

  “I see,” Felix repeated. After a short pause, he spoke again. “Do you remember them? Your parents, I mean.”

  “No. My mother died in childbirth, and my father soon after. Ada says he died of a broken heart.”

  Felix remained silent.

  “Anyway,” Bronwen went on, “it was just Ada and me after that. We took care of each other. We still do. We only have each other,” she stressed.

  He tilted his head to look at her. “I can relate. Believe me.”

  They broke through the trees, bringing the castle into view.

  “Bronwen,” Felix began as they stepped onto the drawbridge, “it’s not really just you and Ada anymore. It’s me, too. You have me.”

  A faint colour rose to her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  “And Alistair and Loki,” he added.

  But for how long? Bronwen wondered. She summoned a weak smile.

  Felix pushed open the courtyard door and they strolled through.

  “Now then, shall we have some tea?” he said, making his way up the stone staircase with Bronwen in tow.

  “I thought you said we didn’t have time to sit around drinking tea all day!” />
  “Actually, I said we didn’t have time to sit around drinking milky tea all day.”

  Bronwen gave him an incredulous look. “What about all the things we have to do? Shouldn’t we be searching for the Piriot?”

  Felix came to a stop at the top of the stairs. He placed the library book in a hollow carved into the stone wall.

  “Well,” he sighed, “I suppose you speak some sense… amidst the overall drivel that you usually spout.” He smiled wickedly. “Dear.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “Which is how it was intended. Are you ready to feast your eyes upon the glory that is the weapons room?”

  “I guess so,” Bronwen replied vaguely.

  “Glad to see you’re managing to contain your enthusiasm,” he tutted, as they began down the corridor. They went past the living quarters and kitchen, and even past the library, making their way to the other side of the castle. The oil lamps wavered on the rough stone walls, lighting patches of orange on their path. At last Felix came to a stop at a black iron door. He twisted the handle, opening the door to reveal narrow steps leading down into what appeared to be a dank space below. A shred of light settled on the steps as they made their descent.

  Bronwen shivered. The room at the foot of the stairs was dark and cold, and felt more like a dungeon than anything else. She cast her gaze into the depths of the long chamber; it seemed to stretch for miles, eventually getting swallowed by darkness. The floor was paved with uneven stone, and the walls were hung with rows of elaborate weaponry.

  From what Bronwen could tell, the weapons were mostly old wooden devices like crossbows and longbows. Fascinated, she studied the detail on the ornately carved wood as she passed each one by. Nothing looked like it belonged in this era, that was for sure.

  “They’re supernatural arms,” Felix explained, following her curious gaze. “They may not look like much to the human eye, but to us otherworldly types, they’re the crème de la crème.” He strode ahead of Bronwen, disappearing into the shadows.

  Somewhat reluctantly, she trailed behind. It was hard not to be enthralled by the obscure wall-mounted contraptions—a few of which were almost the size of her.

  “Piriot!” Felix called from somewhere indistinct. “A5, A7, A10,” he muttered.

  Bronwen fumbled her way through the darkness, tracing the sound of his voice.

  “B3,” he was saying, “B9, B11…”

  Bronwen found him, barely visible in the unlit room. His eyes were fixed intently on the wall as he inspected the branded numbers on each hanging mechanism.

  “Jackpot,” Felix murmured. He reached up to the wall and unhooked a large, rusted weapon in the shape of an A. He blew off the dust and held it up for Bronwen’s inspection. Wire and steel wrapped around the structure in a workshop-project-gone-terribly-wrong sort of fashion.

  Felix cradled it in his arms. “Isn’t she beautiful?” he murmured.

  Bronwen wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know…”

  “Take a look.” He handed it to her. As soon as the cold metal touched her fingertips, the sheer, incomprehensible weight pulled her down. The Piriot dropped onto the stone floor with an echoing clatter.

  “Oops,” said Bronwen. She bent down to lift it, but it wouldn’t budge. “Is this my sword in the stone moment? Because, if so, it’s not going all that well.”

  Felix peered dubiously at her before picking the Piriot off the floor with enviable ease.

  “Supernatural weaponry,” he said, “weighs a ton. Literally.”

  Bronwen examined it as it lay nestled in Felix’s arms once more. “And it is definitely the right one?”

  He double checked the branded code. “Yes. The B14 model.”

  “Wow. Something has actually gone right for once!”

  Felix smiled proudly, and then groaned.

  Bronwen’s heart sank. “Don’t tell me. It’s the wrong one, isn’t it?”

  “No, it’s the right one.”

  She frowned. “So what’s the problem?”

  “No bullets.”

  Bronwen glanced at the model displayed in the next space along. It looked more or less the same as the one in Felix’s arms. The only real difference was that the one on the wall was loaded with silver pellets, lined up at the point.

  “Can’t you take the bullets from that one?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that’s a B11.”

  “So? They look the same,” Bronwen pointed out.

  “Yes, but they’re not the same.”

  “Okay. So what bullets does a B14 take?”

  Felix huffed in frustration. “B14 bullets,” he said impatiently.

  “And where can we find them?”

  “Usually in a Piriot B14.”

  Bronwen threw up her hands. “Great,” she said despairingly. “Surely there’s some kind of supernatural supplies store we could go to?”

  “Yes,” Felix replied wryly. “Surely.”

  Bronwen placed her hands on her hips. “Well, where did you get that?” She gestured to the Piriot in his hands.

  “I don’t know,” he said defensively. “I’ve been alive for hundreds of years. I’ve accumulated many things in that time—this being one of them.”

  “There’s got to be some way of finding the right bullets,” Bronwen reasoned. “Come on, Felix. Think.”

  “Don’t rush me, I’m thinking as fast as I can.” He pushed back a few strands of hair from his brow while he deliberated.

  Bronwen waited patiently for his solution.

  “I know,” he said suddenly, his eyes glinting with the promise of a plan. “Let’s find Alistair.”

  “How will that help?”

  “Well, it takes the pressure off me.” Tucking the B14 under his arm, Felix strode back towards the entrance.

  Bronwen trotted to keep by his side, and together they paced up the narrow staircase until they emerged into the low light of the corridor. They retraced their steps along the stone passageway, leaving the forgotten part of the castle.

  Alistair and Loki were in the living quarters, seated at the long dining table with a handful of playing cards spread out between them. They looked up when Bronwen and Felix came in.

  “A Piriot!” Loki cheered. “I haven’t seen one of those in decades!”

  “You’re back,” said Alistair, exhaling in relief. “We were getting worried. Going out in public like that… Felix, you were brave.”

  He nodded his head, immodestly.

  “Did you see people?” Loki asked, his eyes twinkling in morbid fascination.

  “Some,” recounted Felix. “It wasn’t a problem, though.”

  “Did you manage to find anything on the Severan?” Alistair asked, eyeing the launcher in Felix’s arms.

  “Actually, we did find out some interesting things,” Bronwen said, taking a seat at the table beside Alistair. “The Severan is actually a—”

  Felix cut her off mid-flow. “It can only be vanquished by a Piriot B14.”

  “Like a werewolf, then?” Alistair mused.

  “Werewolf, hound,” Bronwen made the connection. “I suppose they’re all in the same canine family.”

  Alistair and Loki frowned, confused.

  Felix cleared his throat. “Right,” he said, quickly moving on. “Just one problem.” He held up the Piriot. “No bullets.”

  “But guess what else,” Bronwen tried again. “The Severan is definitely not a low-level hunter—”

  “As we’d already assumed,” Felix interrupted her for a second time. “Now where on earth are we going to find bullets for a Piriot B14?”

  Bronwen furrowed her brow. Earlier, Felix had given the impression that the revelations on the Severan’s hunter type had been the most significant discovery they’d made, so why was he avoiding the subject with Alistair and Loki?

  She met his gaze, and, almost imperceptivity, he shook his head no.

  He doesn’t want the
others to know, Bronwen realised.

  “Hmm…” Alistair pondered over Felix’s question. “Does anyone remember where we got the B14 from in the first place?” He looked between Felix and Loki. “That could be a clue as to where we’ll obtain the bullets.”

  Loki scratched his head, causing waves of unruly sandy-coloured hair to flop over his brow. “Wasn’t it Peru? Buried on the Inca Trail?”

  Like the slow plummet of a stone falling through water, Felix and Alistair’s faces dropped.

  “Of course,” Felix groaned. “Peru. April, nineteen-eleven.”

  “Does this mean we have to go back to the Inca Trail?” Loki asked. “It’ll take forever to get there.”

  “And what’s to say there’ll be another Piriot buried there, anyway?” Felix added.

  “Wait!” Alistair pressed his index finger to his lips. “We don’t need to find another Piriot—all we need are the bullets. One bullet, even. Think about it. Where would we find a Piriot bullet?”

  “In a Piriot victim,” Felix joked.

  But Alistair grinned. “Precisely!”

  Felix cringed. “Alistair, you can’t seriously be suggesting that we… retrieve a bullet?”

  “Why not? It’s a tremendous idea! All we’d need to do is find a being vanquished by a Piriot B14. The corpse of a werewolf would suffice.”

  “Oh,” Felix mocked, “you make it sound so wretchedly simple, darling.”

  “What about the book?” Bronwen offered. “Practically everything was documented in that book—yourselves included!” She cast her mind back to her conversation with Felix in the library. “Need I remind you about the extensive and unnecessary reading you did on werewolves?”

  Felix smiled lightly. “Ah, yes. Although apparently it was not that unnecessary.”

  Alistair rested his elbows on the table and pressed his fingertips together. “If we can get the name of a vanquished werewolf, then maybe we could track down the burial ground of its human form and hopefully find the bullet that killed it.”

  “But the body will be decomposed,” Loki pointed out. “It’ll be nothing but bones—”

  “Nothing but bones and one indestructible silver bullet!” Felix finished.

  “We brought the book home,” Bronwen told them. She glanced at Felix and he nodded in confirmation.