by Amanda Fleet
“Okay. Go home. Stay alert. Rest assured, he’s barred from the gym. Finn? Well done for keeping your cool.”
***
Back home, Finn hugged me against him. “You okay?”
“Yeah. He didn’t do anything except blow smoke at me.”
“But he could have.”
There was nothing I could say. Finn couldn’t be at my side all the time. If Stephen wanted to hurt me, he’d find a way to hurt me.
Finn’s hands slid down my back to lock at my waist. “You want a coffee?”
No. I wanted to get hideously drunk. “Yeah. Thanks.”
He switched the kettle on and leaned his hips against the sink. “You were gonna tell me about a weird book.”
With everything that had happened, I’d almost forgotten. I rummaged in my bag and slid the book across the table towards him. His brow crumpled. “Where’d you get this?”
“It was on the kitchen table when I came down this morning. I take it from your face that you didn’t leave it there then?”
“No.”
It had been a long shot. How the hell had it just arrived? From the wide-eyed look Finn had, exactly the same thought had landed in his brain.
“Run that past me again. It was on the kitchen table?” he said.
“Yeah.”
He scraped a hand over his face, leaving it covering his mouth for a moment, before saying, “How?”
“I don’t know. And Lena said the bracelet’s not from her.”
His gaze swivelled from the book to me. “I locked the doors. I always lock the doors. And today of all days… I locked the fucking doors, I swear. Only Mum has a key.”
“I know. And they’re not from your mum.”
He massaged his jaw. “Stephen? To wind you up?”
I shook my head. “He’s only out today, and the bracelet arrived on Monday. And anyway, he’d just smash the door down and trash the place. He wouldn’t leave us gifts.”
“So who? How?”
“I don’t know.”
He leaned forwards and picked the book up, turning it over in his hands and flipping through the pages. “What is it? What language is that?”
“I don’t know. It’s some strange mythology about these things that guide your spirit from one body to the next when you die, except one of them went rogue and killed someone too soon.”
His head shot up, eyes wide. “How do you know? Did you read it? How? Are these symbols code, like A equals one, B equals two kind of thing?”
“No. It’s nothing like that. I don’t know how I could read it. I just could.”
Finn stared at me for a moment, then leafed through the book, stopping with the page open at one of the illustrations. “This looks like the stuff you draw. Your dreams.”
“I know. Keep going. Recognise anyone?”
He turned the pages, pausing when he reached my Realm husband. “What the…?”
“Go on,” I said, my voice croaky. The picture of me was on the next page.
Finn saw it immediately and his eyes locked on mine. “That’s you!”
“Mm. That’s what I thought.”
“Has someone seen your sketchbooks?” His brow crumpled. “I don’t understand how your drawings are in a weird book. Or how the book got in the house.”
“No, my sketchbooks are here. Only you and Rick and Billy have ever seen them.” I chewed my lip. “The drawing right at the start? That’s of a Guide – something that turns up when people are dying. That’s what I saw on Tuesday.”
Finn turned back to it, raising his brows in query. I scrambled up to fetch my sketchbook, opening it at the drawing I’d done after the elderly man had died at the gym. I turned the pad round and showed him. The pictures were almost identical.
He put the book back on the kitchen table as if he might catch something from it.
“I’m changing the fucking locks.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “How did they get in? Whoever left this, how did they get in?”
His breathing came in brisk breaths, his face tight. He couldn’t be at my side all the time, but he’d assumed I could be safe here. If someone was getting through locked doors to leave weird gifts on the table, they could get through locked doors and beat me to death.
He rested his backside against the sink, coffees forgotten, and I cuddled against him, wondering if I should say what was in my head. In for a penny…
“Do you think they’re coming from the Realm?”
He leaned back, searching my face. “Oh, shit. You genuinely think that! Rea, the Realm is a dream. How can these things be coming from there?”
I fingered the embroidered logo on his top. “What if it’s not a dream?”
He breathed steadily, saying nothing for a moment. “Rea, it’s a dream. I don’t know how these things are getting into the house, or who’s breaking in, but it isn’t someone from a dream.”
I touched my forehead to his collarbone, breathing in his scent of body wash and him. “Yeah, I know. Ignore me. I’m just tired.”
He stroked my hair back, tucking a strand behind my ear. “I’ll change the locks. Put a chain on. And you need to see the GP and get something to help you sleep.” He kissed me. “Oh, Christ, sorry, I’m starving. What do you want for dinner?”
“I’m not hungry.”
Seeing Stephen had stolen my appetite. Finn was right – Stephen could have hurt me outside the gym. Yeah, he’d have been caught on CCTV and that would have put him back inside, but it was slim comfort. And talking about the book and the bracelet hadn’t helped.
Finn caught my eye. “Rea, you have to eat. Bolognese? I’ll make it.”
I eased out of his arms and perched at the table, thinking about the book while Finn made dinner. He slid a plate on to the table in front of me along with some cutlery and sat opposite. I picked over the food but my stomach churned and I felt nauseous. Eventually I pushed the plate away from me.
“Sorry. I’m not hungry.”
“Rea, you need to eat.”
“You have it.”
Finn finished his meal in silence but didn’t clear my plate as well, wrapping it in cling-film instead and putting it on the side, ready to go in the fridge.
“You might feel up to it later,” he said over his shoulder though I knew I wouldn’t. “Go through. I’ll wash up.”
I did as I was told. Finn joined me a few minutes later, wrapping me against him on the sofa. I smoothed my fingers over his face, feeling the roughness of a day’s stubble on his chin.
“Thank you for not losing it tonight,” I murmured.
He grunted. “Yeah. Well.”
So it had been a close-run thing.
“Why does Stephen call you Cuckoo?”
I wriggled closer to him, closing my eyes. “Because he thought me and Helen stepped into his dead mother and sister’s shoes, the way a cuckoo invades another bird’s nest and pretends to be something it’s not.”
In some ways I could see Stephen’s point. His mother and little sister had been killed in a car accident when he was thirteen, leaving just him and his father. Within a year, his father had married Helen, and I came along as part of the package. Ready-made happy families. Except we weren’t happy. Or much of a family.
“I need to get hammered,” I said.
“Is that a good idea?”
“No, but I don’t care. Or need your permission.”
“True. Beer or vodka?”
“Vodka.”
He levered himself up and disappeared, coming back a moment later with a couple of glasses and an almost full bottle of vodka. I smiled.
Less than two hours later I was hideously, gloriously, near-catatonically drunk, despite Finn’s numerous exhortations to slow down. When I asked him to refill my glass for the umpteenth time, he prised it from my hand.
“Nope. One of us has to think about your liver.”
I rubbed my face, frowning.
“You need a pint of water.” He stood up, hauling me
to my feet. Thankfully he held me up while I swayed, waiting for the room to settle. “Come on. Water.”
He dragged me to the kitchen, poured me a huge glass of water and dropped a large tablet in it which fizzed and chased itself around the bottom of the glass. He handed the glass to me once it had stopped.
“What have you put in it?” My words slurred messily.
“Just vitamin C. Drink it.”
He held the bottle out to me to show me. I drank the water which tasted slightly of orange and handed the empty glass back. Finn smiled fondly.
“We should get you to bed. Do I need to carry you up to the bathroom or can you manage?”
“I’m too tired. I’m going to crash down here.”
“You’re not getting that make-up all over the sofa.”
“Hmm.”
I stood up and wobbled precariously. He laughed. “Feck. You really are legless, Rea.”
Before I could protest, Finn plonked me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and took me upstairs to the bathroom. He sat me on the edge of the bath, rummaged through the cabinet, handed me a bottle of make-up remover and stood over me while I scrubbed the war-paint off. He loaded up my toothbrush with paste and handed it to me, and I brushed my teeth obediently.
“Right. Go to the loo and then I’ll put you to bed. I’ll be outside.”
A few minutes later, he deposited me on the bed. “Do you need a bucket?”
“I’ll be fine.” I flapped my hand at him then stopped as it made me even dizzier. “Ooh.”
“Rea, is the room spinning?”
“Mmm. But if I rested my head on the floor it would stop.”
“I’m getting you a bucket.”
He disappeared, returning with a large bucket which he put next to the bed and another pint of water. I crawled up the mattress and he stripped me down to my undies and pulled the covers around me.
“Night night. You are so gonna regret this in the morning.”
“Mm… Finn?”
“Yup.”
“Thank you.”
His face relaxed into a lopsided smile and he leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Get some sleep. And don’t barf on the carpet.”
8
Finn clattering around in the kitchen woke me and I scraped a hand over my face and hair, feeling like death warmed up. The light fired bullets through the backs of my eyes, searing paths into my brain and I squeezed my eyes shut. My brain flipped over fuzzy memories from the previous night and I groaned.
“Morning sleepy.” Finn stood in the doorway to the bedroom, a mug of coffee clasped in his hand. “Christ, you look hungover.”
I peered at him blearily. He was dressed ready for work – a pale turquoise polo shirt with the gym logo embroidered on it, over black jogging bottoms.
“How the hell do you look so good this morning? I thought I was only keeping pace with you.” My voice sounded as if I’d been gargling with gravel.
He sat on the bed, grinning unapologetically. “Well for one, you drank about three times what I did and for two, you’re half my weight even if you are only a few inches shorter than me.”
I struggled into a sitting position, wishing that my head wasn’t about to explode. “We got any Pop Tarts?” Part of me was craving sugar. Another part of me wondered if I was about to be sick.
“Sadly, yes. You keep sneaking them into the house when I’m not looking. Please don’t tell me you want one.”
I felt myself going green at the thought. “No, not yet. Make me a House Special?”
He put his coffee down and unwound his legs, returning a minute later with a glass of fizzing liquid. The House Special. Some vile combination of soluble vitamins, alka-seltzer and only Finn knew what else. Tasted like shit but worked a treat on hangovers. The trick was to down it in one. If you sipped it, you wouldn’t make it to the end of the glass. I chugged it back and handed him the empty glass, grimacing at the taste. “Thanks. Sorry I got so wasted.”
“No worries. Did it help?”
I shook my head gingerly and winced. Finn lay on the bed next to me, rolled on his side and used his bent elbow as a pillow. “Coffee? Or a cuddle?”
“Cuddle. Then a coffee. Then a Pop Tart.”
“Not happening.” He laughed, coiling his body around me. “Cuddle, coffee, then I’ll have to get off to work.”
I went to slip my arm around his waist but his top was rucked up and I ended up with my hand on his bare abdomen.
“Don’t tickle me,” he grouched good-naturedly.
I let my fingers brush the hairs below his navel, not quite tickling, but not quite not.
He grabbed my hand. “Okay. I’m making you a coffee if you’re gonna tickle.”
When he came back with the coffees, he wrapped himself around me again. “Can you face food yet?”
My stomach twitched and I swallowed hard. He laughed unsympathetically. “Yeah, thought as much. You’re going green just talking about it.”
He kissed me, his tongue catching the inside of my lip. I slid my hand under his t-shirt again, smiling to myself as his muscles contracted sharply. My hand was freezing. We didn’t break apart for several minutes.
“Hmmmm.” He rolled away, his expression soft. “I really do have to go to work. You’re on the door this afternoon aren’t you? I’m done at four. I’ll go and work out until you’re finished. What are you doing this morning?”
“I have a couple of things to finish up for Monday.”
“Can you do that in the gym? I don’t want you in the house alone. Not after last night.”
“It’s too noisy there this time of day. I can’t concentrate enough. I’ll go to the library. I need to have a last look at the designs for Monday and then I’m going to do some more on that weird book.”
He held my gaze for a moment but said nothing. I knew he’d be happier if I went in to work early.
“You walking in?” I asked, nestling down in the pillows.
“Mm. Please don’t tell me you want the bike because you’ll still be over the limit until tonight after what you sank last night.”
I shook my head as rapidly as my hangover allowed. “No, I was going to suggest we went for a run after work.”
A bit of fresh air out on the country roads might do me some good – physically and mentally.
“You gonna be up to that?” He looked at me disparagingly.
“Another House Special and I’ll be fine. No intervals. No hills.”
He grinned. “Alright. No intervals. No hills.”
Shit. We were going to be running for miles.
***
I settled down at an empty table in the library and unpacked my things. After a quick check over the designs, I put them away again. I needed to let my brain work on them subconsciously. I eyed the book.
“Where the hell did you come from?” I muttered, fingering the edge of the cover.
Maybe we should have called the police, but no damage had been done. Nothing had been taken. Just the opposite, in fact. We’d have been wasting their time.
Would I still be able to read it today? Even if I could, I didn’t think it would get me any closer to working out how it could have been left in the house. I pulled out my notebook, drew a deep breath and flipped the book open. It took a few moments, but slowly, the runes made sense and a story emerged.
Rebellion
Aegyir had form and substance but he was not satisfied. He wanted strength. If a spirit would bind to him, he could draw on its vitality. And so he walked abroad until he found another host – a man in his prime – and when he found the man, he touched him lightly over his heart and walked on. The bond between the man and the spirit dwindled and the spirit was forced to form a weak bond with Aegyir.
Aegyir looked at the spirit. “Give me the man’s vitality.”
“No. You will keep it and not shepherd it to a new host, the way the Elders intended you to.”
“Give me the vitality.”
“What
about the character?”
Aegyir spat. “What use do I have of the character? Give me the vitality.”
The spirit knew that when all of the man’s vitality had flowed into Aegyir, the man would die. If Aegyir wouldn’t shepherd the spirit to a new body and give both the character and the vitality to it, there would be nowhere for the character to dwell and it would be cast into Chaos. The spirit tried to break the bond with Aegyir.
“You think that you can return to the man?” said Aegyir. “I am a Guide. Once I have come to you, you must leave your host and join with me.”
“And you are to take me to a new host. Will you do that?”
“Perhaps.”
The spirit did not trust Aegyir and held on to his bond with the man, hoping to find another Guide to transfer him to a new host. Aegyir laughed. The man’s vitality seeped away, as heat seeps from a fire allowed to go out, and eventually he died.
“Will you transfer me to a new host?” asked the spirit.
“No.”
The spirit’s vitality and character were in Aegyir, but the character could find no space to exist and became cast into Chaos.
I leaned back in my chair. This Aegyir seemed like a nasty piece of work and I wondered what happened to these energyless characters, floating around in Chaos, wherever and whatever that was. Did they ever find a new body? Or were they destined to stay in limbo, without any energy to allow them to give life to a new body? By the time I’d finished reading the next section, I thought that Aegyir was even worse. Not satisfied with the slow seep of vitality from host to him, he began ripping it out of people, killing them quickly. But he wasn’t designed to keep the energy he stole from people and it ebbed away over time, meaning that he had to kill again and again, just to keep the form he had. If he didn’t, he slowly reverted back to being a wraith – the ghostly form I’d seen outside the gym the other day.
I grimaced. This Aegyir sounded like some kind of vampire, sucking the life out of everyone, going on a murder spree, just to keep something he shouldn’t have. Greed was the cause of far too many evils in the world – people wanting something they didn’t have but taking it anyway.
