We sit in silence for a good few heartbeats before Marlise speaks up, her eyes wide and posture stiff. “If that’s what happens when you meditate, I’m sure as hell not interested in any more of this hocus-pocus.”
I start laughing. How else can I respond to what’s just taken place? If I admit I’m scared witless, I’d be better off slitting my wrists or drinking poison, for all the good living will do for me. Marlise shivers when I pull her to me, but I need the human contact as much as she does.
Chapter 7
Ghost from the Past
We hear nothing more from our unquiet friend for the rest of Sunday. In fact, I manage to have the first dreamless sleep since this entire drama started.
When we wake the following morning, not to my scream but to the pedestrian bleeping of her phone’s alarm, we blink blearily but smile at each other.
“A full night without you waking the entire neighbourhood. That’s a first.” She doesn’t just mean me waking and screaming. It can be hoped that the electricity department will come sort out the substation this morning. I’m beginning to miss not having a hot bath.
“Let’s see if we can keep it that way.”
It’s bitterly cold out and the rain lashes the windowpanes and drums down hard on the tin roof. Other mornings like this, many, many years ago, Leonora would bring me my tea first thing, and perch on the edge of the bed drinking hers while going through the list of activities on our schedule.
Then we’d perform our first Adoration, have breakfast…
“You’ve got that faraway look in your eyes again, Ash.”
“Oh, sorry. Just remembering.”
“What?”
“Stuff.” How can I explain this other self? Day by day this other life I lived grows fainter, fuzzier at the edges, as if Lizzie’s hold is gradually slackening. Who am I becoming?
I half sit up when Marlise pulls me back into the bed. “Let’s snuggle, just a little. We’ll have to take the train today so we can afford to leave a little later.”
The protest dies on my lips as I allow her to snake her arms around my chest, as though I am some giant toy bear. How can I allow her to be so intimate with me? It’s a gradual realisation, this situation between me and Marlise, something she may have taken for granted but because I have not resisted enough, she has slowly chipped away at my misgivings.
You’re a man now. Act like one.
But she is so delicate, so soft. It’s difficult seeing her as a woman with needs, someone who was used to Ash taking what he wanted, when he wanted. Hell, she seems to need us, like this. Here. Now.
“Ash?”
“Mmm?”
“Do you think you could love me?”
“I like you, if that’s what you mean. It’s a bit early to tell. I mean, this isn’t really like a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship.”
“No, love me as in physically. It’s like you get scared to touch me.”
“I-I don’t feel that it is right for me to take advantage of you.”
“It wouldn’t be wrong. It’s not like we never fucked before.”
“That was then. I’m not—”
“The same person, yes, you’ve said that a billion times.”
“Give me time, liefling.” I press a kiss to the top of her head.
* * * *
It’s almost with a sense of relief that I immerse myself in my Monday shift at The Event Horizon.
“Have you heard about Isabelle’s brother?”
I play dumb and avoid getting drawn into any conversation concerning Alexei. It’s too much of a coincidence—one that I would do best to avoid, since people talk. I get three nosebleeds during the course of the day making people forget. Lisa raises a brow but doesn’t pursue the matter.
At the tired part of the day, when all the student types have filtered away and the evening happy hour crowd hasn’t yet arrived, an old man wearing a fedora and a brown suit dating back to the sixties enters, leaning heavily on his cane. The cane captures my attention. It is ibis-headed. A very similar cane used to stand at the front door of the Simon’s Town chapter house. A chill creeps over my skin.
His face is heavily lined but his eyes miss nothing. I purposefully feign interest in polishing the beer glasses.
The man lays a twenty on the counter. “A Castle, please.” His voice is weary, dry, as though he has had a thirst laid upon him that no amount of beer can slake. He stares at a point in the distance, much farther than the first row of bottles lining the racks.
“Coming right up,” I answer, palming his money. I want to ask him about the cane but I don’t want to make a total fool of myself because I want there to be a connection when there isn’t.
The space around him shimmers and I blink. The effect vanishes.
I place a bottle next to his hand with a chilled glass, trying to affect nonchalance while he pours the amber liquid and takes his first sip. What follows feels like a carefully orchestrated dance, each of us maintaining disinterest in the other. The old man is the antithesis of The Event Horizon regulars yet he sits here as though he has all the right in the world to drop in for a pint, but his kind normally doesn’t frequent this establishment.
He reminds me of a friendly uncle. His small round spectacles catch the glare from the television screens broadcasting the media’s latest and greatest while some heavy metal track blares, incongruously, totally at odds with the swaying black bosoms on the screen.
It’s as if time slows down; the other patrons pale ghosts compared to this man, this anachronism who’s taken up residence at the seat right at the end of the bar. I turn to speak to Providence, one of the cleaning staff, and when I look again, the old man is gone, like he never was there.
I stare for a few heartbeats at the empty glass, the bottle that has been pushed an arm’s length from where he sat. Dimly I’m aware of Davy chatting to the pale Goth chick I assume is his girlfriend—she looks barely legal, though I’m sure that’s intentional on her part. They all seem so young.
A folded-over piece of paper has been tucked under the glass. I snatch it up and unfold it, my heart contracting when I recognise the winged scarab of House Adamastor printed on the outside in black marker.
Upon opening the paper, which is a creamy yellow, almost parchment-like, I suck in air when I register the carefully printed words: Richard Stanton Perry with tomorrow’s date and a time—noon. All the breath flees from my lungs and I crouch behind the bar, leaning against the fridges and not minding how cold the metal is.
Richard! Why is it so difficult to picture your smile, remember the scent that lingered on your clothing even after you were gone? I miss you, with my whole heart.
“Are you okay?” Davy looms above me, his expression concerned.
“I’m good,” I say, though it’s a bit of a struggle to rise to my feet.
“You’re all pale.”
“I think I’ve taken a bad turn, that’s all.”
“Lisa says you should take off early if you’re not feeling good. She seems to say that every day, but you’re too stubborn.” His concern for my well-being is genuine. “I wish she’d do the same for me some time.” Davy laughs.
“I’d appreciate that.” My voice sounds tinny, distant.
I don’t feel bad about leaving early. I pocket my share of the tips, shrug on my jacket and stumble into the murk of what’s left of the day. It’s early enough for me to catch Marlise before she leaves for home. She’d said she’d pick me up from work, but I reckon it’s a pleasant enough surprise for her to get me outside her college, unannounced.
I shoulder my way through the throngs in the subterranean Strand Street Concourse. All the while some other part of me maintains alertness, constantly on the lookout for trouble. The piece of paper the old man left behind is folded, clasped tightly in my left hand. Tomorrow. Noon.
All I can think of is Richard’s grave, the clean lines of the tombstone. Has the passage of time been kinder to his memorial than it has to the re
st of my past? I’m filled with the burning compulsion to go there, now, but I hold myself back, threading between people who give the appearance of bumbling through this existence with little or no thought.
Marlise can see something’s wrong the moment she steps outside. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She laughs, obviously referring to last night.
“In some ways I have,” I say. We walk to the car and I’m glad for her arm around my waist. I need the warmth, the reassurance.
“How so?”
I show her the paper when we get into the car. Marlise turns it over a few times, tracing the scarab outline.
“It’s a bug with wings. What does this mean?”
“That’s the sigil for House Adamastor. Inside is the name of the man…” I can’t bring myself to say I was married to. “The man who taught me everything I know. And the date he died.”
“But you haven’t answered my question.”
“This was given to me by some old guy who pitched up at The Event Horizon this afternoon. It was all very strange.”
“Why’s the date there?”
“I think I’m supposed to go meet someone, at Richard’s memorial.”
She raises her brow at that answer. “Where’s he buried?”
“Maitland cemetery.”
“Eish, that’s not a great place to go nowadays.”
“How so?”
“It’s not safe there. They’ve had issues with squatters and people are always getting mugged, or worse.”
“After the other night do you honestly think someone’s going to get the better of me?” I say this with far more bravado than I feel.
“And every time you do something that involves…” She shudders, and it’s clear she doesn’t want to consider the supernatural aspects intruding on what she considers to be a vastly improved relationship. Marlise glares at me before starting the car. “You wreck yourself.” I had told her about the incident in the basement.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll take a knife.”
“As if that’s going to make a difference.”
“I was fine against those two thugs, and they had guns. They didn’t know what hit them.” I don’t think they suffered, and a small twinge of guilt knots my gut.
We argue about me going tomorrow, all the way home, but I don’t budge on my decision. She’s got a practical examination, otherwise I know she’d have insisted on tagging along. When I tell her she’s behaving as if we’re an old married couple, that shuts her up and, although some tension remains, we have a reasonably peaceful evening until I tell her I plan to meditate again.
“Oh no, Ash. I can’t let you do that. Whatever it was that happened last night, I don’t want to think about it. We can’t go on messing with stuff.”
“I have to.”
“You’re going to call that thing.”
“Then I’ll go meditate in a churchyard or somewhere.”
Marlise gapes at me. “You’d never do that. It’s not safe.”
“Do you want me to wake up screaming again? You forget, I’ve lived an entire lifetime before this.” This whole situation is beginning to work on my nerves. I should never have taken her into my confidence, but what other options were there? Go live under a bush?
“No.”
“I could move out, I suppose. Davy told me about a pay-by-week lodge in Gardens. Sunrise Lodge. I’m thinking of checking it out.”
This seems to horrify her even more. “That’s an even worse idea than going down to Maitland cemetery!”
“Well, I can’t keep living here. It’s a miracle your parents haven’t turfed me out yet. By all rights, they shouldn’t even have helped cover up the other night. They should have called the cops.”
“They wouldn’t!”
“How do you know that?”
We stare at each other for a few heartbeats. Oddly, I am remarkably calm, though deep down I know I should feel somewhat angry because Marlise, as sweet as she is, seeks to control me and is enjoying this vulnerability in a man who previously manipulated her to his heart’s content.
“Don’t do that, Ash. Please.” Her lower lip trembles, her chest heaving.
“I’m an adult. I need to take responsibility for my life, not shack up here indefinitely like some runaway teen. You just want a little of your own back because of what Ashton did to you when he was still alive.”
Her confusion and inability to understand causes her to shake. These emotions are so intense I don’t have to reach with my senses to taste them. “B-b-but…”
I reach out and cup her chin. “You know we can’t carry on like this. It’s not right for you, or me. If we are going to have any chance of remaining on speaking terms, I have to have my own space where I can do what I need to. The way things are going, you will get hurt. I can’t predict what’s going to happen next.”
Some of my daimonic senses slip free to read Marlise. She doesn’t want to believe everything that is transpiring yet, on another level, she doesn’t have any other explanation, and the one I’m currently offering, that I’m a transplanted soul in the body of her dead lover, offers easier answers. She wants to possess me. Marlise cannot and will not accept the most logical answer: that the bang I received to my head four months ago addled my brains.
She grips my wrist, tears now flowing freely. “Ash, I love you.”
My lips twist into a sneer and I pull away. “You don’t even know me, and you were purposefully blind to Ashton as the lying bastard he was. How could you let him take advantage of you? I should have stuck it out there with Ashton’s parents.”
Then you may not have gotten as far as you are now. You wouldn’t have met the old man or have a job.
“Don’t talk like that!”
“Then what must I say? Tell me! Because you know I’m not going to lie to you.”
Her features scrunch up and she presses her palms over her face, sobbing.
“Crying won’t help, Marlise. You’re not going to get my sympathy.”
“But you’re making me cry!” she wails.
“No. You’re making yourself cry. You’re crying because you want me to feel sorry for you. You’re crying because you want me to put my arms around you and tell you everything’s going to be all right. I’m not going to play along with your co-dependent needs.”
To give her some credit, she rubs at her eyes vigorously, but the glare she casts in my direction lets me know she’s anything but pleased with this turn of conversation. “Fine.”
I take her hand in mine, squeezing firmly and willing a sense of reassurance over the link. I’m pushing it. Another nosebleed is the last item on my agenda at this point.
“You need to allow me to do these things. You need to let go of Ashton. That man is dead. Really. Whoever I am, I’m still trying to figure that out. I can’t replace Ashton in your life. I am not that person. I apologise for taking advantage of your hospitality but I really didn’t have anyone else I could turn to.”
“You’re going to leave me.”
“No, I’m not. I’m still here, but you need to understand that I have to get my feet on the ground again. Let things develop. I need you to be my friend first, before anything else.” There, that doesn’t quite squash the idea that a proper relationship isn’t going to happen, but I’m hoping to get it through to her that I can’t just pick up where things left off.
“I don’t understand why we can’t do this together?”
“We are, but I need you to do some important things for yourself first, like finish your studies. And, when things settle down, then we can relook everything, all right?” I’ve been a fool. She’s in too deep. She’s not Inkarna material. Too trusting, not curious enough, and scared of the unknown.
Just like you were way back then.
“Fuck.” Damn, that word is tumbling off my lips far too often nowadays.
“What?”
“I’ve really made a hash of things, haven’t I?” It hasn’t been my intention to hurt her, n
ot after what the real Ashton did. Hah! The real Ashton, as if I’m not any more real than he was.
At that moment, the lights flicker and look as though they are set to go out. We look at each other; Marlise has gone pale.
“That’s not what I think it is, is it?” she asks, her voice quiet.
“I don’t know.” But that horrible whining starts on the edge of my hearing.
The sound system turns on full blast with a horrible burst of static that has both of us clutching at our ears. Marlise darts up to turn the thing off but no matter how she turns the dials and pushes at the buttons, the sound doesn’t die until she pulls out the plug.
“What the fuck?” she asks.
I rub at my arms and glance about the room, trying to cast out with my daimonic senses. It’s like hitting a brick wall. Something twinges in my sinuses and the itchy warm telltale trickle of blood starts out of my right nostril.
“You’re bleeding.”
How about stating the obvious? I wipe at my nose with my left wrist with a sense of inevitability. Crimson streaks my skin. “Just great.”
Her eyes are huge. “It’s him, isn’t it? He’s haunting us.”
“Correction. He’s haunting me, and I don’t think he cares terribly that you get caught in the crossfire.”
The sash window rattles heavily in its frame, as though something is trying to batter its way in. There’s no time to think too hard, or fall back on the myriad chants I have at my disposal. I stand, drawing myself up to my full six feet and four inches. The words in Middle Egyptian come naturally to my lips. “Ashton Kennedy, in the name of Amun, the Hidden One, and with the authority of Weser, the Lord of the Dead, I command you to cease and be quiet.”
The effect is instantaneous. Silence.
We glance at each other. Marlise has bunched a section of the duvet into a bundle she clutches to her chest. “Is he gone?” The whites of her eyes show, like she’s a spooked horse.
I offer a slight shake of my head, ignoring the renewed trickle of liquid running over my lip and into my mouth. The buzzing has started again, an insistent electric hum that is almost audible.
The sound grows in frequency, the lights dim and it is as if a giant vortex begins to swirl, threatening to suck all the life from the room. A deluge pours onto the roof, rattling at the tin, great gusts of wind howling against the side of the house with all the ferocity of a hell beast.
Inkarna Page 11
