The Mortal Knife

by D. J. McCune

  There was a long moment of silence. It was Auntie Jo who summed up what they were all thinking. ‘What the bloody hell is going on?’

  Luc threw a sardonic glance at Aron. ‘Roll on Saturday.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Aron said. He looked anything but eager.

  Everyone hoped it had just been an especially bad day, that Tuesday would be better. It wasn’t. If anything, the week kept getting worse. Nathanial was barely home – which meant that a task which usually fell on his shoulders fell on Adam’s instead.

  He’d spent a cheerful Wednesday in school messing around with his mates, followed by some quality time with Melissa. For once he’d managed to revise enough of his biology to sail through a test (being threatened by the apex predator had a way of fixing food chains in his mind). He sat on the bus grinning to himself, blithely unaware of what lay in store.

  The first clue was that there was no sign of Auntie Jo when he got home. Usually she was in the den in the afternoon, watching her programmes or having a nap. The room was cold and silent, with no fire glowing or horror-movie heroine fleeing a madman. The whole house seemed too quiet.

  It was almost dinner time before Chloe and Elise appeared home. They had been out for a last-minute dress fitting. The coming-of-age ball was just three days away and Elise’s nerves were stretched to breaking point. It didn’t help that Nathanial’s calming presence was largely absent from the house.

  Chloe came into the den and rolled her eyes. Adam could hear Elise ranting to herself in French out in the hall – never a good sign. ‘What’s up?’

  Chloe closed the door and spoke in a whisper. ‘Auntie Jo didn’t show up for her dress fitting. Mother is furious with her.’

  Adam smirked. Having a dress fitting was pretty much Auntie Jo’s idea of hell on earth. ‘It’s not really Auntie Jo’s thing though, is it? She’d probably rather go to the ball in a kaftan.’

  Chloe looked distracted. ‘She’s always like this. You know, at this time of the year. I don’t know what it is about this date but she’s always weird.’

  Adam stared at her in confusion. ‘Like what?’

  Chloe glared. ‘You know, considering you’re her favourite you don’t really notice much, do you? Today, every single year, Auntie Jo goes nuts. She locks herself in her room and won’t come out until Father talks her down. Only he’s not here to do it today. He’s had like another million call-outs.’

  ‘Seriously?’ This was news to Adam – the Auntie Jo bit, not the call-out bit. The call-out thing was becoming almost normal – which was scary for the average human in the Kingdom of Britain.

  ‘Yes! The nineteenth of March every year. I suppose you’re usually at school.’ Chloe managed to say ‘school’ the way other people said ‘dentist’.

  Adam scowled. ‘Look, Auntie Jo never goes longer than two hours without a piece of toast. So she’s hardly locking herself in.’

  ‘She hasn’t been downstairs all day! Mother even left some fresh bread out by the toaster before we went out and she hasn’t touched it.’

  Now even Adam was getting alarmed. ‘And she does this every year?’

  Before Chloe could respond Elise burst in with a loaded plate. ‘Adam. Go upstairs to your aunt and tell her she must get dressed and go to Madame Gazor! Her dress is ready! I know this is a bad day but the ball is on Saturday!’

  Adam took the plate of toast. It was thickly sliced and oozing butter – the ultimate lure for Auntie Jo. ‘But why would she listen to me?’

  Elise looked distracted. ‘She’ll listen. I don’t know when your father will be home and Madame Gazor is … capricieuse! Temperamental! She will take the scissors to the dress if Josephine does not go for her fitting!’

  Adam was doubtful of his powers of persuasion but it was nice that for once Elise expected more of him, not less of him. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  A minute later he was standing outside Auntie Jo’s room holding the plate of toast, not quite sure what he was going to say. He could hear music playing faintly behind the door. After a moment’s hesitation he knocked. ‘Auntie Jo? It’s Adam. Can I come in?’

  There was a long pause. ‘Go away,’ Auntie Jo croaked.

  Adam cleared his throat. ‘The thing is … erm … well, you missed your fitting. With Madame Gazor. And Mother says you need to go and see her or she’ll get a bit mental with the scissors.’

  There was a loud crash and Adam jumped, almost dropping the plate. Something had just shattered against the door and Auntie Jo let loose a string of profanity that would have shamed even Spike, master of swearing as a poetic form. In between the curses Adam gathered a fairly good idea of where exactly Madame Gazor could put her scissors – and the sun didn’t shine in any of the places mentioned.

  He was beginning to realise how woefully unequipped he was to deal with this situation. In fact, he might have given up – but for one thing. There was a new sound from inside the room and it wasn’t a sound Adam had ever heard before. Auntie Jo was crying.

  Hearing that brought the world to a standstill for Adam. Auntie Jo was the one person in his family who had always cheered him on – always fought on his side. Part of him felt like running away – but there was no way he was leaving her like this. ‘Auntie Jo, let me in!’ He jiggled the door handle and found that the door was locked. ‘Seriously, open up.’ In the face of resounding silence he cleared his throat and tried to sound commanding. ‘If you don’t open the door I’m going to have to break it down!’

  There was a snort of derision followed by a reluctant chuckle. ‘I won’t hold my breath here.’

  Adam tried not to feel offended. At least she wasn’t crying. It was time to play his trump card. ‘I have some toast for you.’ There was still silence but it was a watchful, listening sort of silence. ‘It’s really thick and there’s loads of butter. It’s sort of swimming about on the plate … ’

  ‘Oh all right,’ Auntie Jo grumbled, flinging open the door. ‘I’m taking the bait. Come in.’ She shuffled away from the door, still in her slippers and dressing gown. After a moment’s hesitation Adam followed her inside.

  For someone so lazy about her personal appearance Auntie Jo’s domain was scrupulously tidy. It was more of a suite than a room; there was a living area and a bathroom as well as an old four-poster bed. The room was pale and elegant and feminine. Adam felt lumbering and out of place.

  The only untidy thing was the bed. The covers were messed up and the bedside table was littered with crumpled tissues and empty glasses. An almost empty whisky bottle stood amidst the debris and as Auntie Jo stumbled towards the end of the bed Adam realised with a start that she was properly drunk. For a woman who swigged from a hip flask on a daily basis she must have been drinking most of the day.

  He watched her slump back on the pillows and raise her glass in a silent toast. Her eyes were red and her face was blotchy. She was clutching something Adam couldn’t see in her right hand. ‘Are you OK?’

  Even plastered Auntie Jo was capable of sarcasm. ‘Yes, I’m fine. Great in fact. Can’t you tell?’ She emptied her glass and put it down a little too hard. Her right hand clenched and loosened reflexively. Adam could see flashes of something metallic glittering between her fingers.

  He sat down cautiously on the end of the bed and offered the plate of toast. Auntie Jo took it without thanks and put it down beside her untouched, reaching instead for her whisky glass once again. ‘How was the madhouse today then?’

  Adam tried to smile. ‘Do you mean this place or school?’ In the face of her stony expression he sighed. ‘Yeah. It was OK. Good actually.’

  ‘I am glad it was good. I’m so happy that you can get away from here.’ Her words were slurred but she rambled on. ‘No one should be a prisoner in their own life. No one should ever feel like there’s no other way out.’

  Adam gaped at her, alarmed. He’d never seen her like this before. He had no idea what she was talking about but it seemed polite to say something. ‘No, that would be t
errible.’

  ‘I won’t let them do that to you.’ She spoke with a hissed fervour that took Adam by surprise. ‘I should have done more. I was so young and stupid!’

  He stared in confusion for a moment. ‘You don’t have to do anything. I’m fine.’

  Her shoulders heaved and she whispered. ‘I didn’t know. I didn’t know he would do it.’ It was only then that Adam realised she wasn’t talking about him. Her hand opened and something silver slipped onto the bed cover beside her. Finally Adam saw what it was. The locket. The one she always wore round her neck, the one with a photo inside of a man Adam didn’t know. He’d only seen inside it a few times when he was younger. Was that who the tears were for?

  She was going to cry again and Adam couldn’t bear it – because whatever Auntie Jo was, she was not a crier. She was his hero, he realised with a start. She’d spent his whole life making him feel better and fighting like a tiger for him to have the life he wanted. How could he make her stop being sad? ‘Have some toast,’ he said in desperation. ‘Please don’t cry!’

  Maybe his fear cut through her private misery. Auntie Jo blinked at him as though she’d just noticed he was there and suddenly her eyes seemed to come into focus. She set down her whisky glass and cleared her throat. ‘I’m fine, Adam. I’m just stupid today. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.’ She picked up a slice of toast and took a small bite. ‘See?’

  Adam wasn’t convinced but he could see she was making an effort. The whole situation was totally mystifying and he was frantically doggy-paddling way out of his depth. ‘Yeah. Toast is good.’ He hesitated. ‘So … do you think you’ll go and see Madame Gazor?’

  Auntie Jo groaned. ‘Bloody dresses. What have I done to deserve this?’ She staggered to her feet and lurched through the door into her bathroom.

  It was a few seconds before Adam realised that she had left the locket lying on the bedcover. He had never in his whole life seen Auntie Jo take it off and it wasn’t an opportunity he was going to waste. A quick glance at the door showed he had at least a few seconds.

  He had sometimes played with the locket when he was little, sitting on Auntie Jo’s knee and opening and closing it while it dangled round her neck. It had seemed so big then; now it nestled in his palm not much larger than a coin. Holding it brought back the memory of twisting the tiny catch on the side – and when he did the locket folded open immediately.

  The inside was just as he remembered. Adam felt a guilty rush of recognition. On one side was a flat piece of charcoal stone – Auntie Jo’s keystone, just like his own but mounted inside the locket instead of hanging on a chain. He ignored it and looked instead at the picture facing it.

  There was the man he remembered. He had dark hair and his skin was starkly pale in contrast. He was smiling a little but his eyes were sad. Adam frowned. Who was the man? He knew that at one time Auntie Jo had been betrothed, just like any other Luman girl – but no wedding had ever taken place. Why? Was this the man she had been supposed to marry? And if so what had happened to him?

  There was a horrible retching sound from the bathroom and Adam cringed. At the same time there was a knock on the bedroom door. Adam just had time to snap the locket closed and fling it back on the bed as Nathanial stepped inside, still wearing his coat. He paused, taking in the sight of his son on the end of the bed and the sound of his sister being violently sick.

  Adam stood and gestured towards the bathroom. ‘Auntie Jo’s not well.’

  Nathanial frowned. ‘No, apparently not.’ As usual he hid his thoughts behind a benign expression but Adam felt a pang of shock. His father was so pale and drained he looked half dead. His hair was rumpled and there were grey shadows beneath his eyes.

  Auntie Jo groaned and vomited again. Nathanial winced. ‘Thank you, Adam. You can go now.’

  Adam hesitated, feeling bad about leaving. To make things worse his death sense flared – and seeing Nathanial’s jaw tighten he knew what his father was thinking. ‘I can stay with her. If you need to go on a job.’

  Nathanial shook his head and for a second Adam saw something black and furious bubbling beneath Nathanial’s face, threatening to crack his composure. ‘The job will have to wait.’

  Adam stared at him in shock. Since when had Nathanial ever left a soul waiting? Nathanial gave him a terse smile. ‘It’s OK, son. They’re not going anywhere. I won’t be long. And come Saturday I’ll have another pair of hands to help out.’ He looked like a drowning man staring towards a lifeboat in the distance.

  Adam nodded and escaped, half relieved and half guilty. He closed the door behind him and stood in the hall frowning.

  Something was very, very wrong. He didn’t know what it was. He just hoped that whatever it was Aron’s coming of age was going to be enough to put it right.

  Chapter 11

  On Saturday morning Adam was woken early by a pounding on his door. ‘Go away,’ he groaned – which only served as an invitation to a bleary-eyed Chloe, who was still in her pyjamas. ‘Mother says you have to get up.’

  Adam squinted towards the window. ‘But it’s still dark!’

  Chloe shrugged and yawned. ‘We have to make sure everything is ready.’ She disappeared back into the hall – although not before calling, ‘Auntie Jo says she’ll pour a jug of water over anyone who isn’t downstairs in five minutes.’

  Adam nestled back under his duvet. He had spent the whole evening before underground, lugging chairs from the storage chambers to the ballroom – and his back was aching. Aron and Luc had dragged heavy wooden tables backwards and forwards under Elise’s critical eye until they were positioned to the millimetre in the vast underground feasting hall. Auntie Jo and Chloe had spread clean white linens on top and placed hundreds of candles on the tables and in the old iron sconces along the walls while Elise fussed with vases and cutlery. They had worked until well after midnight, letting Nathanial handle all the call-outs himself. He probably hadn’t been to bed at all.

  No one had said anything more about Auntie Jo’s misery on Wednesday. She had been sitting in the den on Thursday, paler than usual but watching her films as though nothing had happened. Adam had felt a little awkward but she was so determinedly normal he had no choice but to go along with it. If he was honest it was a relief. He knew this Auntie Jo – the one reading his horoscope and cracking jokes. The other one was a stranger and Adam didn’t know what to say to her.

  Now, squinting at the clock made him groan again. It wasn’t even six o’clock in the morning. Adam pondered the events of the day ahead with mixed feelings. The first guests would arrive just before lunch – the Concilium and a handful of close Lumen who would help organise the huge crowd arriving for the celebrations. Aron would go through the rituals and then the Crone would Mark him. Adam had mixed feelings about seeing the Marking. He knew it would hurt.

  Still, once the bloody bit was over they would have the party to look forward to. Aron would emerge into the ballroom to a cheering throng to be showered with gifts from the men and hugs from prospective mothers-in-law. They would all sit down at the heavy tables and eat food prepared by dozens of Luman daughters, eager to show off their cooking skills to their future husbands – who might be sitting right there! And finally there would be toasts, music and dancing until well into the night. At least that bit would probably be a laugh.

  There was no time to indulge in further daydreams. Adam heard a heavy foot tread on the stairs and hurled himself upright. He’d been on the receiving end of one of Auntie Jo’s wake-up jugs before – and she never used the hot tap.

  The morning sped by in a blur of final checks and activities. Once every inch of the cellar rooms had been inspected, an almost hysterical Elise sent them all upstairs to get dressed. She flitted between her room and Chloe’s while Nathanial helped Aron get ready. Adam mooched down to the kitchen and found Auntie Jo standing by the toaster. She was wearing a very unforgiving dress in an eye-watering shade of purple. At least she had left off her kaftan in hon
our of the occasion.

  She gave a snort of laughter as Adam walked in. ‘Well, it makes a change from your school uniform. Maybe we should take some photos and send them in for your friends to admire.’

  Adam scowled and shifted self-consciously from foot to foot. He felt like a prat. The black tie bit was nothing unusual – but it was what he was wearing over his black jacket and trousers that made him really stand out. The ceremonial capes were normally stored safely away. They were made of heavy black cloth, hooded and trimmed with fur to indicate whether the wearer had come of age or not. Adam’s was trimmed with black fur, showing that he was still a child in the eyes of the Luman world. Aron’s would be trimmed in white fur, showing that he was able to guide souls safely into their Lights. Adam tried hard not to think about the many furry critters who had been sacrificed on the altar of Luman vanity. Elise had altered the capes so they were all the right size but Adam was still worried he was going to trip on the floor-length fabric and fall flat on his face at some crucial moment.

  Elise burst into the kitchen with her blonde hair still in rollers. ‘Oh for Fates’ sake, Josephine! Must you spend every second of every day eating toast? I was searching for you!’

  Auntie Jo shrugged unperturbed. ‘Thought I’d have a bit of early lunch. We’ll not be eating for hours.’

  ‘I need some of your whisky.’ She scowled at Adam’s widened eyes. ‘For Aron, not pour moi.’

  Auntie Jo reached into her purple clutch bag and pulled out her hip flask. ‘I’m glad he’s going to have a little nip. I thought he was going to do it old school.’

  Elise seized the hip flask without thanks and swept out, leaving Adam puzzled. ‘I didn’t think Aron liked whisky.’

  Auntie Jo shrugged. ‘He doesn’t but it will take the edge off.’ Adam’s confusion must have shown because she sighed. ‘Think about it. A complete stranger is about to turn up with a manual tattoo pen and etch the Mortson seal into his chest. There isn’t much meat over his breastbone. Believe me, he’ll be glad of a little anaesthetic beforehand.’