by Lily Morton
“So, we need an abalone bowl to burn the stick in and a feather to waft the smoke,” I say slowly. “Do you happen to have either of these things lying around your house?”
He snorts. “Alas, that my days of using feathers in kinky sex and eating from abalone bowls are gone. No, I’ve got a baking tray and a handkerchief. Will that do?”
I sniff. “It’s not very dramatic, is it?”
He collects the tray and hanky while I undo the bag containing the smudge stick.
“Pooh,” Levi says immediately. “That’s pungent. What is it?”
“White sage.”
“Ugh! Won’t that make the house smell like a casserole?”
“No,” I say patiently. “This is a different sage and even if it did, would you rather have casserole air or dead women crying everywhere?”
“My choices in life seem to have got a lot wider this year,” he muses.
I put the bundle of sage on the baking tray and take the lighter that he hands me before pausing and looking up at him. “Do you think we should have some music playing?”
“Why? Are you making your own soundtrack?”
“No, it just might be nice.”
He fiddles with his phone and a song blares out.
I turn my head slowly. “What the fuck is this?”
Levi bites his lip, fighting a grin. “It’s the battle scene music from Gladiator. I used to play it before I got into a row with Mason to get me in the mood.”
I shake my head. “The more I hear about your relationship, the more I think it’s better all round that you’re single.” I listen to the music for a few seconds. “Is this supposed to fill the ghosts with dread?”
He shrugs. “Well, it is Russell Crowe.”
“Point taken.” I wrinkle my nose. “Don’t you have something with the sound of rain? I like that.”
“No way. That stuff just makes me want the loo.”
“I think for the sake of our sanity we’ll turn off the warmongering music and do this in silence.”
“You’re the boss,” he says peacefully.
I wink at him. “That is true. How much better the world will be when it catches up with that notion.”
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but shall we get on with smudging my house?”
I tap his hand gently. “I really think that a large part of you isn’t taking this seriously.”
He pulls himself up to sit on the worksurface, swinging his long legs idly. “I know it’s happening. I’ve seen and heard it all. I’ve seen the effect it has on you. But…” He pauses.
“But?”
“Well, a large part of me is still hoping that there’s been a chemical spill and we’ve been inhaling hallucinogenic drugs for a while.”
“That would be so much more fun than smudging at three in the morning.”
He nods, holding out his fist, and I oblige with a fist bump. I draw back and set the lighter to the edge of the sage. We watch it burn for a few seconds and then I stub it out. Very slowly, white and grey smoke rises up and drifts about.
“Shit,” I say as I accidentally inhale some and start to cough.
“You alright?” he asks.
I nod, still coughing. “Maybe open the window a couple of inches.”
He obliges and the smell goes back to a decent level. I pick the tray up. “Okay, are we ready?”
He nods solemnly and tracks me as I walk upstairs, following me like a shaggy-haired shadow.
We start in his studio, him standing watching curiously as I move around wafting the fragrant smoke into the corners of the room. When I’ve finished, we both stand back and wait but nothing happens. It’s a bit of an anticlimax.
Levi sighs. “I thought the spirits would be throwing themselves out of the windows by now.”
I nudge him, trying not to laugh. “Come on. Bedroom next.”
When we leave the studio, I stop dead on the landing. “What is it?” he asks immediately, and it doesn’t escape my notice that he puts himself in front of me.
“It’s too quiet.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
I look around warily. “Yes.” A shiver runs down my back. “We should get on with this,” I say urgently.
He nods and we walk down the stairs in a solemn procession, not counting the fact that I’m holding a baking tray full of smoking sage and a hanky. When we reach the landing, we pause.
“Which room first?” Levi asks as the smoke curls above us, oozing along the walls. I open my mouth to reply but stop as I hear a faint noise.
“What’s that?” I ask.
He looks around wildly. “I don’t know.” The noise becomes a low rustling sound. He looks back at me. “It sounds like people talking.”
I cock my head to one side. He’s right. The rustling turns into the low hum and mutter of people talking to one another—they’re close by, but we can’t quite hear their conversations. If we strained hard enough, we could hear them and—
“I need to hear what they’re saying,” Levi says, an urgent tone in his voice. He steps closer to the wall and my hand snaps out instinctively and stops him.
“Where are you going?”
“To listen,” he says, his eyes dreamy and unfocused. “I need to know.”
“No, you don’t,” I snap. I tug on his arm and when he doesn’t respond, still staring intently at the wall, I pinch his arm.
“Ouch!” he says, holding his arm. “What did you do that for?”
“I need you here, Levi. Not edging off to listen to walls. With our luck you’ll go into a trance and Rip van Winkle yourself for the next few years.”
The whispering gets slightly louder, as if someone is turning the volume up on the speakers.
“We need to do this quickly,” I say urgently. “Follow me and stay close.” I end up shouting the last bit because the noise has become very loud.
He nods determinedly and takes hold of my waist, his fingers cold against the skin above my sweatpants. And that’s how we do it. Joined together, we pace through the house as I use the hanky to waft the smoke into the corners of the rooms. The noise gets louder and louder.
“I can’t hear myself think,” he shouts as we leave the lounge. Then he spins around, looking wildly about. “What the hell is happening now?” he gasps.
The sound of footsteps echoes through the house, loud and disjointed like a whole party of people is on the move. The steps come down the stairs. Distantly, I note that my hand is shaking.
We both jump as the front door slams open with a bang. It hangs there swaying as the footsteps move past us and the voices and laughter get louder. I feel a draft on my face and the door slams shut decisively, leaving us in a silence that’s still ringing with noise.
I realise that Levi is clutching me so tightly that my ribs hurt. “Levi,” I gasp. “Can’t breathe.”
“What the fuck was that?” he asks, wild-eyed.
I shake my head. “I have no idea. The good news is that the invisible party appears to have vacated the building.”
“What’s the bad news?” he says warily.
“Last room to cleanse is the cellar.”
We both shudder as if choreographed. He takes a deep breath. “Okay, let’s do it.”
I nod and there are no smiles now. I don’t know what it is about the cellar, but it feels wrong to me down there. Wrong and bad.
He opens the door, and we hover at the entrance, looking down the staircase. It’s too dark to see anything.
I stir. “Get the light,” I whisper. “Let’s do this.” I look hard at Levi. “We have to be really quick down here,” I warn him.
He doesn’t bother to respond. Just reaches out and flicks the switch.
The cellar is immediately bathed in a dirty yellowish light that falls on the boxes on the floor and the bags of stuff left by the builder. It doesn’t manage to penetrate the back of the room, though, and I swallow hard at the sight of the inky shadows.
“
I’ll go first,” he says decisively.
I nod, but I stick tightly to his heels as we descend. It’s so cold down here. I shudder and bunch my hand in the back of his T-shirt. When we get to the bottom, he stays close to me as we walk around the perimeter of the room. The smell of the sage starts to overpower the cellar’s cold dank scent.
Within seconds the smell changes, becoming warm and light. Levi feels it too—he sniffs a couple of times.
I’m about to tell him that we’re nearly done, when there’s a sudden loud skittering behind the far wall. We swing round.
“What the fuck was that?” I gasp.
Levi shakes his head, staring intently at the wall. The odd disjointed skitter happens again. The hair on the back of my neck rises.
Levi’s eyes are very wide in the dim light. “That doesn’t sound good,” he whispers. “It also doesn’t sound like rats.”
The noise comes again, filling my head with the image of giant rats pattering around inside the walls looking for a way out so they can eat us. I shake my head. Not a good idea to give voice to that thought.
The skittering travels along the wall, moving away from us and towards the—
“Levi,” I say urgently. “Go up and stand at the door.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to be locked down here. At the moment I can’t think of anything worse.”
He glances at the wall and I can see the moment he realises the noise is heading for the staircase. He sprints across the room, taking the stairs in twos. He’s only just in time because even as he nears the top, the door starts to close. I gasp as he throws himself into the opening and the door rebounds off his body.
“Do it quickly,” he shouts, the strain evident in his voice. “You’re too far away for me to help if you need me.”
I move quickly around the cellar, wafting the smoke. Everywhere that it touches, the dark retreats a little.
At first the draft around my feet doesn’t register but then it gets stronger, rising to my knees.
“Blue,” Levi yells. “Come on.”
“Trying,” I gasp.
The dust on the floor rises as if summoned by a cyclone. I race around the room, wafting the sage smoke at the walls. I’m not doing this properly—I’m not sure if there even is a proper way to do it—but Levi and I need to leave this place as soon as possible.
“Blue,” Levi says in a frantic voice. “Leave it.”
“But I—”
“Leave it,” he thunders. “Get up the stairs and don’t look back.”
My instinct is to look back, but the urgency in his voice has me racing towards him, darting up the stairs and almost dropping the baking tray as I go. He grabs my hand and pulls me up and past him.
I whirl to see what’s happening behind me. The dust has transformed into a huge shape. It ripples and eddies, like it’s being blown by a stiff wind. I get a glimpse of something dark inside it. Then Levi slams the door and locks it before sliding down the wall and sitting on the floor.
I set the baking tray on the floor and slide down beside him, and he grabs me tightly, his clasp almost painful. Silence falls for a while disturbed only by our panting breaths. As they start to ease, I look up at him.
He shrugs with a shockingly wry look on that clever face. “Okay, I think I believe now.”
“I’m so thrilled that no more fairies need to die, Wendy,” I say grumpily.
He snorts and pulls me even closer. “Is the house clean now?” he whispers.
I shudder at the feel of his breath in my ear before casting my senses around the house.
“For now,” I say slowly. I bite my lip. “I don’t think it’ll last long though.”
He hugs me, lowering his face onto the top of my hair, and we sit in the silence.
Chapter 11
One Week Later
Levi
When I wake up, the morning is dull and dreary with an overcast sky and a wind that batters against the house as if it’s trying to get in. I shuffle downstairs in my boxers, yawning so widely my jaw creaks. The house is quiet. No music playing, no clattering pans or tuneless humming, so Blue is definitely at work. He has a way of filling the house with little noises, and I love knowing that he’s somewhere close by, and I’ll see him any second.
There haven’t been any strange noises or occurrences since the night of the smudging, but he’s still been sleeping with me. After the old man’s revelations about the possible danger of Blue staying in this house, I didn’t think he should be anywhere near that strange room.
As if by silent agreement, nothing has happened between us since that kiss on the street. I don’t want him to feel obligated to please me like I’m some version of one of his old customers. That decision has been made immeasurably more difficult due to the fact that each night he’s slept in his briefs and my T-shirt that he’s taken a liking to. The same briefs that hug his narrow hips and show off that long, lean body. And the same T-shirt that makes some caveman part of me love how it’s my clothes that are keeping him warm.
Instead of shagging, we’ve lain peacefully in the silent bedroom. It’s been a haven lit by warm lamplight as we’ve read our books and discussed anything that seemed relevant. He’s related incidents from his day at work, and we’ve laughed.
And when I’ve switched the light out, he’s snuggled into my side. Rather than rolling away or telling him no, I’ve wrapped my arms around him and felt him fall asleep. They’re the tamest nights I’ve ever spent, yet they’ve felt far more intimate than if we’d spent our time in the bed fucking. I like that intimacy far more than I should.
However, while he’s slept peacefully when we’ve switched the light out, I haven’t. Whichever position I’ve lain in, Blue has ended up snuggling into me, almost pinning me to the bed.
I’d lain awake for hours last night, my cock throbbing in my underwear and the scent of peaches in my nostrils and my arms full of him. I’d finally fallen asleep at dawn this morning and hadn’t noticed when he’d got up. I’d woken very late to a note telling me he’d gone to work with lots of exclamation marks that made me smile.
In the kitchen, I set about making tea and putting on some toast while the radio plays. When “Red Light Spells Danger” by Billy Ocean comes on, I make an automatic move to switch it off. This was my mum’s favourite song. She used to dance around the kitchen with me to it when I was little, both of us doing silly dance moves and laughing so hard we’d end up bent double.
I haven’t been able to bear to hear it since her death, but for some reason today my finger hovers over the Off button before moving away. I forgot how catchy it is. I try to concentrate on making the tea but the song starts to pick up speed, and as Billy begins to sing, I start to sway. I add a twist and my socks slide over the wooden floor. Wow, this floor is perfect for dancing.
The song builds to the first chorus and before I can even think about what I’m doing, I slide across the floor and wave my hands in the air. I whoop loudly, and suddenly the music catches me again, and I’m dancing—doing stupid dips and weaves, boogieing in a way I’d never in a million years do in a club or actually in front of any living person. Only my mum.
The music fills my head, and I start to sing the words, shouting them out as we used to do, and suddenly the kitchen fills with light as the sun comes from behind the clouds and bathes the room and me in slippery sunbeams. The warmth fills me and I sing louder, holding my arms up and twisting and turning.
When the song finishes, I stop in place, panting and sweating. But as the DJ starts to talk, I hear a throat clearing behind me.
I spin around with complete dread. “You!”
Blue is standing there leaning against the door, his arms crossed and one hand holding a paper bag that’s giving off wonderful aromas.
“Me.” His tone is serious, but it’s slightly spoilt by the mirth brimming in his eyes. “Tom closed up to go to some meeting, and I don’t need to be back until lunchtime, so I broug
ht you some breakfast. I never realised it was cabaret time in this house. I’d have dressed up if I’d known.”
I rub my hand down my hair, very aware that I’m wearing my oldest pair of boxers and just made a total twat of myself. “Sorry,” I say sheepishly. “It was my mum’s favourite song and…” My voice cracks in the middle of the sentence, compounding my embarrassment.
Instantly, the humour in his face dies away. He slings the bag down on the counter and comes towards me.
“Oh no,” I say hoarsely, feeling my throat close up. “There’s no need. Oof!” I stare up at him from the chair he’s just pushed me into. “What are you doing?” I say faintly as he scrambles into my lap, his weight light on my legs.
“Giving you a hug,” he says seriously. “It’s medically advised.”
“I don’t…” I start to say and then give a huge sigh as he folds into me, his scent weaving around me. I’ve learnt that the peachy aroma comes from his shampoo. A friend of his makes the stuff from natural ingredients.
His grip is just right. Not soft, but firm and implacable.
“I just felt like she was here,” I say softly, burying my face in his shoulder.
He grabs my chin to make me look at him. “Babe, she was.”
“What?”
He nods furiously as if for some reason I won’t believe him. “She was just here watching you. Wavy brown hair with blonde streaks, glasses on a string round her neck?”
“Oh my God,” I say, looking around frantically. “Where is she?”
He pulls me back gently. “She’s gone, lovey,” he says softly. “Can’t you feel the way the light has left? She knows you’re going to be okay. It was what she was waiting for. She couldn’t leave before she knew. She really loves you,” he says in an awed tone as if he’d never realised that a mother could love a child.
“But I don’t want her to go,” I say hoarsely.
Blue cups my face in his hands, his expression fiercely gentle. “We never do, lovey, but it’s time.”
