by Amos Cassidy
Lord Andrew turned his head and was silent for the first time since he and Tom had been stuck together. Tom knew he’d suddenly struck a nerve with Lord Andrew. He’d broken all the sensitivity rules in ghost aftercare according to the book, but he had to say it. The book did not state what the afterlife was or any description of it, simply because ghosts refused to talk about it. Whether this was by choice or by some higher rule, was unknown. The book had pretty much glossed over that subject mentioning the words ‘spiritual plane’ but giving no further information. Tom had hoped naively that he would be able to trick the talkative Lord into revealing something. The Lord was obviously on to him.
Tom sighed. “It’ll be over soon.”
Nothing more was said as the tube train made the rest of its journey to Upminster.
Margaret Lewis lived in a small, first floor flat. Heavy red curtains blocked out all natural light, and candles and incense burned away in the cluttered living room. Margaret was an elderly woman with long white hair, a wrinkled face and dressed in black. She hadn’t greeted Tom or Lord Andrew, and they took it upon themselves to follow her as she skulked into the living room.
Tom sat on the arm of the worn sofa because the rest of it was taken up by piles of newspapers. Margaret and Lord Andrew were both living, and dead, breathing, and non-breathing, real-life/ghostly clichés.
Margaret scowled at Tom from her armchair. “So what do you want?”
Tom explained his predicament.
Margaret roared with laughter.
“Now see here…” Lord Andrew started to protest.
“Shut ya mouth, ya old ponce,” Margaret spat.
Tom laughed.
“I beg your pardon, Madam?”
“You ‘erd. And I don’t know what ya laughing at.” She pointed a wrinkly finger at Tom. “Ya need to be with it when using magic. Can’t be messing about with this stuff. Too young they let you start nowadays.”
“The book says I need banishing powder, salt and incense,” Tom said. “And I need to break the spell myself.”
“That ya do.”
“And I can get it from you?”
“That ya can.”
There was a very uncomfortable silence.
“So…”
“Fifty quid.” Margaret held out her gnarled hand
“What?”
“You ‘erd.”
‘Fifty quid for a bit of powder and incense? I’d rather be stuck with him,” he bluffed.
“Fair enough.”
“No, no!” Tom held up his hands. “I was joking, fifty quid it is.”
Margaret nodded and left the room.
“I have a good mind to invoice them bastards below me! They’re the ones who started this!”
“I will just be glad when this is over,” Butterfield said.
Margaret returned with a jam jar filled with grey powder and some sticks of incense. “Cash first.”
Tom handed over the money and Margaret gave him the jar.
“Thanks,” Tom said.
“That book don’t tell ya what that powder is does it?” Margaret said with an evil grin on her face.
Tom shook his head.
“Ground up cat bones and ash!” She said and cackled as if it were the funniest thing she knew. “Now get out.”
It was getting late and the tube was taking ages. If the old cow hadn’t cleaned out his wallet he would’ve forked out for a taxi.
Lord Andrew was still silent, pacing up and down the empty tube carriage.
“Look,” said Tom. “You hate me and I’m not a big fan of you. But I wanna say I’m sorry. I should’ve paid more attention to what I was doing. I was excited about doing the spell, I didn’t realise it would cause so much trouble. This can’t be easy for you. So, yeah, I’m sorry, mate.”
Lord Andrew looked at him and shook his head. “And I am sorry for what I have said to you. I have been dead for so long, living in the…” he hesitated. “I cannot say.”
“Can’t say what?”
“I cannot say any more about life after death. I am forbidden to say too much. There are rules.”
“Right.”
“However, I will say this– live your life and respect your life. It is precious. Nothing can compare.” Lord Andrew looked suddenly so despondent that Tom actually felt a pang of sympathy for him.
“Is it bad?” he asked tentatively.
The train came to a stop in the tunnel.
“No.”
“We are currently being held at a red signal,” the train driver announced, “we should be moving again shortly.”
“That’s the third time we’ve been held now.” Tom slouched in his seat.
Lord Andrew was silent.
The lights flickered and came back to life. That was normal for lights on the tube trains. But then the carriage was plunged into darkness. He could still see Lord Andrew.
White noise followed, a horrible crackle filling the carriage through the microphones in place of the driver’s voice.
“Is this normal?” Lord Andrew asked.
“It’s certainly new.”
The white noise stopped and there was silence.
Tom made an exasperated sound. “Great, looks like the train is knackered.”
There was a scratching noise on the outside of the carriage.
“What the hell is that?” Tom said.
The next thing he heard was glass shattering. The next thing he felt was a cold hand on his arm.
He leapt up. “FUCK!” The cold hand wrapped tightly round him. He dropped the jar and heard the powder and shards of glass spill across the floor.
“Oh my…” Lord Andrew gasped.
Tom froze as he caught the look of terror on the Lord’s face.
Whatever it was that held his arm was hidden in the darkness. Another cold hand went to his throat. Before he could react further he was dragged out of the carriage with a whoosh.
Lord Andrew was shouting again, crying out for help as he unwillingly followed the necromancer he was bound too.
But no one can hear the cries of a ghost.
39.
WAVES OF BLOOD AND SILK
A zombie sat at the kitchen table. He was small, only a boy. His hair was messy, his skin pale, black rings under his eyes. There were blood trails running from his mouth and big, ugly wounds on his arms and legs. Ripped, dusty rags clothed him and in his hands he held a Nintendo DS.
“Erin!” A voice boomed from upstairs.
“What?” Erin called back.
“Are you dressed yet?”
“Yes, mum. I already told you five minutes ago.”
“Don’t be cheeky!”
Erin shook his head. His mum had spent all day perfecting his zombie makeup. He looked good, a perfectly authentic member of the living dead. Flo had done an excellent job. All Erin had to do was get his outfit on, which he’d done quickly. He was excited about the Halloween party they would eventually be going to once his mum stopped panicking and messing about with her hair.
Loud footsteps signalled Flo’s descent.
She entered the kitchen. “Oh you’re ready.”
“Told you,” Erin said with smug pride.
“Mum,” Roman said as he came into the kitchen dressed in a werewolf costume. He stopped to take in his mum’s outfit. Then let out a low wolf whistle.
Erin giggled.
“Shut up.” Flo blushed failing to hide her smile of pleasure. “Couldn’t you have put a bit more imagination into your costume?”
Roman shrugged. “It’s called irony, mum.”
Rose entered the kitchen dressed in 1980’s clothing, her blonde hair styled to look like Krystle Carrington from ‘Dynasty’. “Wow! Looking good Flo.” She gave a wolf whistle to rival Roman’s.
Flo blushed again, glancing down at her outfit. The black sparkly dress revealed a world of cleavage, moulding to her generous curves like a second skin. A sparkly pointed hat completed the ensemble. She was a very glamorous wit
ch.
“You’ve got an amazing body,” Rose said.
“Oh, get out.” Flo blushed again. She studied Rose. “How come you’re being Krystle and not Alexis?”
Rose had been watching Flo’s Dynasty DVD box sets for some escapism. They had inspired her costume for the Halloween party. “I like Krystle. I feel bad for her. Blake is horrible to her and Alexis is always on her back about something. She’s the underdog. This is my tribute to her. Plus she knows how to throw a mean punch in a lily pond. I respect that.”
A horn beeped outside.
Flo Yelped. “Oh my gawd! It’s Mr McIntire! I’m not ready yet. I’ve gotta take them boxes over there to the party.” She pointed to two boxes in the corner of the kitchen. ‘They’ve got all the buffet stuff in them. He’s here to give me a lift. I can’t…not yet…” Flo was flustered and rapidly dissolving into a state of meltdown.
“It’s okay,” Rose said. “We’ll take the boxes with Mr McIntire.” She glanced at Roman and he nodded in agreement.
“You sure?” Flo reached for her handbag that sat on the kitchen table. She pulled out a packet of cigarettes.
“Yep,” Roman said. “We can grill Mr McIntire a bit too.”
“Don’t you bleedin’ dare!”
“We won’t.” Rose promised. “Much,” she added wickedly.
Flo scowled at her.
Rose laughed.
“I’ll go out and tell him we’re helping,” Roman said. “And that Cinderella isn’t quite ready for the ball yet.”
Raven and Thistle were still missing, a fact that was in the back of everyone’s mind, the only person oblivious was Erin. However, a semblance of normality had to be employed. Despite the frustration, confusion and anger at their disappearances, the council had ordered that business continue as usual. They themselves were drawing blanks with their enquiries and so far had been unable to trace the summoner responsible for the demon attacks. Richard assured the pack that it was only a matter of time before the protagonist was found, but even his veneer of confidence was beginning to crack. In the meantime, Roman, Rose and Flo slapped on their happy faces, hiding their turmoil and increasing despair. And thus far, Faye, Erin and the other humans close to them were none the wiser.
The Halloween party at the community centre was a welcome distraction. Rose, Roman, Flo and Erin were all going together. The other pack members had been invited but had declined. Faye was out with Harold, and Kris and Damon had other plans. The werewolves had their own distractions to keep them busy.
Rose and Roman had left with Mr McIntire after loading the boxes into his boot. Five minutes later and Mr McIntire had called Flo from the community centre, offering to come back and pick her up.
“You don’t need to worry about us,” Flo had said to him. “But thanks for offering. We won’t be long.” The community centre was only short walk away, and without boxes to carry she’d make it in less than ten minutes.
Flo stood before the mirror in her hallway fluffing her hair, trying her best to get it to look just right. She was in the frame of mind you get in when trying to impress someone, where no matter what you do to your hair, in your eyes, it looks crap. It didn’t look crap, but there was no telling Flo that.
“Bloody hell.” Flo sighed, still fiddling with a tonged curl.
“Hurry up, mum!” Erin called from the kitchen.
“Watch your lip, you!”
“I wanna go to the party!”
“So do-” She stopped and stared at the mirror. “What the hell’s that?” she muttered under her breath.
There was something wrong with the mirror. Her reflection seemed to be blurred, like a bad photograph or awful television reception. Flo squinted, looking harder, and saw something else– a blur of red behind her own distorted reflection. It was moving, spreading like a stain, like blood. It grew larger, spilling over her image. It was across her stomach now, moving, writhing. She gasped, instinctively looking down at her stomach expecting to see the matching stain in reality but found only the shiny black material of her dress. Her eyes flicked back to the mirror and she stood mesmerised as the stain moved, shifting upwards over her torso and toward her head. She wanted to step back, to move away but found her feet rooted to the spot, her eyes wide in her face. And now the red was accompanied by silver– glittering, beautiful silver. Ensnared, she watched as a shape took form, a figure wrapped in shimmering silver tipped with blood. Just as her brain assimilated what she was seeing, just as she realised that it was no longer her image staring back at her, there was a flash of blinding light.
Flo screamed and staggered backwards into the wall behind her. The light was gone but she found she couldn’t move. Dark blotches danced before her eyes– an after effect of the dazzling light. She blinked to clear her vision, her breath coming in gasps as she fixed her eyes on the mirror.
The mirror’s surface was rippling as the figure in the mirror moved closer. Then a hand broke the surface, pushing its way out like slicing through water. This was followed by an arm, another arm and then the full body. A woman stepped through the mirror and stood in the hallway surrounded by light.
Flo tried to speak but no sound emerged. For the first time in her life she was speechless. As her mind caught up with what her senses were telling her, she realised that what she was witnessing lay in the realms of magic. She blinked against the intruder’s glow.
“Faye?” No…no…it couldn’t be. The woman smiled and cocked her head. “Faye!”
Faye’s skin shone with an inner luminosity– a radiant silver sheen, like moonlight. Her red hair was also now a deeper almost unnatural shade of crimson, as if she had bathed it in rich, dark blood. It fell in glistening waves down her shoulders, enforcing the illusion. Despite the physical changes, Flo recognised this vision of beauty as Faye. It was in the stance of her body, the tilt of her head and the quirk of her smile. Clad in a stunning silver gown, breathtakingly beautiful, she oozed power and something else– something that sent shivers of unease up Flo’s spine and begged her to turn and run.
“What…what happened to you?” Flo breathed.
Faye’s glittering emerald eyes sparked with something, which sent a stab of fear through Flo’s heart. This wasn’t the Faye she knew– there was no warmth in those eyes. It was as if something alien had stepped into her skin, stripping away the humanity that had lived there, before filling the void with ice.
“Who are you?” Flo shook her head.
Faye smiled. “Oh come on, Flo. You know me, it’s little ol’ me. Faye.”
“You’re not Faye.” Flo pressed against the wall.
Faye sighed, taking a step toward Flo, pouting her full red lips. “Sorry to disappoint, luv.” She imitated Flo’s broad accent.
Flo’s eyes moved from the mirror back to Faye. “What…how?”
Faye rolled her eyes. “How rude of me, entering through your mirror without knocking.” She pulled her mouth down at the corners, making a sad face. “Forgive me for scaring you.” When Flo didn’t respond she continued. “It’s just I’m sort of on a deadline here, you know? Evil plan waits for no one and all that, you understand don’t you?”
The way she moved, the melodious quality to her voice, it was beginning to make sense. “You’re one of them aintcha? You’re fey.”
“Finally! Thank you!” Faye threw up her hands in mock relief. “Saves me having to explain, not that I was going to anyway. But it’s great to shake off the mundane glamour and be the real me again.” Her manner was suddenly conversational. “You know the feeling, you must get it when you whip off your bra at the end of the day and release those bad boys.” She shot Flo’s cleavage an appraising look.
“What do you want?” Flo didn’t know much about the fey in general. They kept to themselves but she knew enough to know that they could be dangerous. From the vibe she was getting off Faye, she knew she would need to tread carefully.
“Hmm, a woman who likes to get straight to business, I like that.” Fa
ye swayed slightly on the spot, fingering the shimmering material of her dress. She stopped almost as abruptly as she had begun and fixed her hard eyes on Flo. “I’m here for your son,”
Flo’s heart skipped a beat then resumed its beating. Thank God Roman was out. “What?” she asked simply to buy herself some time, to think.
“Your son.” Faye enunciated carefully as if talking to a moron.
“Roman’s not here.”
Faye looked down the hallway in the direction of the kitchen, her lips curving in a cruel smile. “Not that stray mutt.” She grinned, her face a mask of glee. “Your real son.”
Confusion, comprehension and panic flared in Flo’s eyes in quick succession. “Get out.” She snarled, pulling herself up and to her full height, a lioness prepared to protect her cub at all cost.
“Not without the prize.”
“GET THE FUCK OUT!” Flo lunged forward, adrenaline surging.
“Mum?” Erin called out.
Faye threw out her right hand and something hit Flo in the chest, sending her hurtling back into the wall with a loud crack. She cried out in pain as she made impact. She couldn’t move, she was stuck to the wall. She looked down to see a splatter of what looked like silver silk stuck across her chest, holding her in place. “What is this?” Flo struggled but the stuff wouldn’t budge. Panic flared in her chest. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!”
“Mum?” Erin walked into the hallway. He gasped as he saw his mum and Faye. He dropped his DS, his eyes wide with shock. “Mum?” His voice quivered with fear and uncertainty.
Faye smiled sweetly at him. “Hello, Erin.”
“RUN, ERIN!” Flo screamed.
“I don’t think so.” Faye moved quickly, grabbing Erin painfully by the arm.
He screamed in pain.
“NO! GET OFF MY SON!” Flo struggled harder, her heart filled with rage. But her struggles were futile, the material that held her too strong. She did the only other thing she could think of. “HELP! HELP! SOMEONE! HELP!”
Faye laughed, still holding Erin by his arm. He pulled against her, trying to get free, wincing as her nails dug into his skin. “Oh, did I forget to mention that little silver flash earlier made sure that your neighbours are oblivious to all this commotion.” Faye looked smug. “I love fey magic.”
