The Air You Breathe (HEARTFIRE Book 3)

by Jave Kavfi

  A younger woman pushes in. "Joan, we've just had a cancelation. So, I'm sure we could fit the young lady in, if she waits a little while." She beams a smile at the receptionist, then at Ana and Caden.

  The receptionist's expression changes from forbidding to a look of barely concealed irritation. "Mrs Blake – we have other people waiting. I don't think–"

  "Just book her in, Joan. I'm sure my husband won't mind." Still with the big smile.

  "And I'm sure Doctor Blake is fully booked, and–"

  "I'll just pop her in here then," the woman says, leaning across the receptionist to get to the computer. "Is this your first?" she asks Ana, quickly adding. "Oh, of course it will be. So young... It can be a stressful time, a first pregnancy. Joan here wouldn't know, as she's never had a child. There, all done. Just take a seat. It might be a while, but my husband will see you soon."

  They thank her and she bounds off towards a side room. The receptionist has her mouth set in a grim line and is giving an infuriated glare at the woman's back.

  "She looked like she's about to blow a gasket," Caden says, as they take a seat. "Smiler, at the desk."

  "I almost don't blame her. There are probably much more urgent cases than mine."

  "Okay, I get that, but that woman's customer service skills are sadly lacking. At least you're being seen. You mind if I dive out and make a few calls?"

  "No. In fact, you really don't have to wait. I know you've got to go to Ryden to supervise the work. I'll be fine."

  "It's all under control. I've arranged for a few guys to make a start. Left them strict instructions and made it clear they get nothing until it's done. I just need to find out what they're up to. I'll have to go along later, but it won't be until I make sure the shop is busy and you won't be on your own. I'll be right outside the door."

  On his way out he holds the door open for a couple and a little boy. It's the one who was looking in the shop window. They sit across from Ana with the boy between them. He's still wrapped-up in a heavy jacket and hat and has a toy rabbit clutched in his hand. Ana gives him a smile and he smiles back this time. He might be about five. A sweet little face, and pale, though he must be sweltering. The parents are talking over his head.

  "Monday? You're sure? It didn't look anywhere ready to me," the man says.

  "There was some delay, but the owner of the agency promised. Henry something. I remember him. Nearly twenty years, but I do. He was handsome, with a flash sports car and I was terribly impressed at the time." Her voice dies off but she's laughing. Her smile quickly fades. "We're doing the right thing, aren't we?"

  The man doesn't speak put gives her leg a reassuring squeeze.

  It's them, Ana knows it. Lucinda Mortimer and her family. The little boy is adorable, but strangely quiet and still. The woman is classically beautiful. Blond, slim, perfect features, sophisticated-looking. Chic but casual clothes. The man's not handsome, more dependable-looking. Neat, but dated polo shirt and chinos. Slightly geekish – like a former nerd who might be running his own company. Nervous maybe, as one foot is drumming off the floor and he's tapping his fingers on his knee. She does this, makes up little scenarios about people she sees – is probably way off most of the time. The woman has caught her looking and they exchange smiles.

  "I'd have been quicker clearing it out myself," the man says, but with a cheerful grin.

  "No – running the business is a full-time occupation and you've most of the inside of the house to do in any spare time you manage to get." The woman goes into her bag and gives the child a tissue, even though he shows no sign of needing one. He takes it and clutches it in his fist.

  "I really don't see why Pip needs to see a doctor today," the man says. "As we were told at his last hospital appointment, he's well on the mend. You make too much fuss of him, Lucinda – I'm beginning to think he likes all the attention."

  "Perhaps. But he's ... not right yet. Too quiet." She turns to the boy. "Let's take that off, shall we?" She attempts to unbutton his jacket, but he pulls away and wraps his arms tightly around his body.

  "See what I mean?" the woman says quietly, then looks across the room. "I don't believe it ... does no-one ever leave here? Oh dear – I don't know whether to speak to her or not. Do you think she's seen me?"

  "Who is she?" the man asks.

  "Her mother worked for us. Oh, god, she's coming over."

  The doctor's wife is walking towards Ana, but freezes when she catches sight of Lucinda. Her face drains of colour, she looks around as if searching for an exit, but appears to be stuck on the spot.

  "Ruby," Lucinda says with a smile. "How ... lovely to see you again."

  "Yes ... um..." A deep flush has crept up Ruby's cheeks, but she gives herself a shake and the bright smile from earlier has returned. "Yes, of course, I heard you were back. But how lovely, yes..."

  "You work here?" Lucinda asks.

  "No. Yes. What I mean is this is my husband's practice. Mark Blake – I married him." There is an unmistakable note of triumph in her voice.

  "Oh... You and Mark?" Lucinda is unsmiling.

  "Yes. Three children. Three. I practically run this place now. I mean, not the medical side, as such. But, you know, the admin..." A muscle in her cheek is twitching and her fingers are gripping the fabric of her dress. "I mean, I couldn't do the medical side, as I've no training."

  "Obviously not." Lucinda looks over Ruby's shoulder. "And here is the man himself."

  "Mark, look who's back," Ruby cries out in a near squeal.

  "Yes, I know," the doctor says. He gives Lucinda a nod before calling Ana's name and leading her to a consulting room.

  He tells her to take a seat and he sits across from her, but his eyes are on the closed door. He's distracted, has hardly given her a glance. Finally, he says, "What can I do for you?"

  This is her pet hate. The not looking. He was clearly uncomfortable about the scene with his wife and Lucinda, but she's not going to speak until he has the manners to look at her. And, as if he has just been zapped back into reality, he snaps into professional mode.

  She asks about her test results and he tells her they're in, and are perfectly normal. He checks her weight and takes her blood pressure – both normal.

  She tells him about her sickness and the fact she's a little worried about the couple of flu drinks she took in early pregnancy.

  The sickness is not excessive by the sound of it and she should stick to bland food for now. The flu drinks are not ideal but at that dosage, nothing to worry about. He prescribes a vitamin and mineral supplement for pregnant women. Very professional now, disengaged but reassuring. Also very handsome, she realises. Dirty blond hair like Jarek. She suddenly feels sick.

  "Anything else troubling you?" he asks, as he's waiting for the prescription to print.

  Yes – the father of my baby died three months ago – partly my fault. Then I went for a house sitting job, only it wasn't – it was a trick played by an immortal ghoul who preys on the grieving. My baby's father came back, only it wasn't him. I've been hounded by hellish creatures ever since and they're most likely back again. The person I'm living with – a stranger until a few weeks ago, and who I'm growing increasingly close to – is somewhere between alive and dead. I worry about him and me and the baby. Our future, if we're ever allowed to have one.

  Only she doesn't say any of this, of course, and he possibly wouldn't hear anyway, as he appears to have switched off again.

  She takes her prescription, thanks him and walks back into the waiting area, where Caden is leaning against a wall, checking his phone, but looks up and gives one of his grins. And she feels better and safer just seeing him and knowing he's on her side.

  Chapter 8

  A skinny guy with tattoos and a shaven head is sticking his arm out for a handshake. "Tyler O'Rourke – you Caden?"

  "That's right."

  "That pair are pretty thick, but they get the job done," Tyler says, indicating a couple of beefy men leaning against
a lorry. "Cash in hand, you said?"

  "As soon as the work's done to my satisfaction," Caden tells him. "The job's going on a bit longer, as they now want the stone maze dismantled. The fence around the orangery needs to be made secure, as there's a couple of kids coming to live here. I'd say the whole thing needs to come down, but they want to hang on to it. All the crap needs to be cleared from the grounds. Stay out of the house – the owners are dealing with it from now on. We've got until the end of the week, and that includes getting the grass cut. All the rubbish needs to be taken to the dump. You up for that?"

  "Sure. No problem." Tyler wipes his nose with the back of his hand. Seems like the kind of person with a permanent drip.

  "I'll leave you to it then," Caden says, as he heads towards the house. Last night the girl was pointing towards the wall where all the photographs were. To the right – was she pointing to a specific one, trying to tell him something? He should have went back in to check, but the weird post mortem photograph put an end to that. He needs to get a move on – the shop's busy and Ana is armed, but he still can't take the risk.

  The wall is stripped. Most of Evangeline's belongings are gone. Fuck. He goes to the window and pulls it up. "Oi – Tyler? Who's been in here?"

  "Eh?"

  "Some moron's been in here and cleared it. We were meant to do the grounds, not in here. Where's the stuff?"

  "Erm ... Kev and Davey might have got a bit confused, like."

  Halfwits ... oh, shit. He smells it, then sees the smoke – a bonfire. He's out the room and taking the stairs three at a time. What's wrong with these people?

  They're at the side of the house, leaning on shovels, watching the flames. Boxes all around, stuffed with the girls' belongings piled up next to their truck.

  "What the fuck are you doing?" he shouts, kicking a couple of framed photographs out of the flames. A bunch of books are smouldering too. He kicks them away from the fire, stamps the flames out with his boot, grabs a shovel from one of the men and drags more items on to the grass. Fuckwits.

  "Nah, it's all right. Only the mouldy stuff on. The rest's not bad. We were thinking – you won't mind – we'll take it to the car boot. Maybe get a few bob for it." This is from a man who looks like an out-of-shape nightclub bouncer.

  "No, you bloody well can't. These are people's belongings. Their history. Who gave you permission to go in there and take their things?"

  The other man – shirt off, sweaty beer belly on display, is scratching his shaved head. "Didn't think it would do no harm, being as the place has been lying empty for years and most of this was covered in mould."

  "Oh, right, but it was good enough for you to make some profit out of? Here's news for you. You're not here to raid the house to get stock for your fricken car boot sales. You're here to work. Do you plan to do that? Because if you don't, you can fuck off now and I'll do it myself."

  The fat guy looks like he's about to burst into tears. "Nah, don't do that, man. We didn't mean no harm. Kids come in here and raid the place all the time. For a dare, like. Seeing as it's meant to be haunted and all. We won't touch anything else. Look..." He's stamping the fire out, picking up a bucket of water and throwing it on the flames. "We'll get back to doing the fence, like. Get it done, no problem. I'm depending on the wages to pay me rent at the end of the month. We'll put all the boxes back in the house, right?"

  "Yeah? Well, get on with it then," Caden says, feeling like a total shit. These guys probably view this kind of thing as the perks of the job. But he saw red when he caught sight of Evangeline's things in the boxes. Ending up on some market stall and a load of strangers pawing through them. It seems ... sadly pathetic somehow. Is that what happened to his stuff? Sold to strangers for next to nothing. His private things. The laptop – what happened to that? He'd been writing some song lyrics before the flight. Has anyone went through his files? His guitar – where's that now? Skateboard. All his shit. The dead are nothing to the living.

  The men are moving the boxes back into the house and one shoe has fallen out, ribbons trailing. Muddy footprints stamped across them. A shoe that looks like a girl would wear when doing ballet. Is that what she wanted – to be a dancer, or is that just the kind of thing some young girls do for a while? What did she want to do with her life? What were her dreams? He should get to know some more about her – maybe then he'll find out what this voiceless girl wants and how she died.

  *

  Ana is on the computer, looking up lost cat ads. She doesn't want to do it and can't imagine parting with Boris, but a sense of guilt has forced her to take a look. She was told he was merely a 'prop' used at Trewairing, but he must have come from somewhere. What if a family are looking for him? It's like she's stolen their pet. She's looking for pictures or a description along the lines of 'looks like a little lion, eats too much, thinks he's a dog'. She checks notices from the area surrounding Trewairing and further afield, and has a great sense of relief when no missing cats fitting his description show up.

  There, she made the effort and assuaged her guilt. She turns to the chair behind the counter, where he has settled with his paws tucked under him – pats his head and he rubs his face against her hand and does his engine noise.

  A peaceful day and no sign of trouble. Not many customers in, but enough for her to feel not alone. She leans with her elbows on the counter and has a good look around. This really is a very wonderful little book shop – but not so little. It may give that impression from the outside, but it stretches on and on once you get inside.

  Battered and scarred oak countertop, shelves, and floorboards. Several antique cabinets, stuffed with the obscure oddities Mr Cribber's father collected on his travels abroad. The peculiar elephant coat and umbrella stand, big old leather armchair that Gertie usually commandeers. A huge table which is actually a leather-topped desk, where the book group gather on mismatched dining room chairs at least twice a week. More books-to-the ceiling in alcoves and the long corridor which opens out to a surprisingly spacious book-lined room that has an elaborate fireplace and an enormous table under what looks to be a colonial ceiling fan. A shabby tapestry-covered sofa. Various odd objects in corners, including a creaky peeling globe showing only three continents, a hardboard 'mummy' case that is actually filled with drawers of ephemera, a taxidermy owl in mid-flight and a mammoth grandfather clock with no hands.

  A dusty room to the left housing old maps and the antiquarian collection. Huge private storage room to the right, with the iron stairwell that leads to what is now their living accommodation. An attic above, which they haven't had time to explore yet. Enclosed courtyard garden at the back.

  She's trying to imagine what it would be like here without all the threat of attack and the need to keep secrets. It would be quite wonderful, she thinks. Not the best place to raise a baby and possibly a dead-end career-wise. But she loves books and has a growing affection for this odd little town and its inhabitants. Caden really does feel like a cousin or brother, even though she hasn't known him that long. But much about him is still a mystery and he's vague and evasive a good deal of the time. Exactly how he plans to be with his girl again, she does not know, and he says he doesn't either, just that it can and must happen. The Otherworld he says he 'visits' is not explained in any detail, as he tells her he doesn't understand it himself. His family and her family, their respective pasts, are hardly touched on. Life is tough enough for them, he insists, without dredging over events and situations which mess with their heads. The important thing for now is to stay alert and safe, to not think too far ahead.

  She has no idea what the future holds, but is going to do what they agreed and make the very best of every day. Face each obstacle as it comes. This is not as easy as it seems, since Eudora's calling card turned up, but dwell on it and she's going to be a nervous wreck.

  She looks down at the latest orders for antique books. This is where Mr Cribber makes most of his money. Only four books this week, but each one fetching an eye-popping sum.
One written by monks over three hundred years ago, two on the occult that she's reluctant to even put her hands on and one strange eighteenth century novel written by a man who spent his entire life on the study of houseflies. "Ring the bell if you need any assistance," she calls out to the few customers. "Just going in the store room to fetch some books."

  Up the ladder, blowing away layers of dust and she's got the first one. Hefty, but with the most beautifully embossed cover. The housefly man's story about a bittersweet love affair over the course of one sad summer. Down the rungs and she's stepping to the floor. Hands over her eyes and she stabs her elbow back with force and turns with her heart pounding to face her assailant.

  "Ouch – you've dislocated my shoulder. Or almost. When did you get to be so violent?"

  "Holly! Don't creep up on me like that. Sorry, you all right?"

  "Yeah, I've got great reflexes. I'm like a ninja. And good news – I'm moving in!"

  "You are? I thought George had set you up in a flat."

  Holly plants herself down on the iron steps. "Oh, I've had enough of that moaning-faced old codger. When does your gorgeous sex-machine cousin get back?"

  "I don't have a cousin of that description, but if you're referring to Caden, he's due back at any time. Didn't you phone him?"

  "No – I want it to be a surprise. He's going to be so pleased. Do me a favour and go pay the taxi driver. Get him to bring my cases in. He's a grumpy old git who had the nerve to lecture me just because I lit up in his smelly old cab. I've told him to lose the comb-over and take some action on his ear hair, but some people can't take constructive criticism. Don't tip."

  Chapter 9

  The notes are all the same and the only one he hasn't delivered yet is to the bunch at the hotel. Doesn't want to risk it until they move into Ryden, and they're doing that soon. He's been here a good week now and knows most of the movements of every one of them.