‘Don’t apologise, Shaylee,’ Tristan’s dad says, ‘We’re just glad you’re alright.’
A movement just outside the doorway draws my attention. Kent is gesturing wildly, his face the same mottled shade of red it was earlier in Tristan’s room. He whispers angrily into the phone but I can only catch snatches of his side of the conversation and it isn’t enough to determine who is on the other side.
‘Shaylee?’ Tristan squeezes my hand again, bringing my focus back to him. ‘Mother asked if this has happened before.’
‘Oh, sorry,’ I say, ‘um, yes but I really just need some rest, that’s all.’ I offer them a small smile, but even that effort makes my face muscles ache. I don’t want to answer their questions right now.
‘I’d actually like to take a shower, if you don’t mind,’ I say.
‘Of course,’ Mrs. Westwood says, ‘we’ll send up some tea as well but I’m afraid we’ll have to move you into another room for the rest of your stay.’
I frown and she gestures toward the broken door.
‘She’ll stay in my room,’ Tristan says quickly.
His mother shoots him a disapproving look and I start to shake my head but Tristan is having none of that.
‘I’m not leaving you alone, Shaylee. I’ll sleep on the couch.’
‘Make that the car-seat.’ Kent’s voice interrupts and we all turn toward him, frowning in the doorway, tapping his cell-phone in obvious agitation against his thigh. ‘Kael wants you home. Now.’
A strange mixture of emotion runs through me. Kael wants me home. Has he changed his mind about protecting me? Does he want to be near me? Or is it just that he wants me close enough to control?
‘We’re not leaving tonight,’ Tristan argues, ‘Shaylee needs rest.’
‘She can rest in the car.’
‘But it’s the middle of the night! It’s not safe!’
Kent shakes his head and raises his hands in a gesture of surrender.
‘Hey, I’m just the messenger. Kael says we need to leave right now. He wants us home by morning.’
‘Well, he’ll just have to wait,’ Tristan says firmly. He stands and helps me up from the bed, lips set in a straight line. I slump against him, and together, we limp to the bathroom.
‘Are you going to be alright?’ he whispers. I nod and give him a wavering smile. I’m not sure at all that I’ll be able to manage a shower in my current state but I’m not about to let anyone help me. I shut the door behind me but I don’t lock it – just in case. I make my way against the wall to the toilet and sit down on the lid.
It takes a huge amount of energy to pull my shirt over my head. I take a moment to catch my breath before I look down at the butterfly marking. It is slightly red and swollen – and about three shades darker than the pale grey etching that had first appeared just weeks ago. It’s like each incident seems to etch the tattoo darker and deeper into my skin, making it more permanent, tearing away any possibility I ever thought I had at returning to normality.
I sigh and slip into the shower, grateful when the gushing water muffles the voices of Tristan and Kent, who have begun to argue in the bedroom. Eyes closed, hands braced against the wall, I let the water rush over my head and aching body.
What the hell is wrong with me? Before my birthday, I can remember only one incident in my entire life when I’d passed out; that one time in grade three, I’d been late for school, hadn’t eaten breakfast and after half an hour of standing in the school hall assembly, I’d collapsed onto the floor. A couple of Provita’s and a few sips of water had cured me then – but this?
I loathe my weakness, and not knowing the cause makes it twice as bad. It can’t be coincidence anymore. The attacks started soon after I arrived here, after the marking appeared. Somehow, the three events are related and the thought makes me angry. Why me? What have I done to deserve this?
With a sigh, I turn off the taps and lay my forehead against the wall. No use feeling sorry for myself, I know. My energy is better served getting as much information as possible about my new life. Maybe then, I’ll be able to figure out what’s causing these attacks. Right now, though, I have no energy – not even enough to think.
I dry myself haphazardly with the fluffy white towel that hangs from a hook behind the door, realize that I haven’t brought any clothes into the bathroom with me and slide my underwear back on, covering it with the white hotel terry-cloth robe.
The voices outside have fallen quiet and when I open the door to the bedroom, Tristan stands alone, by the window. He immediately rushes to my side and slides a supportive arm around my waist.
‘Are you okay?’ The unveiled concern in his face is comforting.
‘Just tired.’
‘Let’s get you to my room.’
‘I need my clothes.’
‘I’ll bring it.’
I nod once and take a slow step toward the door, but my knees buckle beneath me and only Tristan prevents me from collapsing to the floor.
‘I’ll carry you.’
‘I can walk,’ I protest weakly, but he ignores me and sweeps me up gently into his arms.
‘Stop being so stubborn,’ he chides. I smile wanly and lay my head against his shoulder, too tired and sore to argue.
‘Are we leaving now?’ I ask, with my forehead against his neck.
‘In the morning,’ he replies, ‘you need to rest.’
I close my eyes and breathe in the clean, sweet scent of him, grateful for the reprieve. It is an effort at this point just to stay conscious. The world around me becomes hazy and the warmth of Tristan’s body against mine, the soft beat of the pulse in his neck, is like a drug to my overloaded system. I’m asleep halfway down the corridor.
Chapter 36
Strain
Tastes like: A hard, sticky chocolate éclair.
Smells like: An overloaded DB board.
Sounds like: A violin string played at the wrong angle.
Feels like: Standing on your tip-toes, trying to reach the top shelf.
Looks like: A man lifting a dumbbell at the gym.
The sun is not yet above the horizon as Tristan tucks me into the Beamer, and we start our journey back to Aylburton, without saying goodbye to his parents. I know he would have preferred to wait for them to wake, and also to let me sleep in a bit longer, but Kent was insistent that we leave at this ungodly hour. His phone keeps ringing and beeping, even as we drive through the tall wrought iron gates that mark the entrance to Abbey manor. He doesn’t answer but it’s evident that the calls and texts have him on edge. I have my own suspicions about who is trying so desperately to get through to him, since Tristan confiscated my own phone last night already...
The ride back to Aylburton is conducted mainly in silence, except for the argument that ensues when Tristan suggests we stop for breakfast about an hour into the drive. Kent puts up such a fuss about the delay, we end up stopping only long enough for Tristan to rush into the garage-store for some stale donuts, which we eat while driving. The closer we get to Aylburton though, the better I feel but I’m not going to try and dissect why.
The front door to Nan’s flies open as we grind to a halt on the gravel driveway and before I can even reach for the car door handle, it is wrenched open by a rather disheveled looking Kael.
‘What the hell happened? Why didn’t you answer your phone? Are you okay?’ He pulls me gently from the car and sets my feet on the ground, his eyes scanning the length of me.
‘I wish everyone would stop asking me that,’ I groan.
Kael ignores my complaint and gives me a searching look.
‘Was it another attack?’
I nod once. ‘But I’m fine now.’
He stares at me for a while longer, as though trying to determine the truth of my words and then turns his attention to Kent, who is unpacking the suitcases from the trunk of the car.
‘What took you so long? You should’ve been here hours ago and why didn’t you answer my calls?’
‘We only left this morning.’
Kael glares at him. ‘But I gave you strict instructions -’
‘Shaylee needed to rest,’ Tristan interrupts, stepping into Kael’s line of vision. ‘I wasn’t prepared to put her through that long trip in her condition.’
‘That wasn’t your decision to make,’ Kael growls, transferring his gaze to Tristan. ‘You know the rules.’
‘The rules changed when you decided to outsource her protection,’ Tristan shoots back, unflinching.
For a breathless moment, I see thunder roll into Kael’s eyes and I’m sure he is going to throttle Tristan, but he straightens, glances at me and says in a deceptively quiet voice: ‘Well they’ve changed again. I’m her seastnan. What I say goes.’
Tristan’s jaw clenches and my heart gives a little skip.
‘This isn’t a game, Kael,’ he says, striding up to him until they are standing, chest to chest, glaring at one another. ‘You can’t just change the rules when you feel like it.’
‘I can do whatever I want.’
‘Damnit, there are lives at stake here! She’s my fiancée!’
Tristan’s face turns beet-red and he shoves Kael backwards, against the side of the car.
‘She’s my responsibility!’
Kael pushes back, hard against Tristan’s chest and he stumbles back.
‘Stop! Please,’ I beg, throwing myself between the two boys.
Both of them stand, shoulder’s tensed, chests rising and falling rapidly, but they pause and look at me.
‘Just stop fighting, please,’ I say tiredly. The earth sways beneath my feet and I close my eyes against the disconcerting sensation.
Kael immediately steps forward to steady me.
‘I thought you said you were feeling fine.’
‘I was,’ I say, ‘I just – Ugh, what’s wrong with me?’
‘You’re completely pale,’ Tristan observes, ‘I’ll take you inside.’ He steps toward me but Kael is a step ahead, as he sweeps me into his arms.
‘Like I said, she’s my responsibility.’
‘Don’t, please, Tristan.’ I say, trying to focus my eyes on his hazy face. ‘Just go.’ He clenches his jaw, looks from me, to Kael and back, and nods, once but as Kael walks toward the porch with me in his arms, I can feel Tristan’s gaze, following us.
‘Why is this happening to me?’ I demand, as I pace before Nan’s chair in the downstairs, formal lounge. I’ve slept a full twelve hours since Kael tucked me into bed this morning, and I’m feeling more like myself, but extremely restless. ‘Why do I keep passing out like this?’
Nan’s eyes follow me, back and forth across the room.
‘I wish we knew.’
‘It has to have something to do with the mark,’ I say, almost to myself. I stop suddenly and look at Nan. ‘That poem you spoke about at the Circle meeting - the stuff about the…virgin blood…where did it come from? Is there more?’
She shakes her head.
‘It comes from the old texts and there’s nothing more about the promised one – believe me, I’ve looked.’
‘There must be someone who knows something? What about the Tanistry?’
Nan shakes her head again and I throw my hands up in the air.
‘God, this has to stop! This isn’t me – I’m not some stupid girl who faints for no reason. I can’t take it anymore!’
Part of me wants to slide to my knees, cover my face with my hands and cry, but I’m stronger than that. I have to be. So I latch onto the anger inside instead, let it well up until it swallows the tears at the back of my throat.
‘This is all her fault,’ I say. ‘She never should have sent me here!’
‘Who? Your mother?’ Nan gives me an incredulous look. ‘You’re being irrational, Shaylee. You know she had no choice.’
‘Of course she did. She chose to leave England when I was seven and she chose to send me back here.’
I expect Nan to reply in her usual, soft and rational tone, so I’m taken aback when she turns on me, eyes flashing and voice quivering.
‘Don’t you dare blame your mother, Shaylee Greene! You think she wanted any of this? You have no idea what she sacrificed for you!’
I gape at Nan as she turns and stalks from the room.
Chapter 37
Warmth
Tastes like: Hot-cross buns
Smells like: Lavender and wool
Sounds like: Your mother’s voice
Feels like: A hug
Looks like: A polar-fleece baby-blanket
It’s the middle of the night, and I’m awake, in my usual spot on the window seat, head against the pane, staring out across the hedges toward Kael’s house, where his light still burns.
I can’t stop thinking about what Nan said. She hasn’t spoken to me since this morning when she stormed out. I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to figure out what she meant. As far as I’m concerned though, the only one who sacrificed anything with the move from Aylburton to South Africa and then back again, is me. I’m the pawn that keeps getting shipped around the board, the only one who doesn’t share in the secrets – and there are more of those than I’d realized. I feel like I’m in a pinball machine, getting shoved around, utterly helpless as everyone around me cranks the levers.
Kael’s light flickers off in the house next door and I sigh. Great. It doesn’t seem fair that he should be able to sleep when I can’t; after all, he is one of the reasons for my sleeplessness. Was he always this restless or is it my presence that keeps him up at night?
With a frustrated growl, I drag the duvet back across to my bed and flop down sideways on it. I need to stop thinking about the mess that is my life right now, so I grab my tablet from the bedside table and flip to one of the novels I’m reading. It’s what Jenne calls a ‘trashy novel’ – a romance that requires very little concentration. I immerse myself in the pages.
Even from this distance, the heat from the fire was scorching but I paid no heed to it. I could see him through the smoke and I knew with gut-wrenching certainty that he was in danger – because of me.
My head was pounding and each step I took sent shafts of pain through my entire body but I forced myself to place one foot in front of the other, until my knees gave in, and then I began to crawl. It didn’t matter that my vision had become as black as the starless night sky or that my body cried out with each agonizing movement - only that I had to get to him.
My sight cleared and blurred in alternating flashes of light and darkness but in one lucid second, I saw him, crouched low against the outline of flames. I cried out to him in the same instance I felt the arms close around me and he turned, momentarily distracted by my cry.
The hands pulled me back as the world went black again and I cried out with frustration. I had to get there.
Another flash of blurred vision brought him into focus. He was coming toward me, eyes dark and focused on me when they should have been turned to the shadow at his back. ‘Turn around!’ I tried to scream but no sound escaped my parched lips.
My heart stopped as the figure behind him crouched, ready to spring, and I let loose a blood-curdling scream.
‘No!’
I kicked frantically against the arms that held me and felt the breath leave my body as excruciating pain shot through my stomach. My hands clutched at the source of pain and came away, warm and sticky as I struggled for air.
‘Breathe,’ a voice said inside me, ’you have to breathe.’
‘Breathe, Shaylee!’ Disoriented, I thrash against the muscular arms locked around me, until Kael’s familiar voice soaks into my consciousness. I stop fighting and collapse into him, drawing in deep, cleansing breaths that, despite my best efforts, soon turn to sobs. I cling to him, like a frightened child and he holds me, gently stroking my hair as I sob against his chest.
‘It was just a dream,’ he says but I shake my head vehemently and pull awa
y to look up at him with tear-streaked cheeks.
‘It wasn’t a dream. I remember.’
He frowns and traces the salt-tracks down my face with his eyes.
‘I remember,’ I repeat, in a broken whisper. ‘That night, I woke up, I saw the fire outside my window and heard the fighting. I went to look for mom and dad, but they were gone. Then I saw you through the window and I was so scared…’
‘Sshh,’ Kael says as my voice breaks, ‘it was a long time ago. It’s over now.’
‘It’s not over!’ I cry. ‘It will never be over! People died that night, your parents died – because of me – because of this!’
I pull the hem of my tank-top away from my stomach and glare down at the offensive mark. The outline, once a light grey, is now a deep navy hue, raised like a fresh welt. It is throbbing painfully, although not as intensely as in my dream. In my memory.
The recollection is so vivid in my mind now that I can’t imagine how I ever could have thought it was just a dream. I can smell the burning grass, taste the ash, and see Kael cradling his father’s limp body against him.
‘It’s all my fault!’ I clutch my arms around my middle and rock myself backwards and forwards. I want to erase it all, that night so many years ago, the deaths, the marking. I want to wash away the blood stains on my hands. But I can’t because now I know the truth. I’m the reason Kael’s parents are dead.
‘Stop it Shaylee, you’re not responsible,’ Kael says in a tight voice.
I want to believe him so desperately, but I know it’s not true. I am responsible for the death of his parents. Singularly, completely, irreversibly responsible. My breath hitches. Kael frowns and stretches one hand out toward me but I scramble back away from him.
How can he even think of touching me, the girl who has destroyed his life? I don’t even deserve to be in the same room with him. I curl my fingers into my palms and press hard, until half-moons of blood well up from the skin, but the pain isn’t enough to dull the guilt.
‘They came for me, they wanted me. I’m responsible Kael, I’m the reason your parents are dead.’
Five: A Maor Novel (Maor series) Page 20
