by M. J. Hearle
She’d died. She’d gone over the cliff on the scooter with Blake. The waves and rocks had rushed up to greet her, but before they’d hit, Blake had pulled her off Jessie, pulled her into . . .
The weight of Blake on top of her was making it difficult to breathe. Now, he raised his head off her chest. His face was completely drained of colour, his lips white. Only his eyes sparkled in the night with their fiery green light, so beautiful, so similar to the light of . . .
The city!
The image of that haunted place, alive with spectral fire, came rushing back. It was hard for Winter to hold the memory in her mind, though. Already the miraculous images were becoming intangible and difficult to grasp, like holding onto smoke. Or a dream. Regardless, she held on as tightly as she could, concentrating on the details of the giant structures, the floating streams of people, the wells throwing up that hypnotic green light. The stronger she held onto her memories, the less real the world around her became. Blake, the sand, the ocean; all grew faint as the image of that fantastic city became brighter. Winter could almost see the city behind the night sky, as though its light were being projected through a sheer curtain.
‘Winter?’ Blake’s breath smelled sweet, like the perfume of the ghost wind, the wind above the city.
‘Winter!’ he said, more firmly now, but she didn’t answer him. She couldn’t answer him. She was looking beyond the beauty of his face to the dreamlands where they’d made their journey together, to the city alive with green fire and magic.
‘Winter – look at me!’
She felt Blake’s hands go to her face, cradling her cheeks. There was sand on his palms, the granules lightly scratching her skin. They felt real. Blake was real. Winter began to come back to herself. For a moment she’d been connected to that other place by a thin thread of memory that was strong enough to start pulling her back – but back to where?
‘Blake?’
He seemed to relax once Winter spoke his name. Still, he cradled her cheeks tenderly, stroking the place beneath her eyes slowly with his thumbs, as though worried she might slip away again. She wanted him to hold her and look at her like that forever. He’d saved her life again; she didn’t know by what magic, but somehow he had brought her here to this place.
‘Are you all ri—’
Unable to do anything else, Winter leaned upwards and planted her lips on his, stealing his words with a kiss.
It might as well have been her first, so rife with new sensations and feelings it seemed. Their lips pressed together, Winter’s tongue found his, tasting his mouth, his delicious beauty. It was a slow kiss, a true kiss.
Like every girl, Winter knew how she’d always wanted to be kissed, and now she acted out her fantasy with precision and skill. Blake was the perfect partner. His mouth was supple yet strong, gently rocking against hers, responding to her rhythm. Fast then slow. Fast then slow. Deliriously over-stimulated, Winter’s senses reeled.
She became subtly aware of a peculiar yet welcome sensation of being drawn into Blake. Not physically, but in a deeper sense – their essences travelling through the kiss to meet halfway, entwining, joining, becoming a singularity. Winter was beginning to feel light-headed, as though she might faint. But she couldn’t stop kissing him – no, she never wanted this to end. She felt connected to something she never knew existed. An energy that lived behind things. Bright and pure.
And then it was over.
Blake tore himself from her embrace. He scrambled off Winter and stood on the sand a few feet away, regarding her with . . . fear? Why did he look so scared? Surely he must have felt that sublime connection, that closeness. Winter tried to sit up, but found she couldn’t. Her muscles felt too weak for the task. The most she could do was prop herself on her elbows.
‘What’s the matter?’ It was hard to form the words, as she didn’t seem to have any breath left. She felt as if she’d just run a marathon. Unlike her body, her mind crackled with mysterious energy, like she’d drunk a dozen coffees and followed them with a litre of Red Bull. The world seemed brighter and clearer. The waves breaking down at the shore, the lighthouse and the three-quarter moon that lurked beyond it, all stood out now with a startling clarity.
‘Blake?’
His chest was heaving as though he too was out of breath. The colour had returned to his face and the strange green light in his eyes was brighter – almost like a cat’s eyes shining in the night. Blake looked somehow more beautiful than ever. How could she see him so clearly? The moonlight wasn’t that powerful.
That had been some kiss.
Winter watched him swallow and shake his head a few times as if trying to clear it.
‘I’m sorry, I . . .’ Blake began, then, with a panicked look in his eyes, turned and walked quickly up the sand into the dunes. With some effort, Winter turned around and called out to the receding figure, ‘Blake!’ but if he heard her he didn’t stop.
Confused, she forced herself onto her feet, and began to stumble in his direction. Her legs felt leaden, making it almost impossible to chase him at any speed. Desperately, she tracked his footprints as they wound their way around one of the tall white hills and then stopped abruptly, as though he’d taken to the air. But that was impossible. Wasn’t it . . . ?
As Winter stood looking down at the end of the trail, she found that she couldn’t answer that question any more. The word impossible had lost its definition for her.
Chapter 37
Blake materialised in Velasco’s study. Clutching his chest, he collapsed to the floor in agony. Green sparks of energy skittered across his writhing form for a few more seconds before sputtering out, leaving a faint trace of ozone in the air. It had been a long time since he’d made two trips so closely together. His body was now gripped in the throes of a crippling hunger as it sought to replenish its energy stocks.
Heeding his silent call for help, the door to the study was nudged open and four cats padded into the room. They circled around Blake, lending him some of their life force, until he was sufficiently restored to raise himself off the ground. This was not the first time they’d saved him. Exhausted, the cats slumped to their bellies, watching their master stand on trembling legs.
There had been no other choice. It was either reveal himself or let Winter plunge to her death. Blake didn’t regret his actions, despite the fact that now the danger was more immediate than ever. Tomorrow, after getting his truck’s tyres replaced, he would waste no time in finding her. Winter’s time was growing short. If he had the strength he would go to her now, but he needed to recuperate. It would be foolish to try to protect her in this weakened state.
Blake steadied himself against the desk. It pained him to think of how confused and frightened Winter must have been when he left her on the beach. The kiss had been unexpected; he hadn’t had time to prepare himself for the effects. Thinking of her lips touching his, his body ached with longing. The hunger threatened to overwhelm him again, and it was with considerable effort that Blake regained his control.
A horrible rasping sound echoed from the floor above, shattering the silence of the old house. The cats scampered away in terror, disappearing into the shadows. The sound grew in volume. Laughter.
It was laughing at him.
Chapter 38
By the time she walked in her front door, Winter’s clothes were soaked with sweat and her throat was parched. The journey home from the beach had taken longer than she’d expected. Each step an enormous effort, it was a miracle she’d made it at all. Labouring under this alarming lethargy, only her eyesight had remained strong. Stronger, in fact, than it had been before. She’d been forced to stick to the shadows, as the glare from the streetlights had been too painful.
The one benefit of making such slow progress was the time it allowed her to think – to try to rationalise everything she’d been through. Unfortunately she was no closer to coming up with a solution now than she had been when she left the beach. Nothing in her personal experience, nothing
in books or movies or television explained what she’d seen. The only person who could illuminate the mystery had run off and left her alone. And why?
Winter couldn’t believe she’d made a mistake in kissing Blake. Wouldn’t believe it! She hadn’t imagined the passion with which he’d returned her kiss, the way he’d pressed on top of her, pulling her closer. Even if she was wrong, and Blake had been revolted by the kiss, surely fleeing into the night wasn’t a reasonable response. Blake had left because he was afraid – she’d seen the fear on his face. He’d shown a vision to Winter tonight, and in doing so had revealed something about himself. Something supernatural, something magical, which he clearly wished to keep secret.
Winter was grateful the house was dark – it meant Lucy had gone to bed and there would be no questions. Just thinking about her sister was exhausting right now. She barely had the energy to entertain her own questions, let alone deal with Lucy’s. Tomorrow, Winter would set about uncovering this mystery. She’d track down Blake and confront him with the questions that plagued her. However, right now she could hardly stand. All she wanted to do was have a shower and go to bed. Before that, though, she needed to drink something. Her throat felt as if it was lined with sandpaper.
Moving confidently through the pitch-black kitchen, Winter went to the fridge and took out a carton of milk, wincing at the bright interior light that automatically flicked on. She slammed the fridge door, sealing the brightness in, and greedily gulped down the contents of the carton until her thirst was quenched. She was replacing the milk when the kitchen light blazed into life, temporarily blinding her.
‘Decided to come home, did you?’ Lucy stood in the doorway, her arms crossed.
Winter gestured at her in frustration. ‘Turn the light off!’
‘What?’
‘The light – it’s too bright.’
‘Have you been drinking?’ Lucy said incredulously.
‘No. Of course not!’ Winter replied, wincing. Through the glare, she could see her sister’s face slick with moisturiser, her expression thunderous.
‘Do you have any idea what time it is?’ Lucy demanded, and Winter caught another emotion lurking below the outrage: fear. Winter felt a twinge of guilt.
‘I’m really sorry, Lucy – I had a . . . strange night. It won’t happen again.’
Wary of more reprimands, Winter brushed past Lucy into the hallway, and started walking towards the bathroom. The searing glare from the kitchen light had triggered off a killer headache, and she needed to pop some painkillers as soon as possible. But it didn’t seem that Lucy was going to let her go that easily. She’d had all night to work herself up into this state and wouldn’t be denied the satisfaction of some release.
‘You just can’t stay out all night and not call or message me,’ Lucy began, her voice shrill. ‘You just can’t do that, Winter! I nearly called the police . . .’ She trailed off as Winter entered the bathroom, closing the door on her.
Leaving the light off, Winter went to the basin and splashed some cold water on her face. She pulled a packet of headache pills from the cabinet, popping two of them. She scooped water to wash the pills down, grimacing at their acrid taste. On the other side of the door Winter could hear Lucy’s breathing as she waited for her to emerge. Winter wished her away.
‘Win?’
Winter raked her wet hands through her hair in exasperation.
‘I’m really tired, Lucy – can we talk in the morning?’
Winter heard her sister sigh. ‘I understand that you’re seventeen, you’re not a kid – but you’re still my responsibility, Win. At least for a few more months. If you’re in some kind of trouble, I want you to tell me.’
Winter stood over the basin in the dark, too tired to apologise any more. She noticed the water was still running and turned it off.
‘Honestly, Lucy, everything’s fine. I’m going to have a shower now. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’
Lucy lingered outside a moment longer, and then Winter heard her footsteps pad softly down the hallway and her bedroom door shut. Winter exhaled in relief and walked through the darkness to the shower and turned it on.
Discarding her sandy clothes, she stepped beneath the rush of water, luxuriating in its heat as it cascaded onto her. She turned her face up to the shower head, closing her eyes against the spray. Blake’s face floated out of the blackness, smiling at her. She smiled back at him, tasting water in her mouth.
Who are you? she asked the phantom Blake and his silent reply surprised her.
Don’t you mean – what am I? he answered, before his face drifted back into the ether. It was a troubling question. Blake had performed a feat tonight that was certainly beyond any human capabilities Winter was aware of – so did that make him inhuman? Troubled by this notion, but unwilling to dwell on it, she turned off the shower, towelled herself dry and, stifling an almighty yawn, stumbled to her bedroom. She collapsed onto the mattress, not bothering to submerge herself beneath the covers, and was asleep moments after her head struck the pillow.
Winter dreamt that she awoke in the middle of the night to see Blake standing at the foot of her bed, his eyes burning with green fire, illuminating the darkness.
He didn’t say anything, just stood there watching her sadly. It made her heart ache to see him looking so mournful, and she tried to tell him that it was all right, that everything would be fine, but when she spoke no sound came out of her mouth. There was just the roar of the ocean and the sound of bells chiming in the distance.
Munich
December, 1887
Clambering through the snow, Madeleine thought for one terrified second that she’d lost sight of the children’s tracks. Frantically, she searched the white terrain until she found them again: a twin set of footprints disappearing into the deep woods. She wrapped her scarf more tightly around her neck and set forth in the direction the tracks led. They’d only been gone three hours, but the trip to Herr Falkenmyre’s farm should have taken much less time than that. Madeleine cursed herself for not going to retrieve a jug of milk herself. The children had been so excited at the prospect of getting out of the house that she’d found it impossible to refuse them. Ever since they’d been born she’d kept such a tight rein on them – fearful that if she let them out of her sight for more than a second they might fall into the clutches of Victor and his Bane. More than once she’d had to forbid them from playing outside, the wounded disappointment in their eyes breaking her heart.
A trip to the local farmer’s might not seem terribly interesting to an adult, but Claudette and Blake jumped at the task. The short journey from their cottage through the woods to the Falkenmyre property offered an enticing opportunity for adventure.
It had been months since either she or Ariman had been alerted to Victor’s activities, and so Madeleine saw little harm in sending them on the errand. Now realising she’d been lulled into a false sense of security, she resolved never again to let her guard down. Please God – let my children be safe!
‘Blake! Claudette!’ Madeleine called out, straining her ears over the sound of the rising winds for a reply. Flakes of snow began to drift down from the bleak grey sky. Voluminous thunderheads loomed ominously in the distance. A blizzard was coming; she could taste it in the air. Soon the tracks would be covered and her chances of finding the children remote. If Ariman had been home, she would have had much less cause for concern. He could have found them in an instant. Unfortunately he was away in Prague, securing their safe passage for the move in January. They’d already stayed in their cottage on the outskirts of Munich too long.
The icy wind cut through Madeleine’s thick cloak, making her shiver. Even if Blake and Claudette hadn’t met any danger, but had merely wandered off the path and become lost, they wouldn’t last long in the cold. Panicking at this thought, she tried to move faster, but the snow was thick, waist-deep in places, impeding her progress.
Madeleine knew of only two paths through these woods – one more direc
t than the other. She’d taken the longer path, anticipating that the eight-year-old twins would have wanted to prolong their expedition, their freedom from her overprotectiveness. The tracks were little more than shallow impressions now. In fact, they looked more like paw prints. Had she made a mistake and followed the wrong set of tracks? Studying the ground fearfully, Madeleine realised she couldn’t be certain she was still even on the path. She paused, searching for a familiar landmark. The trees crowded around her, their black skeletal forms twisted and monstrous.
A child cried out, the sound almost being snatched away by wind before it reached Madeleine’s ears. Heartened, she called out, ‘Children?’
‘Mama!’ came the immediate reply from just up ahead. It was Blake!
‘I’m coming!’ Spurred by the note of urgency she detected in his cry, Madeleine ploughed through the snow with renewed vigour.
Offering up a silent prayer of thanks, she felt almost delirious with relief. In another few minutes, the storm’s fury might have covered their cries and they would have been lost to her forever.
The carpet of snow thinned as she crested a small rise, and she was able to walk faster. Breathing heavily with exertion, she pushed through a thorny copse and was met with a sight that made her freeze. There were Blake and Claudette, crouched in the boughs of a withered oak tree. Snapping below them were three snarling wolves. The fearsome beasts scrabbled at the base of the tree with their claws, trying to gain purchase so they could reach their meal.
