The Children Of The Mist

by Jenny Brigalow

  Morven blinked and sat back. ‘A vampyre? What, you mean a pointy-toothed, blood-sucking bat-person?’

  Zest nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

  Her lips twitched. ‘A vampyre?’

  Again, he nodded.

  Morven’s face disintegrated. ‘A…a…vampyre? Oh my God, Zest. That’s priceless.’ And she began to giggle.

  It was infectious. Zest smiled ruefully. Who could blame her?

  Then she stood up and grinned, reached out and slid the neck of his T-shirt aside, exposing his clavicle. With a melodramatic sigh she flung back an imaginary cloak and leant down, hair cascading over his chest. Zest laughed, more to cover up his extreme discomfort at Morven’s unexpected closeness. The tiny nip tickled too. But his laughter dried up as she gripped him tightly on his shoulders and slowly sank her teeth in.

  ‘Shit, Morven, pack it in.’ For a moment there was a struggle, but he finally prised her away.

  Her head snapped back, hair whipping the air, teeth bared in a snarl of outrage. And then her mouth pursed suspiciously as she stepped back and collapsed in the chair opposite, shaking with mirth. After a minute she managed to collect herself and pointed at him. ‘Oh my God, you should have seen your face!’

  Zest, inwardly shaken, managed a wry smile. His hand moved to the sore spot at the angle of his neck and shoulder. The skin was not broken but it was still tender. ‘I’ll probably get rabies or foot and mouth.’

  Morven grinned. ‘Don’t worry, when you’re deceased I’ll give you the kiss of life and we can be the undead forever.’

  ‘That’s zombies.’

  She waved a hand around. ‘Whatever.’ She glanced out the window. ‘Nearly home.’

  They were. Eucalypt trees leaned in toward the track, the city long gone. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then?’

  Morven nodded. ‘Sure. But you’d better bring your garlic and a large stake. Just in case.’

  Stake. Steak. Raw and wriggling. Zest smiled, but inside him the whistles and sirens were tooting loudly. Despite Morven’s incredulous amusement, some ancient knowledge buried deep in his brain sensed a subtle change within her. His clumsy attempt to warn her had missed the mark. Even though he felt he was letting her down, he did not know what to do. This was a novel experience for him, too. Suddenly he felt deeply inadequate and fearful for his friend. Really, truly, he must try again. Prepare her, best as he could. If he didn’t try and it all ended badly, well, he’d never forgive himself.

  ‘Listen, Morven, jokes aside — ‘ He halted mid-sentence, aware he had lost his audience. Morven was curled over, her head almost on her knees. She let out a long groan. Not sure whether or not it was another wind-up, he observed her for half a moment. But then he noticed her hands were trembling. ‘Morven, what’s wrong?’

  She did not answer but cried out like an animal with its leg in the teeth of a trap. He jumped up and squatted down at her knee. He shook her gently. ‘Morven, what is it? Are you hurt?’

  She gasped, let out a long whistle of air through her teeth and lifted her head. ‘I’ve got a really bad pain in my gut.’

  Zest was almost relieved. A gut ache. Bit of a bug probably. Maybe the near-raw meat. She wasn’t used to it. The train slowed and he glanced out at the neon lit sign as they came to a standstill. Next stop was Morven’s, thank goodness. Soon they were away again. Zest sat back in his chair and watched on anxiously.

  ‘It’s alright,’ she said faintly, ‘it’s nearly gone.’

  But Zest was not reassured. Beads of sweat stood out on her high forehead and her eyes glittered with fever. Shit, maybe she should phone her parents. ‘Morven, why don’t you phone your mum or dad to meet you at the station?’

  ‘No, no, they’ll just fuss. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘You don’t look fine.’

  She glared at him. ‘What, are you, like, the doctor now?’’

  She was so bloody stubborn. He wondered if he dared swipe her phone and make the call himself.

  Morven tutted at him loudly and shook her head. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

  He put on his most offended and innocent look. ‘Do what?’

  But another wave of pain flooded over her and she folded over helplessly. Well, he’d just have to take her home himself. There was nothing else for it.

  At last the lights of the station heralded the end of the journey. ‘Come on, Morven, we’re there.’

  She opened her eyes and pushed up out of the chair, took a step, cried out and staggered back. If he hadn’t caught her she’d have fallen. He half carried, half propelled her out of the train and onto the deserted platform. With his arm wrapped under her arms, she got as far as the steps that led up and over the railway track to the exit. As he paused to try and get a better grip, she crumpled. He caught her, slipped an arm under her knees and lifted her up against his chest. Her head lay limply on his shoulder.

  ‘Put me down, I can walk,’ she whispered.

  ‘Sure you can,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not a vampyre.’

  ‘Course you’re not.’

  As he ran up the steps two at a time, he could feel her heart fluttering like butterfly wings in her chest.

  Chapter 9

  When the speaker on the wall clicked and crackled, Morven’s mother, Shelley, looked up from her book in surprise. Morven must have forgotten her card key.

  ‘Mrs Smith, it’s Zest, let me in.’ Shelley looked at her husband. ‘Clifford, something must be wrong.’ She jumped up out of her armchair, hastened over to the lift and watched anxiously as her husband called it up. She could not get away from the superstitious dread that her cardigan of life had just slipped a stitch.

  Neither spoke as they watched the numbers light up and fade. Time seemed suspended. They looked at each other and back to the lift. Finally, the doors opened with a ping. Shelley let out a cry of distress as Zest stumbled through the door with Morven folded up against his chest.

  ‘What’s happened, is she hurt?’ said Shelley.

  Zest stared at her, his beautiful green eyes wild and wide. ‘She’s sick. Got a stomach ache. Collapsed at the station.’ His voice was ragged and hoarse with stress.

  ‘Bring her to her room,’ Clifford directed.

  Shelley reluctantly took a step back while Zest followed her husband to Morven’s room. She watched as the young man laid her tenderly on the quilt. She wondered if her daughter had any idea just how much her skater boy loved her. He trembled as he stepped away.

  ‘Get him a drink, Clifford,’ said Shelley.

  Clifford opened his mouth, but closed it again without a word and led the stricken boy out of the room. With her heart pounding like a jackhammer, Shelley gently placed her hands on her daughter’s shoulders and shook her. ‘Morven, wake up. It’s Mum. Can you hear me?’

  Morven mumbled incoherently and her head rolled around on the pillow. Encouraged, Shelley tried again. This time, to her profound relief, Morven’s eyes opened. Eyes of the deepest brown, almost black. So unlike her own.

  ‘Mum. What’s happened?’

  ‘You were taken sick on the train. Zest brought you home.’

  Morven nodded. ‘I’ve got a pain in my stomach.’

  ‘Where, show me.’

  Morven placed a hand low on her abdomen. ‘Here.’

  Shelley laughed weakly. ‘Morven, you silly thing, it’s just period pain. You’re going to start your period. If you haven’t already.’

  Morven blinked. ‘But it’s terrible. Like someone’s trying to remove my insides without anaesthetic.’

  Shelley’s heart squeezed in sympathy. Not for the first time she wondered why things had to be so hard for her daughter. She was so sensitive, feeling everything both physically and emotionally with an intensity that was a bit scary. Sometimes it was hard to repel the guilty conclusion that it was her fault. A kind of punishment for what she had done. But it could not be undone and obsessing over the past wasn’t helpful. She reached down and hugged Morven to
her. For a brief moment Morven hugged her back.

  ‘Tell you what,’ said Shelley, ‘I’ll go get you some Panadol and a hot pack. That’ll help.’

  Morven nodded. ‘I feel such an idiot. Zest will laugh fit to pee himself.’

  Shelley smiled down at her woebegone child. ‘I don’t think so. He’s pretty anxious. I think he’ll just be relieved you’re alright.’

  Morven’s faced flushed to the vivid hue of a beetroot. ‘Don’t tell him.’

  ‘Of course not. I’ll say you have a virus.’

  The colour faded rapidly from Morven’s cheeks, leaving her complexion whiter than a page of paper. Her eyes closed and she was still. Shelley hurried out of the room to give the good news to the two waiting males.

  Both were sitting on the sofa, empty glasses still clutched in their hands. Thankfully, Zest seemed to be more composed. As they both started up out of their seats, Shelley smiled and held up a restraining hand. ‘It’s alright. She’s fine. Just a bit of a tummy bug.’ She felt her husband’s keen eyes on her and knew he sensed her lie. There was something in Zest’s expression too that suggested he wasn’t fooled. But she blessed them both for pretending to believe her. Clifford she would tell anyway. As for Zest, well, that was up to Morven.

  Shelley hurried into the kitchen, opened the cupboard door above the kettle and pulled out the drugs. She heated a wheat pack and headed back to Morven, who she found just coming out of the bathroom. Shelley hurried to her, shocked at her weakened state, suddenly afraid her diagnosis was wrong. With an arm around her daughter’s slender waist she helped her back to bed.

  Morven sank back onto the bed with a sigh of weariness. ‘You’re right, Mum, I’ve just started.’

  Shelley felt her anxiety recede. ‘That’s great, Morven. You can stop worrying about it now. You’ll be just like all the other girls — bloated and miserable. I told you it would happen.’

  Morven nodded. ‘I know.’ Then she turned and looked toward the window. ‘Mum, do you hear that?’

  Shelley shook her head. ‘What?’

  ‘That music. The harp.’

  Shelley stilled and strained her ears, but could hear nothing. ‘No, I can’t hear any music. You’re just over-tired. What you need is a jolly good sleep.’ She passed Morven the Panadol and a glass of water, pulled up the bedclothes and popped the wheat bag into place. ‘Sleep tight, love.’

  Morven managed a tiny smile, a mere ghost of her normal toothy grins. ‘Night, Mum. I’m sorry to cause such a fuss.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s a big deal. We’ll go out and celebrate tomorrow.’

  But Morven was already asleep. Shelley looked at her perfect features, her slender limbs, the heavy skein of black hair. Sadness suffused her as she realised that the lively little imp of childhood was fading. Her Morven was almost grown. While she sorrowed for the lost little girl, she was proud of the young woman. Her Morven. She switched the light out and slipped quietly out the room.

  Both men looked up questioningly.

  Shelley hastened to reassure them. ‘She’s fine. Fast asleep.’

  Clifford rallied. ‘Zest, where are my manners? Would you like another drink, or something to eat?’

  Zest shook his head. ‘No. Thank you. I really should be off.’

  ‘Zest, it’s getting late,’ said Shelley, ‘would you like to stay on the sofa for the night?’

  But Zest was already up. ‘No, really, I’m good.’

  Clifford reached for his car keys. ‘Zest, I’ll run you home. There are no more trains.’

  Zest was silent and then shook his head. He picked up his skateboard. ‘Thanks all the same, but I’ll find my own way. It’s a fine night.’

  Shelley glanced out over the balcony. The moon was as round and silver as a coin. Moonbeams danced and dappled on the surface of the river. It was a night made for magic. ‘It must be a full moon,’ she said.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said Zest.

  Clifford opened up the lift. ‘Zest, it’s really no trouble to give you a lift. It’s the least we can do.’

  Shelley realised that her husband was also unhappy about letting Morven’s friend out into the night all alone.

  But Zest stepped into the lift. ‘It’s sweet, Clifford. Tell Morven to text me when she’s better.’

  The doors closed. The room seemed strangely empty. Shelley realised she was exhausted. ‘I’ll just check on Morven,’ she said.

  Clifford nodded. ‘I’ll get you a drink.’

  Shelley smiled back over her shoulder. ‘Better make it a double.’ Tiptoeing down the corridor she opened the door to Morven’s room and blessed the well-made door that made no sound. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. But all was well. Morven lay exactly as she had left her.

  Back on the balcony Clifford waited, a tall glass of gin and tonic perched on the small table. Grateful, she sat down and took a long cool sip.

  ‘Is she alright?’

  Shelley smiled at her husband. ‘Sure. It’s just her period. You know how she is, very sensitive; it was bound to hit her hard. Still, I know she’ll be pleased, she’s been worrying over it for years.’

  Clifford took a sip of his beer. ‘Poor little love.’

  ‘It’s hard to believe she’s so grown up. It only seems like yesterday when — ‘ Shelley stopped, unwilling to pursue that particular conversation.

  ‘Zest thinks she’s pretty grown up,’ grinned Clifford.

  Shelley laughed, relieved by his tact and the safe subject. ‘Much good it’s doing him. I don’t think it’s occurred to Morven that he’s got a thing for her.’

  Clifford grunted. ‘Probably just as well.’

  They were both silent. The moonlit landscape spread before them in ghostly splendour. Bats fluttered in among the treetops and an owl hooted softly. The water lapped gently on the river bank and moths fluttered frantically around the lamplights. Shelley sighed and settled back into her chair. She thought of Morven, so pale and sick in her bed. ‘Clifford,’ she said softly, ‘we did do the right thing, didn’t we?’

  Her husband reached out and gently squeezed her hand. ‘Of course we did, Shelley.’

  It was the answer she had expected. It was the same one that he gave every time. It was certainly the response that she wanted to hear. But deep down, in a secret part of her soul, she was never, ever, quite sure.

  Chapter 10

  Zest paused at the road. He took in a deep breath of night air. Filled as he was with nervous energy he found it hard to think. To make a decision. What he ought to do was head for the nearby freeway and hitch a lift. But the moon smiled her silvery smile, and the shadows danced and beckoned at his feet. Around him the world was alive. Not filled with the hustle and bustle of men, but with the fulsome richness of the animal kingdom. He could hear the pitter-patter of tiny possum feet above, and the soft pad of a cat behind. An owl winged softly by and a rat swam in the river. His nose was assaulted by a catalogue of intriguing scents. It was hard to think.

  He put his board down and hopped on. Better get to the freeway. He was late for his Wolf’s Bane. Just as he pushed off with the ball of his foot, he heard it. He froze. Waited. And there it was again. The long, mournful cry of the dingo. A lonely male. Like me, Zest thought. He could still feel the rapid beat of Morven’s heart close to his own. He could remember the scent of her hair. And his fear still threaded through his veins. He had thought she was dying. The residue of his grief seemed to swell his loneliness. Then, somewhere to the north, there came an answering call. And another, and another.

  The thought of returning to the cold comfort of his empty caravan suddenly seemed too much. He could not bear to be alone this night. He knew he should be sensible. Be good. But he was sick of being good. Responsible. Reasonable. Righteous.

  The dingoes came together in chorus and Zest felt his blood rise. Missing his Wolf’s Bane dose for one night wouldn’t kill him. He grinned. Couldn’t vouch for anyone else though. He left his boar
d and headed north. Running. With each loping stride he felt his inhibitions slipping away. The sound of his pounding feet echoed off the walls of the town houses. Dogs barked. And he barked back. Finally he slipped through a garden and into the edge of the forest.

  In the shadows of the moon-soaked trees he lifted his head and let out a howl. A sound filled with all the sorrow and loneliness of his kind. The pack answered and he headed up the stony, steep incline. Halfway up the pack met him. They greeted him with small yips of excitement. The dominant male jumped up and placed his paws upon Zest’s chest. The golden dog gently placed his jaws around Zest’s throat. With all the required protocol dealt with, the pack relaxed. A couple of half-grown pups sidled up to him, laughing and panting with self-conscious embarrassment. Zest pretended not to see them until they were almost at his feet. With a loud ‘Hah!’ he made a sudden leap at them. It was all the excuse the pair needed. They took off into bush; Zest, laughing, followed.

  Unwary birds scattered in their path, screeching and scalding their displeasure. Wallaby’s bounded away, zigzagging frantically through the heavy scrub. Their scent lingered in the breeze but Zest took no notice, too involved in his game of tag. Filled with ecstatic joy he ran and jumped and rolled and climbed. Faster and faster. Higher and higher. He bayed at the moon and bade her welcome. In his broad chest his heart beat slower and slower. Chemicals, long suppressed, began to ooze into his blood. His senses tingled and sizzled with anticipation. Muscles swelled and stretched. Numbed parts of his brain began to waken. Seeing, smelling, feeling, wanting, questing. Zest exalted in his power and tried not to think too much. With too much thought came a madness. The thing was just to be. To be all that he was. To be…werewolf. Like his father’s father. But unlike them, he was alive. So very goddamn alive. More alive than even the most dynamic human ever born. Released from a long sleep, his hunger for life was insatiable. All consuming. Insanely delicious. Like the best moment ever dipped in chocolate and served on a golden skate board.

  The game lasted all the way to the top of the mountain. The half-grown dogs were puffed and needed a moment. Not even winded, Zest took stock of the geography. At its peak the mountain was flat. As if a great slice had been cut off the top with a giant blade. A few trees huddled together in the centre and huge rocks were casually strewn around, as if they had been caste down by giant hands. The pack halted and milled around, travelling slowly around the mountain top. As they moved, each dog wandered close to Zest, brushing softly up against his legs. It made him belong. Made him one of the pack. Wanted and welcome.