Temperance

by M. Latimer-Ridley

  Temperance drummed her fingers over the biscuit tin as Alastair turned the car out of the driveway.

  “Careful,” she remarked, watching the wing mirror inch past a stone pillar at the exit. “You could scrape it.”

  She started beating her fingers a little faster against the tin, her eyes trained on the dashboard of the car. The interior was old. It looked like something from the seventies. She blinked, noticing there wasn’t even a radio.

  Alastair growled deep in his throat. “Could you stop doing that?”

  He stared down at her drumming fingers. She froze and slid her hand away. “Did you just growl?”

  “No.”

  They continued down the country lane in silence. It was unbearable. Temperance watched him out of the corner of her eye. He kept glancing out of her side window, studying the forest. Maybe he was wondering what lived in there. People from outside of Carwick always did. It was the odd noises; they were never sure what to make of them.

  “Did you hear the wild dogs earlier?” she asked. “They’ve been quite restless.”

  The car slowed.

  Temperance pressed back against the door. She lifted her tin almost like a shield. Alastair leaned in closer. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel he stretched the other across her. This close, she could smell his aftershave. It wasn’t like any cologne or lotion she’d smelt before, but it was familiar. She lowered the brownies to breathe it in. He smelt like the woods.

  He froze in front of her. His eyes darted to her face. Temperance’s cheeks flushed red and she pulled back. Alastair pressed down the lock on her door. Howling erupted from beyond the trees lining the road. Temperance shivered.

  The sound was almost mournful tonight.

  Alastair gripped the steering wheel tighter, his nails dug into the rubber lining. They stayed there for a few tense minutes, but nothing emerged from the undergrowth.

  It was too dark and rainy to see anything anyway.

  He cleared his throat and slid back into his seat as if nothing had happened. “It’s safer to lock the doors this time of night.”

  Temperance frowned, wondering what he had been waiting for.

  He shoved the gearstick into place and revved the accelerator. The car shot forward. Something bolted out of the forest. Alastair swerved and slammed on the brakes. Temperance jerked against the seatbelt. Only his arm stopped her from hitting the old dashboard. She winced and leaned back against the headrest, brushing her hair away from her face.

  The windscreen wipers swished back and forth, clearing the rain; beyond them, a huge dog rose up, illuminated by the harsh glare of the headlights. Water dripped down off its muzzle. Its fur was plastered to its hulking body. In the lamplight, the dog’s fangs gleamed, sharp and deadly. It snarled at them.

  “It’s like it’s glaring at us!” she whispered.

  Alastair fumbled to unfasten his seatbelt. The animal leapt off the road, its tail whipping at the undergrowth before it disappeared back into the woods.

  “I almost hit it.” He sounded disappointed.

  Temperance stared at him. She started drumming her fingers angrily on the tin, doing the only thing she could think of to irritate him. Alastair ignored her. He jerked the car back onto the right side of the road. They drove on in silence.

  “They’re vermin,” he muttered. Temperance stopped beating the tin.

  “No they’re not,” she shot back, staring out the window. “They’ve always lived in there. I’ve been here my whole life and I’ve only seen them a handful of times. I’m surprised you think that way considering so much of Cyprian’s work involves researching them.”

  Alastair didn’t reply to her, but she felt the car speed up.

  As they approached Cyprian’s house, the lights shone out onto the road. It was one of the most impressive buildings Temperance knew of. At one time it had been an old mill for drying hops but it had been remodelled so extensively that now only the exterior hinted at its past. A huge glass panel in the back of the house had the open plan sitting room overlooking the forest.

  The oldest part of the building was a large circular kiln. It was where Cyprian had his private study. Once when she’d been very young, Temperance visited him with her father. The door had been ajar, so, curious, she’d snuck inside. There were shelves stretching up into the eaves, weighted down by dusty old books and occult artefacts. Cyprian’s interests were similar to her mother’s though she would never have guessed it.

  In a shower of gravel, Alastair parked outside the front door. Not waiting to be told, Temperance got out. In the lights coming from the porch, she could see how old and battered the car actually was. She watched Alastair strain over the seats to reach the back windows. He leapt out and slammed the door closed.

  “It doesn’t have central locking,” he said.

  “I noticed. It’s probably too old for that.”

  He stared at her as if trying to decide if that was an insult. He jerked a thumb at the front door. It swung open and Cyprian waved out at them.

  “Come in. The food’s on the table!”

  Embarrassed, Temperance leapt away from Alastair into the long hallway. It had been years since she’d been in Cyprian’s house. There were photographs lining the walls now; all in matching oak frames. They were nothing like Adora’s mismatched collection, many of which had been supplemented with handmade felt flowers. Cyprian’s home was stylish. He had a great sense of taste. He liked good food and wine, fine cigars and music. He was a man who wielded his intellect. Temperance often felt ignorant in his presence.

  Nearing the end of the hall, one old photograph caught her attention. It was a black and white picture, yellowed at the edges. The subject was a tall man in an old-fashioned suit with side burns and a cane.

  She pointed it out.

  “He looks like Alastair.”

  “Yes, an ancestor of ours,” Cyprian said in a brisk tone. “Alastair has a very common appearance though; people are always telling me he looks like someone else.”

  Temperance raised an eyebrow at him. Alastair was anything but common. His height alone was memorable.

  Beside the photograph of Alastair’s double was an unframed painting. It was of a woman perched on a rigid wooden chair, her black hair shining in the sun. Her eyes were distant, like she was lost in a sad memory. While there was nothing particularly special about the image, it was still intriguing.

  “My sister, Alastair’s mother,” Cyprian said.

  Temperance nodded. She never knew what had happened to her. When Cyprian’s eyes flicked to the picture however, an angry expression crossed his face.

  He shot her a strained smile and nudged her forward. Alastair marched past to the kitchen counter, switching the garden lights on to highlight the roll of flawless lawn outside.

  Then the phone rang. Cyprian glanced at his watch with a curse. “Alastair, dish up some food for Temperance.”

  He disappeared into his study. Alastair watched him go, reaching out to spoon some vegetables onto the empty plates. Temperance edged her way over to the table. She lowered her bag to the ground and hid the biscuit tin on the seat beside her.

  “You aren’t going to share them?” Alastair asked, without looking up.

  “No,” Temperance said. The evening would be bad enough without her mother’s brownies.

  Cyprian reappeared with his coat in his hands. Alastair dropped the spoon with a clatter. Several peas tumbled to the floor.

  “Study,” he told his nephew. “Now.”

  Temperance half stood up. “Should I leave?”

  “No!” Cyprian shouted. She fell back into her chair, it rocked under the force. He took a deep breath. “Sorry. No, Temperance, we’ll only be a minute.”

  Alastair’s lips thinned. She watched them go before creeping around the corner towards the kiln. Cyprian’s study was shut tight, but she could hear the two of them arguing. The light seeped out from underneath the door.

  “Shut up,
Alastair!”

  Temperance pulled away, back into the shadows.

  “Are you going hunting?” Alastair asked.

  “No, I’m not. I just have some business to attend to. I want you to keep an eye on the girl. That’s your job now. Do you understand?”

  Temperance clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms. That was no one’s job. She could look after herself.

  “Downgraded to babysitter?” Alastair snarled. “I’m wasting my time! If this has something to do with Sebastian, then let me go with you.”

  “It has nothing to do with him.”

  “Then you are hunting. I saw them out tonight you know. We can catch them if we leave now…” he said slowly.

  “Alastair, I know all about them. That’s nothing new,” Cyprian snapped.

  Temperance heard the floorboards squeak. Someone was walking over to the door. She scurried back down the hall and skidded back into place as Alastair stormed into the room.

  “Everything all right?” she asked, munching on a carrot.

  Alastair’s expression was contorted into an irritated scowl. He dropped down into the chair opposite her. Cyprian reappeared with his long coat buttoned up.

  “I have an urgent matter to attend to, Temperance. Alastair will keep you company for the night. Don’t go outside. The weather is forecast to be very stormy, it won’t be safe.”

  Temperance smiled over at Cyprian, nodded then glanced back at Alastair. He was hunched over, his dark eyes fixed on his plate. He tore at a chicken leg, ripping it into tiny pieces with his fingers. She grimaced.

  “I’ll see you later,” Cyprian called.

  Alastair waited until the door was shut. “This is your fault,” he snapped, pointing a greasy finger at her.

  “What is?” she asked, with an innocent look.

  Alastair rolled his shoulders and a muscle twitched in his neck. Temperance put down her knife and fork and then stepped away from the table, having had enough of his attitude already.

  “Fine, I’ll go.”

  She headed straight for the backdoor that led out into the garden. Alastair shot after her. She felt his breath hot on her neck. When she reached for the handle, he yanked her back, spinning her around until she smacked up against the door.

  “Don’t go outside,” he warned.

  Something sparked between them, like it had on the college bench. It sent a shockwave through Temperance’s arm and she jerked away with a yelp. Alastair dropped his hold.

  “It’s dangerous.”

  He turned, avoiding her eyes.

  Temperance rubbed her arm. She stayed huddled by the door and watched him return to his seat. The thought crossed her mind that she should sneak away somehow. As she was debating what to do, Alastair grabbed the biscuit tin. She didn’t get a chance to stop him before he stuffed one of the brownies into his mouth. Temperance vaulted over. She whipped the tin out of his hands.

  “Get away from them!”

  He stared up at her with wide dark eyes, crumbs tumbling out of the corners of his mouth. He swallowed and leaned back in his chair, allowing her to pull away from him.

  “You shouldn’t have eaten that,” Temperance muttered, fastening the lid with an angry slap.

  Taking a deep breath she sat down and fixed her eyes on her dinner. It wasn’t long before the herbs began to affect him.

  He started to chuckle.

  “I warned you,” she dropped her fork.

  “I feel a lot better though,” he smiled.

  He hooked his finger at her. When she didn’t move, he tilted his head, urging her forward. Frowning, she leaned in.

  “What?”

  “You’re very nice to look at, Temperance Levinthal,” he told her, with a wide smile, “Temperance is tempting me and that’s a very bad idea; you should be careful.”

  She felt her mouth dry up. “Why?”

  “Aren’t you afraid?” he chuckled, rolling his lip beneath his teeth.

  “Not really.”

  “You should be,” he warned.

  His hand shot out around her head, pulling her face towards his. He would have kissed her had she not reacted straightaway. She punched him, hard.

  He jerked back, gripping his face. The actual force of the hit had not affected him at all. It was sheer amazement that had him tilting back in his chair.

  The shock seemed to clear his head. His dark eyes sharpened. It was like the herbs were leaving his system, having only affected him for a few minutes.

  “I think I’ll go to bed,” she said, pushing away from the table.

  “First door on the right,” Alastair muttered through his fingers.

  Temperance snatched up her things then hurried up the stairs without looking back. She closed the door behind her and slid onto the hard wooden floor. The room was sparse and decorated in Cyprian’s minimalist style; pale magnolia walls, a small chest of drawers and a single bed at the centre.

  She crawled over to it and lay down on the pillows, not bothering to undress. She couldn’t understand why she’d been invited to the meal in the first place. She stared up at the stars through a vaulted skylight above her head. The sooner she slept, the sooner the night would be over. Yawning, she decided she was going to have a very long conversation with her father tomorrow.

  On the edge of her dreams, she thought she heard someone arguing downstairs. A door slammed and there was silence. She drifted away convinced it must have been Cyprian.

  At least he was back now.

  It felt like only a few seconds later when someone was shaking her awake.

  It was still dark outside.

  “Temperance,” Alastair hissed.

  She lurched upright, pulling away from him. He moved back with her, his hands still on her shoulders. She pushed him, forcing him to let go.

  “What?” she snapped.

  “We have to leave.”

  Her bag was slung over his shoulder. Temperance was about to ask him what was going on, when he titled his head to one side. A chorus of horrific, bloodcurdling howls cut through the night.

  Temperance clapped her hands over her ears to block out the chilling sound. It was like it was coming from inside the house. Alastair wrapped his arms around her, pulling her out of bed.

  “Let me go!” she shouted. She thumped his chest in a panic. She might as well have been hitting a brick wall. All she was doing was hurting herself.

  Alastair scooped her up and carried her down the stairs. She cringed; he was cold and damp, like he’d been outside in the rain. His grip tightened when he reached the final step.

  A blast of cold air hit her. Temperance squirmed around to see the huge plate glass window overlooking Cyprian’s garden was gone. It lay shattered in pieces across the floor. She gasped. She hadn’t heard the massive thing fall.

  The garden lights had been switched off and outside she could hear loud growling. The sound echoed around them, amplified by the cavernous room. Numerous tiny shards of glass glittered on the floor. Large jagged pieces of the window had been harpooned into the lawn. Dark shapes slipped through the shadows.

  Alastair set her down. “Stand still, Temperance.”

  He pulled out a knife from a leather belt at his waist.

  Temperance stumbled back away from it. A bolt of lightning flashed outside in the darkness. It lit the room. She could see the couch had been shredded. The table and chairs where they’d had their dinner were splintered apart.

  Deep thunder erupted above them.

  She twisted, muffling a yelp into her sleeve. Alastair’s clothes were stained red.

  Swallowing her scream, she looked down; it had transferred onto her. With a shaking hand, she pressed her palm to her chest, pulling it back with a hiccupping gasp. Blood; she fisted her hand around it.

  “Cyprian!” she screamed.

  Where was Cyprian?

  She bolted away from Alastair, towards the study.

  “Cyprian!” she screamed agai
n, her voice hoarse. Adrenaline flooded her body. She sprinted ahead of Alastair.

  “Don’t!” he shouted after her.

  But she was already inside. “Cyprian!”

  Alastair grabbed her from behind, but he couldn’t stop her from seeing.

  His uncle lay crumpled on the study floor, the thick carpet beneath him saturated with his blood. His arms were slashed as if he had fought off his attacker; one with claws and sharp fangs. There was blood splattered across his wooden desk and the books lining the shelves.

  Temperance gagged.

  “Don’t look,” Alastair pleaded. But his voice was shaking. He was in shock. She didn’t know now if he was talking to her or to himself. “Don’t look...”

  Temperance felt dizzy, disorientated. Her eyes darted around the room.

  Ominous words had been painted across the walls in Cyprian’s blood.

  ‘Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock.’

  More howling echoed around them. The smell of death was stirring them into a frenzy.

  Alastair tightened his hold, with a firm jerk he turned her around. His face was white and strained, “If you want to survive the night – run!”

  Click here to continue the story

  About the Authors

  Latimer and Ridley are two eccentric best friends with far too many obsessions and a frightening addiction to tea.

  When they aren’t reading stories filled with magic, passion and adventure, they’re writing them.

  While they live in Ireland, they would love to spend their lives travelling the world.

  But for now, they can be found happily wandering the internet.

  Why not follow their blog at mlatimerridley.com

  or chat with them on twitter @mlatimerridley

  They’d love to hear from you!

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  Want more? Why not grab a keepsake to remember your time in Carwick with Alastair, Halvard and Temperance by visiting Carwick Central!

  Many thanks for reading!