Her heart raced.
She chewed on her lower lip.
Her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth.
Her hands were shaking.
Ashley crept back towards the big window, and crouching low, used the goggles to scan the rest of the street, looking for anything out of place, anything that seemed to change as the lenses passed over them. But, with the exception of the birds, nothing looked any different out there. She didn't know if that was better or worse.
Rain streaked the glass.
Ashley could hear the cook downstairs talking loudly. She had no idea if she was on the phone, or talking to someone in the foyer. She wasn't about to leave the room to find out. Paget had been adamant about that. She was safe here. The silver in the paint would keep her safe. What did that mean? She thought of Miss Lake in her room, trapped, and screaming "Run!" as the wolf closed on her.
Silver bullets killed a werewolf; that was the legend, right?
But werewolves were creatures of the night, surely, and it was bright daylight when Miss Lake had been attacked.
She felt stupid even thinking it, werewolves? Silver bullets? But ever since she'd walked into the bombed out bank at 723 Clerkenwell Rise everything about her life had become funny—funny peculiar, not funny haha. Why should this be any different?
She slumped down against the wall beneath the window, the goggles around her neck.
Almost as an afterthought, she raised them to her eyes again, to see if there was anything wrong with her room.
It was only as her gaze moved over the mural she'd painted on the wall that she noticed a shimmering around the edge of the huge silvery moon in the middle of the wall. It glittered. It wasn't the only one, she realised, staring at her painted world. The green moons, the yellow moon, the blue moons and the red one, each of them had taken on an eerie lifelike luminescence, as though catching the light of some unseen sun. It brought them to life.
Ashley lowered the goggles, and the wall became nothing more wonderful than her painting of the world inside her head.
And when she lifted the goggles again the moons began to shimmer.
Without thinking, she reached under her bed for the journal, wondering what the goggles would reveal.
That familiar tight scrawl curled across the page. This time, instead of telling her: That is not who you are, they wrote an entirely different message. It took her a moment to realise that it was scratching out a picture of the goggles she wore to read the book. Beside the picture the words started to form, quickly filling the page:
There is what you see and what 'is'. These are not the same. The alethioptics help you see the truth when all around you the world is filled with lies. Take nothing for granted. Trust what they show you, until you are used to seeing what lies beneath with your own eyes. Nothing else.
She took the goggles off and the words slowly faded away, leaving the blank page.
Trust what they show you.
Nothing else.
She waited for the book to say something else, but it didn't.
She could hear Paget clumping up the stairs, huffing and puffing like the big bad—she stopped herself from finishing the thought. It gave her an idea. She grabbed a pen off the nightstand and wrote one word right in the middle of the page: Wolfen.
The book didn't erase her writing this time; ink began to bleed through the paper. It was Aunt Elspeth's handwriting, she realised before she'd finished reading the first paragraph. She could hear the old woman's voice even as she read the words, as though she were inside her head.
Mark my words, Ashley, these are dangerous creatures. They are among the most dangerous animals found anywhere in the Kingdoms Under the Moon. Fearsome monsters. They possess a single instinct, to protect the pack at all costs. They are the root of every story you have ever heard about werewolves, from the Beast of Gévaudan and Lycaon, King of Arcadia to Fenris Wolf in Norse mythology, even the Neuri tribe of Scythia. Every story of lycanthropy harks back to the Wolfen in some way and the time before the Concord when they could pass through the Moongates freely.
I do not mean to scare you, child. But you should be frightened. They deserve your fear. If you are lucky it will keep you alive. But do not let it paralyse you. Remember this: while the sun will offer some small protection, the night is theirs.
Beware the moon!
The Wolfen are one of the few creatures that are as dangerous on the Sunside as they are in the Moonlands because their bodies are the only weapons they need. The Concord cannot disarm them, it cannot root out their claws and render them harmless, meaning they are immune to the protective measures it offers. Mercifully, what makes the Wolfen immune also means they cannot easily cross over to the Sunside. But just because it cannot easily be done does not mean it cannot be done. Anything is possible if the mind behind it is determined enough. That is a life lesson for you, dear. Anything is possible. Even the worst, most unimaginable thing is possible. You would do well to remember that now you have come into your inheritance.
But, to set your mind at ease a little, there has not been a Wolfen in London since 1888, and its crimes are well reported, even if the nature of the 'Ripper' remains a mystery.
That said, only one thing remains for me to tell you, and that is how to defend yourself. You don't. If you see one, run!
There were so many questions she wanted to ask the book, not least of which was if the words were really those of her dead aunt, but before she could write anything else in the journal Paget knocked on the door.
Ashley hid the journal back under the bed and stood up quickly.
She knew she looked guilty, but there was nothing she could do about it.
She stood there with her hands behind her back. It couldn't have been more obvious she was hiding something if she'd worn a sign around her neck proclaiming she was 'up to no good'.
"You have a visitor," the cook said, peering around the door. "Miss Melanie. I have called your mother, she will be home soon."
"Thank you, Paget," Ashley said. She was about to say something else when Mel ducked beneath the cook's arm and came rushing into her bedroom.
"Have you heard about Miss Lake?" Mel said breathlessly. She didn't wait for Ashley to answer. "She's been murdered! In Heron House! Can you believe it?" Ashley couldn't tell if Mel was horrified or thrilled by the news. It was almost like she was recounting last night's episode of Eastenders. With her usual irreverent charm, Mel said, "Someone killed the librarian!" as she flopped down on the bed. "And can you believe they didn't do it in the library with a candlestick, either. I'm almost disappointed."
"I guess that means Professor Plum's off the hook," Ashley said, then realised what words had just come out of her mouth and how callous they sounded. She covered her mouth like she couldn't quite believe she'd made a joke about the most horrible thing she'd seen in her life.
She thought about telling her, she wanted to tell her, but Mel wasn't the kind of friend you confided in, not the serious stuff. Boys, crushes, celebrity gossip, who was dating who, chasing who and breaking up with who, that was all fine, but this… this wasn't the sort of stuff she could share with Mel.
And in that moment it all caught up with her; the weight of the dead and the horror of her death; the madness of the book writing to her in her dead aunt's voice; the bank that wasn't there but was; the changing birds and the goggles; all of it. It crowded in on her. Ashley felt her vision funnelling down to a single point: her hands. Everything else was blurred. Her breathing thickened and quickened. She could feel herself growing light-headed again as the panic returned. She thought for one horrible moment she was going to faint, and reached out for the windowsill to steady herself.
Oblivious to Ashley's distress Mel lay back on the bed. She put her hands behind her head and her legs crossed at the ankles. "I know!" she said, dragging the second word out so long it sounded like a cat being tortured. "So, given this timely reminder of mortality, I'm thinking there's some serious Diem
's to be Carpe'd, babe."
Ashley stared at Mel like she was speaking a foreign language, which, in a way she was. She was speaking one hundred per cent Melanie Harvey.
"We need to suck the marrow out of life, Ash-Pash. In other words, what we need is a good old-fashioned party." In truth it was the last thing Ashley needed, it was so completely and utterly wrong but so absolutely and completely Mel that she didn't have the strength to try and derail her friend when she was in a mood like this. The girl was a force of nature. "My place, tomorrow night," Mel said. "B.Y.O.B." In some circles that might have meant bring your own beer, but with Mel it only ever meant 'Bring your own Boy'. And, with that, they got to the crux of the matter. Somehow between leaving school and getting home Mel had found herself a new obsession. "There's a gorgeous hunk of edible stud muffin I want to introduce you to."
"Of course there is," Ashley said, realising that despite the gross inappropriateness of the whole thing, it had given her something vaguely normal to occupy her mind for a moment. It felt like so long since there'd been anything normal inside her mind. She hadn't realised how much she needed something normal to just hang on to for a while.
Ashley smiled for the first time in as long as she could remember.
"So you'll come? Excellent. It'll be the social event of the year."
"Isn't it always?"
"Every single time," Mel grinned. "So, anyway, non sequitur of the day: didn't see you after school."
Outside, the rain worsened. It sounded like nails being thrown against the window.
"I went to see Miss Lake," Ashley said, leaving it at that.
It took a moment for Mel to grasp what she'd said.
When she did, she sat bolt upright on the bed.
"Oh.Em.Gee! You were there? Did you… I mean… way to bury the lead, kiddo! What was it like? Don't leave a thing out! Tell me, tell me, tell me!" She took out her mobile.
Ashley stared at her.
"What? You think I'm not going to Tweet this? Jeez. You saw a murder!"
"Don't."
"Seriously? It'd be the best status update ever."
"Please. I'm asking you nicely."
Mel sighed. "Sure. Fine. Be a spoilsport. But in return I expect you to tell me everything. I want the deets! Leave nothing to the imagination, babe. Nothing is too small, or too grisly. I want it all. Deal?"
Ashley sighed. "Okay."
And despite all of her misgivings, Ashley told her everything.
Well… not quite everything.
She left out the fact that the murderer had been a werewolf, and she didn't mention the journal writing itself or any of the weirdness that had been happening. So, as everything's went it wasn't a particularly comprehensive everything at all. But it was more than enough to shut Mel up. And that was no small miracle.
When she was done Ashley looked at her friend and shrugged.
Finally, after half a minute more being sat there, gobsmacked, Mel said, "Hoe. Lee. She. It. Ash. That's just…." She shrugged. That rather summed it all up. There weren't words.
It was hard to bring the conversation back to normal after that. Somehow talking about Gorgeous Georgie didn't cut it anymore, and for all her bravado and joking, it was a little too close to home for Mel to keep on cracking jokes or talking about Tall Dark and Broody. Instead they listened to some music and laughed at the status updates of a few friends, before Mel looked up at the window and the rain streaking down the glass. "Well, as much as I'd love to sit here and mock Handy Andii's latest lovesick crisis, time to go and get wet. And not the fun kind, either. Any chance I can borrow a brollie?" she asked, eying the umbrella leaning in the corner.
"Sure," Ashley said, without a second thought for the peculiar nature of the other items she'd retrieved from the safe deposit box at 723 Clerkenwell Rise, or what that might mean for the umbrella.
THIRTEEN
Council of War
She didn't hear her mum come in. She'd put the iPod on and was listening to her dad's favourite playlist. She only ever listened to it when she missed him. Which was only every day. She was a daddy's girl.
There wasn't a single song the playlist that was less than twenty years old. It was proper soul music, Sweet Philly, he called it; Jackie Wilson, The Delphonics, Grover Washington. The music was all sweeping strings, horns and pure funk. She could understand why it was called soul. The sound filled the room. Ashley lay on the bed with her eyes closed, feeling like a girl out of her time. And the best thing about it, the noise stopped her from thinking. She'd been thinking too much for far too long now. She just wanted to be. She hadn't asked the journal anymore questions. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear its answers.
She opened her eyes as the door closed.
Her mum was still dressed in her business suit, but all of the composure that usually presented was gone. She looked tired and frightened. She rushed across the room and swept Ashley up into a bear hug and planted a fierce kiss on her forehead. She brushed the hair out of Ashley's face. "Thank God you're okay."
Ashley could feel her shaking through the hug.
"I'm fine, mum," she promised, wriggling free of her embrace. She knew that she'd only end up crying if she didn't. Her mum's reaction threatened to make it all the more real.
"Are you sure?"
Ashley nodded.
"Of course you are," Meghan said, finding a smile for her daughter. It wasn't the most convincing smile, but Ashley loved her all the more for trying to put on a brave face. "There's some people downstairs I'd like you to meet, but first there's stuff we need to talk about." Meghan looked at her. There was something in the way she looked at Ashley that she didn't like. She could almost imagine she was about to say goodbye.
"What is it, mum?"
"I need to tell you something… but before I do, just promise me this: promise me you'll never forget you're my baby girl, always and forever. Okay?"
"Of course I won't, don't be daft, mum. I couldn't get rid of you if I tried. It's not like you're a second-hand Hyundai I can trade in for a new model when I get bored."
Meghan smiled then. "I like to think I'm more of a Porsche." She gave a little laugh.
"Not a Ferrari?"
"Let's not get carried away, eh?"
"Okay. Porsche it is. Classic car. Good lines. Makes sense."
"Thanks. But I'm serious, Ash. No matter what happens, no matter what you hear, promise me you'll never doubt for even a second that I love you more than life itself. That won't change. Not ever."
"You're not going to go all Touchy Feely on me, are you, mum?"
"Just promise me, please. For me."
"Okay, fine. I promise, let's not get all Jeremy Kyle here, eh?"
"I love you, you know that, right?"
"Well, duh! Of course you do. I'm loveable. Now tell me what's going on."
Meghan took a deep breath.
That was worse than anything she might have said; it told Ashley she was steeling herself to give bad news. Ashley had already had enough bad news to last a lifetime.
"I don't know what to say… I always knew this day was going to come… I just wished… You have to understand, Ash, I only wanted you to enjoy being a child for as long as possible, I never meant to hide anything from you."
"Jeez mum, you really are going full on Jeremy Kyle, aren't you? Next you're going to say we're going to be on TV tomorrow and they're going to tell me I'm adopted or I've got a secret brother or something?" She said it as a joke, trying to break the tension that had built up, but the way her mum's face twisted, like a barb had pierced her heart, stopped Ashley cold. "Mum?"
"It wasn't like that…"
"It wasn't like… oh god… are you serious? Mum? I've got a long lost brother?"
Meghan shook her head. There was a strangeness about the conversation. Ashley didn't like where it was going. "We wanted you so much. You were so precious to us. Are. Are. You are so precious to us, kiddo. The day you came into our lives… it was the best day of
our lives, Ash. You've got to believe me."
Ashley pushed herself up off the bed, shaking off Meghan's hand. She stepped into full view of the window, and then remembered the crows perched on the gutter across the street, Paget's warning to stay out of sight, and jerked away from the window. She pressed her back up against the wall. She couldn't look at her mother. Her head was spinning. Instead she stared at the imaginary world she'd painted on her wall and wished—just for a moment—that she could just lose herself in it.
"What are you trying to tell me, mum?" It was the million pound question, all of her lifelines were gone and she couldn't phone a friend. She still couldn't look at her.
"You'll always be my little girl, Ash. I'll never forget the first time I held you in my hands, this perfect little bundle. Did I ever tell you the first thing you did when you saw me? You threw up. Just a little bit…" She laughed then, just a small fractured chuckle. It was enough to break the stranglehold the strange mood had on them.
"Talk about mother and daughter bonding moments, eh?"
"You were always different, kiddo."
"You might as well say special."
"You're right, Ash. You are special. In more ways than you can possibly imagine. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Mum. Please. I'm fine."
"I know you are, love. I know you are. But just thinking about what might have happened to you… God… it just doesn't bear thinking about… I could have lost you…"
"But you didn't. The world's not all about ifs and maybes, mum, you'll drive yourself mad thinking like that."
"When did you get so wise, huh?"
"I was born this way," Ashley said, grinning. She walked away from the wall and sat on the edge of the bed. "So, these people downstairs? Can't I just stay up here? Make some excuse. Tell them I've had a really bad day? I just want to soak in the tub and make like the world doesn't exist for a while."
"I wish we could, love. I wish we could just stay up here, build a tent out of blankets like we used to, and make like none of this is happening, but we can't. We've got to go downstairs. They know what kind of day you've had. They've had the same one. Miss Lake was their friend. So was Auntie Elspeth. There's stuff these people have to tell you. You need to hear it."
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