Elfland

by Freda Warrington

  “Oh my god, you came back!” said Sam, his face luminous with shock and pleasure.

  Rosie sat down, facing him across the table. She tried to ignore the eerie morphing of the room. It was like being on the set of some gothic horror film, fiery and overblown. When bleak modernity peeped through, it made her jump every time. “I should tell you, I’m only here because your father asked me to come.”

  “Oh right. So he’s just as persuasive as Jon, is he?”

  “He’s worried about you. I have to report back to him. And he’s paying me.”

  His smile twisted. “So you’re a spy, and you take money for it. Glad we got that established.”

  “I’m just being honest, so you can tell me to bugger off, if you want,” she snapped. He said nothing, but his grin became narrow and wicked. “Oh, wait . . . you’re in on this, aren’t you? You’re deliberately refusing to see Lawrence to get me here instead.”

  “Aren’t you flattered?”

  “You’re sick! This isn’t a game. He is really distressed, even though he tries to hide it.”

  “Well,” said Sam, leaning forward on his elbows, “haven’t you got a high opinion of your charms? The truth is I really don’t want him here, because he’s crazy enough as it is and he does my head in. Thanks for being honest. You have my permission to go back and tell him I’m absolutely fine.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments, not looking at each other. Finally Sam said, “Since you’ve come all this way, can we at least have a cup of tea and fake a civil conversation?”

  “Of course.” She tried to let go of her tension. “I don’t need to fake it.”

  “I bet you don’t.” His eyebrows rose a little. She looked stonily back at him until he shook his head and said, “Okay, I’ll start. So, what’s new?”

  “Well, my brother’s getting married.”

  “The nice one or the blond bastard?”

  “Matthew, to my friend Faith.”

  His face lit up demonically. “Faith, the little cross-eyed waif?”

  “God, you’re a terrible bitch, Sam.”

  “No, just observant. That’s terrible. He’ll kill her.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Metaphorically, I mean. Yes, it figures. He needs someone to crush the life out of. Poor her. What?” he said, reading her expression. “Sorry, rewind. What wonderful news, give them my congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “What else?”

  “I won’t tell you, if you’re going to react like that.”

  “Sorry. Mouth-brain connection, not great.” His gaze intent on her, he asked, “So, where would you be if you weren’t here?”

  “At college,” Rosie answered.

  “And what would you be doing?” He sounded genuinely interested, yet there was an edge to him, as if he were playing a game at her expense. Kind behind a cruel mask or cruel behind a kind mask—she couldn’t work him out.

  “Greenhouse work today. Potting on seedlings, taking root cuttings, that sort of thing.”

  “I always had you down for an artist, or maybe a psychologist. But you like that hands-on stuff, don’t you?” A slight lifting of one eyebrow.

  “Yes, I do. It’s real and worthwhile.”

  “Plants don’t answer back, eh?”

  “Well,” Rosie couldn’t help smiling, “not in the surface world.”

  Sam grinned. She couldn’t remember sharing a joke with him before. The sudden intimacy made her uneasy. “It’s good of you to come, whatever the reason.”

  “The stuff I started telling you . . . Have you spoken to your family?”

  Sam folded his arms and looked down. His sleeves were rolled up. Rosie couldn’t help noticing his beautifully shaped forearms and long-fingered, strong hands. She tried not to look. “I asked my father straight out on the phone and he told me the truth. Or his version of it, anyway. It’s weird, isn’t it? Your brother is also my brother. I still can’t believe it. Still, it’s bloody typical of my father.”

  “What, to have affairs?” Rosie was indignant on Jessica’s behalf.

  “No—I mean to disrupt other people’s lives. Not to care about the consequences. Maybe that’s where I get it from.”

  It was a throwaway remark, part of his mask of bravado that so antagonized her. “I don’t know what my mother was thinking, but I suspect your father resents mine, because mine is content with life and yours isn’t. Lawrence wanted to take that away from him. Jealousy, revenge or something. It didn’t work.”

  “Didn’t it? Not even a bit?”

  “No,” she said firmly. “Not in the long run.”

  “There didn’t have to be a child, though,” Sam said, resting clasped hands on the edge of the table. “We don’t have accidents. Surely your mother’s told you that?”

  “Of course.” Her eyes narrowed. To hear feminine wisdom coming from Sam’s mouth made her uncomfortable.

  “So, Lucas wasn’t an accident,” Sam continued. “They meant to have him. Or . . . they couldn’t stop him.”

  “For heaven’s sake,” said Rosie. “You make it sound like some Otherworld conspiracy. I’m sure it wasn’t that. You don’t believe Aetherial births are preordained, do you?”

  He shrugged, a teasing glint in his eye. “Not really.”

  “No,” she said. “I asked Mum and she couldn’t answer. It’s like she had a premonition of Lucas and that’s why she let it happen. We wouldn’t be without him for anything.”

  “That’s sweet, the way you throw the best light on things. Good job he didn’t turn out the black sheep of the family, eh?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of Lucas,” she said acidly.

  He paused, expression darkening. “Maybe I’ve got cause. Dad gets himself a shiny new son, and I’m stuck in the trash can here. Jon can’t stir himself to come and see me because he’s too busy with his super new brother.”

  “Are we getting to the bottom of why you’re so bitter and twisted?”

  “Haven’t even started,” Sam answered, with a crooked grimace. “I’ll tell you what really chokes me, though.” He leaned towards her. His blue-green eyes turned harsh. “Seeing people shipwreck themselves on the hope of Jon’s friendship.”

  Rosie drew back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You and Lucas aren’t the first, you know. All his life people have fallen in love with him, and his problem is that he just doesn’t give a toss. He doesn’t even see it. There’s only room for one person on Planet Jon, and that’s Jon.”

  Her mouth opened as if he’d kicked her. “I can’t believe you feel like that about your own brother.”

  “Just telling the truth.”

  “Do you really hate him so much?” She was recoiling inwardly, her distrust of Sam reaching new depths. “I can’t believe it. No wonder your family are crazy. You all hate each other, don’t you?”

  Sam leaned back, his eyes freezing her. “Wow,” he said dryly. “That’s quite a set of conclusions you’ve come to.”

  “After several years’ observation.”

  “Well, you’re absolutely wrong,” he said. “Of course I don’t hate Jon. I love the stupid sod. But you know, if you float around like a Renaissance cherub reciting Spenser and Tennyson at public school, you attract all the wrong kinds of attention. You get the crap beaten out of you. You get pestered by huge sixth-form boys who won’t take no for an answer. You get made to stay behind by masters who are one grope away from leaving under a cloud of shame. And so on.”

  Sam had shocked her into silence. After a moment she found her breath. “Did he really have such a bad time?”

  “Not quite. I protected him from it as best I could. Trouble was, I couldn’t be with him every moment and a few things happened—but once I found out, I made sure the bastards never went near him again.”

  Rosie let out the breath she’d been holding. “That’s why you were expelled?”

  He finally bro
ke eye contact. “Yeah. That’s what it was all about. By the end, most of the school understood that if they touched Jon they would get their head pulped by me. But there were three boys who hadn’t quite got the message and they thought they could take me on. Yes, I put them in hospital. Not proud of it. I’d had enough and I lost it. Even my father couldn’t donate his way out of it that time.”

  He’d dropped the mask. He was telling her the truth. Rosie said, “Why didn’t you tell the school what was going on?”

  Sam gave a grim laugh. “Wasn’t the culture. Making complaints marked you out as weak. So you sorted things yourself. That’s what I thought, anyway; maybe I got it all wrong.”

  “Couldn’t you have got your father to take you away?”

  “Nah. He was busy and didn’t want to be bothered. He’d view it as a sign of failure. Besides, there was no point. It was my duty to protect Jon and that’s all there was to it.”

  “I didn’t realize,” she said warily.

  “You had me down as a psychotic thug?”

  “Something like that.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe I am. I can’t pretend it didn’t feel good making those bastards scream. I like people to be scared of me. That’s kind of sick, isn’t it? But sometimes necessary.”

  “What did Jon feel? Being bullied, and you protecting him? He must have been damaged by it, too. You can see he has.”

  “There’s the thing,” Sam said very quietly. “I don’t think I helped him at all, because he got to thinking he was untouchable. And when something did happen, he had no idea how to deal with it. I should have left him to sink or swim. But I couldn’t. When it was happening under my nose, I simply couldn’t. And now, he’s not even grateful; I think he resents me for it.”

  “Is that why he won’t visit you?”

  Sam didn’t answer. He stared at the table and said, “Fuck,” under his breath. Then, “I don’t want to sound like I’m blaming Jon for everything. I’m not, Rosie. I only wanted to explain a few things.”

  “And you have.” She shifted on the hard seat. She wanted to ask more about Jon, but it was too personal. Too obsessive, and she didn’t want to obsess any more. “Anyway, you were away for four years. Don’t assume I’m still pining after him.”

  “Really? Good. By the way, I swear I never said a thing to keep Jon away from you.”

  She frowned. “Like what?”

  “I could have made up anything,” said Sam. “Told him you had a nasty rash, or an unnatural interest in farmyard animals, anything. The point is, I didn’t.”

  “I never thought you did,” she said tightly. “He wasn’t interested and why should he be? Perhaps I’m too . . .”

  “What?”

  She shrugged. “Intense, needy, or something. Unattractive.”

  “Come off it.” Sam gave a huff of exasperation. “Jon’s off his head. You love him and he doesn’t notice? He deserves a kicking. Some Vaethyr, though . . . They feel threatened by other Aetherials. They go with humans because it’s less of a challenge.”

  “You think Jon’s like that?”

  “I don’t know,” Sam said wearily. “Who knows what goes on in his head? Yes, I was jealous as hell of the way you felt about him, but I hated to see you hurt. I’m sorry.”

  “No,” she said hurriedly. “Don’t be. I’ve moved on.”

  His sharp eyebrow rose again. “As in seeing someone else?”

  “No. Yes. Sort of.”

  “Okay, stop. That’s news I don’t want to hear.”

  “It’s early days,” she said lamely.

  Sam glared at the table. After a moment he looked up again and said softly, “Tell me what else you do at college. I can see all that physical work is keeping you amazingly fit. I can just picture you in a sleeveless T-shirt, running around with a loaded wheelbarrow, your arms all golden and glistening with perspiration. The T-shirt’s riding up your tight little waist and your hair’s all over the place. You’ll have your own TV show in no time.”

  She rolled her eyes. “God, is that what you fantasize about in your cell?”

  “Well, yeah,” he said, opening his hands. “Got any photographs?”

  “I could bring you a photo of a cold shower.”

  His eyes glistened with a mixture of mockery, lust and affection that made her blush. “Come on, embarrassing you is all the fun I get. Tell me something really boring about plants. Otherwise I won’t be able to stand up.”

  “You are disgusting,” she said mildly.

  “Go on. The difference between annuals and perennials. Anything.”

  “What for?”

  He shrugged. “I like the sound of your voice.”

  As she began to speak, delayed shock hit her. It was suddenly hard to accept that when she left, Sam couldn’t walk out with her. Horrible, to think of leaving him in this place; she almost couldn’t bear it. She felt it out of simple humanity, even though she could never let him through her defenses. She kept a powerful barrier of distance between them and he was always trying to break through it; that was the game.

  “Is there anything you need?” she asked as time was called.

  “I’m in prison, not hospital,” he said. “I don’t need sympathy.”

  “And you’re not getting it. I’m trying to be helpful, that’s all.”

  He gave a wicked grin. “Well, okay, if you insist. How about making your next visit a conjugal one?”

  “How about in your dreams?” Rosie retorted.

  “Always worth a try.” He sighed. He looked at her through dark eyelashes. “Actually, there is something. Since you’re such a keen spy, fancy being a double agent?”

  “What do you mean?” It took her a moment to realize he was serious.

  “Part of the reason I came home was that I started wondering about Sapphire. Just . . . who the hell is she? Because I don’t actually know, and I don’t think Dad does, either. I was going to do some digging around, but I didn’t get the chance. And she could not wait to see me taken away in handcuffs.”

  “So you want me to dig around for you?” Rosie was stunned.

  “Would you mind? Only don’t go up to her and say, ‘I have to be straight with you, I’m spying for Sam.’ It’s supposed to be secret, you see.” He winked. “I’ll pay you.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” she gasped.

  “Well, who else can I ask? Jon’s too flaky. How about Lucas? He’s at Stonegate quite a bit, he could poke around and report to you . . . Split the fee?”

  “I’m sorry, what? You want my little brother to do your dirty work? Just when I was almost starting to like you!”

  “Okay, bad idea.” He seemed to realize she was genuinely outraged, but his expression stayed serious. “This isn’t a joke, Rosie. If she’s up to something, I need to know, because it could hurt my family. If you care enough about Lawrence and Jon to visit me for them, you must care enough to find out if there’s a problem with the wicked stepmother.”

  “No,” she said. “It’s none of my business and I can’t believe you’d try and involve me. Absolutely not, Sam.” The last call came and she moved into the stream of departing visitors, glad to leave because she was fuming. She realized she’d barely noticed the prison on any level of reality while they’d been talking. On his feet, Sam called shamelessly after her, “Hey, did you say starting to like me?”

  The night sky was the goddess’s face, arching above him. Lucas was falling into her. Always falling into blackness, in thrilling terror. A half-seen cat led him along sinuous streams until he met an Aelyr man with long snowy hair. A gemstone gleamed in the pale man’s outstretched palm.

  Lucas was someone else in the vision. He felt that he was Lawrence, and that the white-blond man was his father Albin, and that their argument had been going on for years.

  “You hold open the portal for the Vaethyr, the exiles who sold themselves for a taste of Vaeth’s riches, then still expect to be welcome here?” said Albin. “Aetherials will never be stro
ng again until we all gather back in the Spiral. There is no place for us on the surface.”

  “I’m doing what my grandmother asked of me,” said Lawrence-Lucas. “I can’t refuse. The lych-light’s branded in me.”

  “Then you’ll have nothing of it but sorrow.” Albin held out the gem, then closed his hand, withholding it. The gesture was incomprehensible, yet it seemed the moment around which the universe revolved. Lucas felt that some vital part had been ripped out of him, leaving him defenseless.

  What he’d taken for a cat now appeared as a mass of smoke that was gradually swelling, reaching amorphous arms towards him. As it grew, Lucas’s fear swelled with it. It was going to suffocate him. He struggled to escape, rooted to the spot as the fog blanket overwhelmed him. He tried to scream. Then out of the fog came a ghost-white figure, thrusting a spear of burning-black ice towards his eye—

  He burst out of the vision with his heart thundering and cold sweat pouring over him.

  “Luc, Luc, it’s all right. What did you see?”

  He was looking at the cracked ceiling of Jon’s room in the shared house in Nottingham. Jon sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him, a tin and cigarette papers in his hands. The room was an amber cave of candlelight.

  “A black cat,” said Lucas, struggling for breath between words. “Only it wasn’t a cat, I couldn’t see it properly.”

  “Your fylgia,” said Jon. “Your twin soul in the Spiral. It was guiding you.”

  “It attacked me.”

  “It can’t have done.”

  Luc sat up and put his head in his hands. The trip was a blur. All he could remember was the suffocating, bone-crushing fear. “I’m telling you what I saw. It was a mess.”

  “Did you see anyone?” Jon bit the end of his pen. “A woman with long crinkly black hair?” He sounded so hopeful, Lucas hated to disappoint him.

  “No. There was a man . . . I don’t know what it meant. Jon, we need to be at Freya’s Crown to do this. It’s never going to work here.”

  “But we can only do that when my father’s away. And even here, you see things.”

  “And even at the Gates, I can’t get through. I don’t think I want to. Your father’s not lying; there is something awful on the other side!” Luc’s heartbeat shook his body like an animal trying to break out of his rib cage. He clutched at his chest, gasping.