by Anthology
“I’ve no idea. I just know it’s not a ghost. I’ve seen the ghosts. They’re all around. In their own way, they care for you. They’re frightened too.”
“Don’t be silly.” Rohan sneered. “Ghosts don’t get scared.”
“How do you know?” Taz met Rohan’s eyes. For a moment they glared challenge and Taz schooled himself to be carefully neutral. Rohan looked away first.
“Will you help me?” Pix asked. For the first time there was real emotion in his voice, and it was fear.
“Will you give me somewhere to stay?”
“You can stay with me,” Pix said eagerly.
“Oh no he won’t,” Rohan broke in. “He can stay with me.”
“Don’t be silly. There’s barely room for you in your house and I’m rattling around like a pea in a maraca in mine.”
“I don’t trust him, and neither should you.” Rohan glared at Taz as if it was Taz’ fault Pix was opening his house and heart to him. “He’s a complete stranger. What exactly do we know about him? He could be anyone. He could do anything.” Rohan raised his hand as if he was going to grasp Pix’s shoulder, but let it drop before he touched him.
Taz found the gesture and the expression in Rohan’s eyes very telling. “You’re worried I’m interested in him, that I’m going to seduce him, take him away from you. I won’t do that. I can’t.”
“What do you mean, can’t?” Pix tore his eyes from Rohan to gaze at Taz in a way that made him shiver.
Taz glanced away, feeling curiously discomfited. “I don’t stay. I can’t. I have to keep moving. I don’t have relationships. It would only hurt us both. You’re safe with me.”
Once more their eyes met and a strange tingling started in Taz’ center and spread outward. It was a sensation he had never experienced before and he made a mental note to meditate on it later.
“Please. Stay with me. You’d be doing me a favor. We’ll have fun.”
Taz glanced at Rohan. The big man was clearly unhappy. Anger flashed in his cold blue eyes, but he must have known Pix wouldn’t be diverted. With a sigh, he crossed his arms in a gesture that wasn’t so much a reconciliation as a warning.
“Okay.” Taz gave Rohan what he hoped was a reassuring smile, which warmed when he turned to Pix. “Thank you.”
“IS YOUR name really Pix?” Taz asked as they strolled along the streets after Pix closed the shop.
Pix laughed. “No. Only Rohan calls me that.” He glanced up at Rohan, who frowned. He hadn’t stopped frowning the whole time. “Most of my friends call me Pixie, but that’s not my name either. I think they call me that because I’m small.”
“Yeah right.” Rohan gave Pix a fond smile that made his cold eyes twinkle.
“So, what then?”
“It’s because you’re away with the pixies most of the time. You’ve only ever had one foot in this world.”
Pix looked as if he was about to say something; then he laughed and shook his head. “I guess you’re right. Anyway, my real name is Cristian, but that doesn’t fit me at all.”
Rohan snorted. “About as much as ‘normal’ would suit me.”
Pix chuckled. “No, that wouldn’t suit you, but you’re lucky, your real name does suit you, although I really think you should start spelling it Rowan.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the way I spell it now. I like the ‘h’ in it.”
Taz let the playful banter wash over him and allowed himself to relax. The incidents in the shop had shaken him more than he thought, and definitely more than he understood. His mind wasn’t at its sharpest because he was so tired, and he was pretty confused generally.
“Taz?”
Taz blinked, coming back from a dream of roiling, oily smoke and fire. “Sorry?”
“We’re here. I was talking to you.”
“Sorry, I was miles away.”
“Are you coming in?” Pixie quirked an eyebrow. “Or are you waiting for another house to appear, like in Harry Potter?”
Taz glanced up and his eyes widened. The building was a huge Victorian townhouse, with pale sandstone walls, bay windows, and a pillared porch.
“It’s okay,” Pix said, “it’s not all mine. I have the best bit though—the first floor with the bay windows.”
They climbed to the porch, passing a flight of narrow stone steps that led to the basement. “I almost took that one,” Pix said, “but I’d never get my bed down there.”
Rohan groaned. “Don’t get started on that bed,” he said, and Pix grinned. It was obviously an in-joke and Taz didn’t have the energy to question them.
Once through the solid green door, they crossed a small but airy hall, tiled in olive and forest green, with stairs leading to the upper floors, and then entered another green door.
Taz was surprised by Pix’s flat. For some reason, he thought it would be dark, with antique furniture and original features. Well, the moldings were there, decorating a high, flat white ceiling, but that was about it. The rest of the place was airy and super modern, with light streaming through the two bay windows.
“Take a seat,” Pix said, waving carelessly toward a rather battered-looking black sofa, which was part of a set. A smaller two-seater sat in the bay, and two chairs faced off. “I need a shower. I’ll be right back.”
Rohan sauntered over to a black glass unit as Pix disappeared through a door to one side. He took out a glass and poured himself a drink from one of the crystal decanters set on a silver tray. “Do you want one?”
“What is it?”
“Whiskey. Ambrosia of the gods.”
“I don’t think so,” Taz said, thoughtfully. “Ambrosia isn’t alcoholic.”
“Oh really? Whatever. Do you want a drink or not?”
“Yes, but not that. I would like milk, please.”
“Milk?” Rohan snorted. “It’s in the fridge. Get it yourself.”
“Am I permitted?”
“What?”
“Would Pix mind if I took some milk from the... fridge?”
“No, he won’t mind. Why would he? You live here now, right?”
“I do? Oh yes, that’s right, I do.”
Taz wandered into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of milk. Like the rest of the flat, the kitchen was large, light, and airy. The predominant color was white, with hints of turquoise in the tiles and accessories and a healthy amount of gleaming chrome. The refrigerator was a beast, and Taz examined it with interest. There was a dispenser for ice on the outside, and he helped himself to a few cubes.
“What have you got in there?” Rohan asked from the depths of one of the chairs as Taz perched on the sofa and sipped his milk.
“Milk and ice.”
“You put ice in milk?” Rohan’s eyes widened.
“Why not? I like cold milk and I like ice.”
“Well... no reason, I suppose.” Rohan swirled the whiskey in his glass and regarded Taz over the rim. “Where are you from?” he asked.
“From?”
“Where do you come from? Where did you live before you came here?”
Taz shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I don’t know. I was staying... somewhere. In London, I think. With friends.” He groped for the wispy threads of memory, but they slipped through his grasp, disappearing even as he touched on them. A house. A room. A smiling girl. Amber. That’s right. Amber, with brown hair and a big dog. The house was.... He was there because.... There was a girl, he thought. A girl with brown hair. Maybe some kind of dog. He was pretty sure there was a house. He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Are you seriously expecting me to believe you have no idea where you were before you came here?”
“I don’t expect you to believe anything, but it’s the truth.”
“Okay, so who are you? What do you do?”
“I’m Taz. I think I told you.”
“Yeah. You told us. And you told us you read cards, although I
haven’t seen you do it.”
“But you saw.... Okay.” Taz grabbed his backpack off the floor and fished for his pack.
“Are you going to do it now?” Rohan sounded nervous.
“Don’t you want me to? I thought.... Are you afraid?”
“I’m not afraid of anything.” Rohan put his glass down with an angry chink. “Go right ahead. Do your worst.”
Taz frowned as he laid out the cards, face up, on the glass table in front of him. He was already noting hot spots, things he was not going to talk about. Not here. Not now.
The cards swirled and danced, raising little clues here and here, directing his attention to where it should be. When he chose a clue, it acted like a key to open the place in his head that contained... everything.
“You should visit your mother, she misses you. You’ve got it all wrong. Her problem wasn’t with you. She lashed out at you because someone else hurt her, but she didn’t mean it. Your brother misses you, too. He cries himself to sleep at night because he thinks it’s his fault you left. He was the one who broke the dish. He feels so guilty that he didn’t own up. He thinks that’s why your mother was yelling, and why you went away. He’s only seven. He doesn’t understand. He’s not well, you know. They found a problem with his joints. Within six months he’ll be in a wheelchair. Your mother needs your support.”
“Stop it.” Rohan surged to his feet. “Don’t say things like that. How dare you think for one minute you know anything about me or my family? Your generic bullshit might work on gullible housewives, but I know better. I’ve read cards myself, and I know−”
“Your mother is about five-foot-five, with dark hair, going very grey. There’s one streak at the front that’s pure white and she’s proud of it, because of some television programme she used to watch. She likes to paint her fingernails frosted pink. It’s her favorite color. Allan is the only one of you with fair hair and you all call him Blondie. He’s got the same color eyes though. You all do—you, your mother and Allan. He has two birthmarks on his back and you tease him that a bird pooped on him. He—”
Taz snapped back from that place just beyond, where he went when he read, to find himself pinned on the sofa, the weight of Rohan’s larger body pressing him into the pitted leather. Rohan’s hand was around his throat and he swallowed.
“What—?”
“Stop talking about my family like that—as if you know them.”
“I don’t know them. I just saw—”
“Bullshit. No one can read that from a pack of cards. How do you know them? Why are you here?”
“I don’t know your family, Rohan. I’ve never met them. I only told you what I saw.”
“But you couldn’t have.”
“I told you I’m a good reader.”
“No one is that good.”
“I am.”
Rohan glared into his eyes for a moment longer; then he snarled. “Stay away from my family. If I find you’ve been anywhere near them, I’ll kill you.”
“You can’t do that,” Taz said, a little sadly. The thought of dying made him feel sad. He wasn’t sure why, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t the same reason others had.
“Don’t count on it.” With a push into Taz’ shoulder, Rohan got to his feet and strode over to the window, remaining with his back to Taz. Taz carefully gathered up the cards and tucked them into their box. As he did so, one fell out. He picked it up and glanced at it. Death. A shiver ran through him. In tarot, the death card meant change. Absolute change. The death of the present and the birth of the future. For Taz, right there and then, it meant something different.
“What did I miss?” Pix asked, close on twenty minutes later.
“Nothing,” Rohan said, and he was absolutely right. They had barely looked at one another, each lost in their own thoughts. Taz felt slightly light-headed and disoriented, having been pulled from his thoughts by Pix’s arrival. He glanced up, and froze.
The boy who stood before him, wearing a simple pair of jeans and soft, white sweater could easily have been an entirely different person to the one who’d walked into the bathroom twenty minutes earlier.
Gone were the red hair and immaculate make-up. Gone were the red nails and high–heeled boots. Pix threw himself into a chair, his long black hair whipping his shoulders, still wet from the shower. His face, scrubbed clean, was even prettier than before. Without the mask it was fresh and clear, the lines less soft and more masculine than Taz had thought. Something twisted in his gut and his heart dropped. Falling for Pix really wasn’t on the cards, but he was afraid that wasn’t going to stop it happening anyway.
“What’s going on?” Pix glanced from one to the other, beginning to look confused and nervous.
“Nothing,” Rohan growled, setting his empty glass down with a chink. “Taz and I have been getting to know each other, at least I’ve been trying.”
“What do you mean?”
“Apparently, Taz is suffering from amnesia. He doesn’t remember who he is or where he came from.”
Pix turned large, anxious eyes on Taz. Taz shook his head. “No, that’s not right. I don’t have amnesia and I know who I am. I just don’t remember where I was before here. I never do.”
“What do you mean you never do?”
“I travel a lot. I remember that. I remember when I’ve been somewhere before, but not what I did when I was there. I remember what I’ve learned, retain the experience of all the things I’ve done. I even remember some of those things—like the cards. I remember I can read them, how to read them, but I don’t remember who I’ve read for, or any of the personal details of what I said. I never remember where I lived, or who I lived with. That’s what I meant when I said I can’t have a relationship. One day I’ll move on and I won’t remember you.”
“Oh, you will,” Pix said in the kind of voice that brooks no argument. “I’m memorable.”
Taz shook his head, but simply smiled and turned away to stare out of the window.
“Do you really not remember anything about where you were before this?” For once, Rohan seemed genuinely interested.
“Pretty much.”
“What about before that? Do you remember anything that happened ever?”
“Some things. A lot of things. It’s mostly people and places I forget. I remember a lot of the things I’ve done, just not where and with whom.”
“That’s weird.”
“I guess.”
“So how do you know who you are? If you don’t remember people and stuff, how do you even know what your name is?” Rohan abandoned his place at the window to perch protectively on the edge of the sofa, as if he knew what Taz had to say would hurt Pix and his closer proximity would somehow act as a shield.
Taz stared at Rohan blankly for a moment; then he smiled. “I have a book.”
“A book? What do you mean? What kind of book?”
“One with paper pages,” Taz said, smiling. Rohan didn’t smile, and Pix was gazing at him thoughtfully.
“Can I see?” Pix smiled with gentle hopefulness.
“My book?”
“Yes.”
“I....” Taz paused. He couldn’t swear to it but he was pretty sure he’d never shown anyone his book before. There was a very strong compulsion to say no, yet there was an equally strong desire to hand it over to Pix. The thought of Pix’s small hands caressing the tooled leather made a delicious shiver tingle his skin.
Taz nodded and fished in his bag again. He pulled out a package wrapped in oiled paper—just in case. He had a feeling he’d lost a book in water once. Unwrapping the package, he stroked the cover for a moment before opening it. On the flyleaf was one sentence and a number: REMEMBER THE OTHERS. That was a reminder that when he finished this book he had to put it with the others in the locker at the station. He couldn’t remember which station, but when the time came, he would. The number was the locker combination.
With some reluctance, Taz handed the book over to Pix and watched anxious
ly while he read it, his eyes growing wider and wider.
“Is this true?” Pix asked at last, raising his eyes from the book. “Did it happen or is it a story?”
“It’s true,” Taz said, “as far as I know.”
“And this is what you do? You’re a... some kind of... ghost hunter?”
“Not exactly. I think I help people with problems. I don’t hunt ghosts. More often than not I just talk to them. Ghosts seem to like me.”
“I wonder why,” Rohan said dryly.
“Leave him alone,” Pix snapped. His eyes were soft, tears close to the surface. “It must be awful,” he said softly to Taz.
Taz ducked his head. He knew what Pix was talking about, but there really wasn’t any point thinking about it because there was nothing he could do, and it only made things worse if he dwelt on it. “It’s okay. I don’t remember.”
“Don’t remember what?” Pixie leaned toward him slightly, his bright eyes filled with concern, but also a deal of curiosity.
“Anything. Look, I don’t know how it works, okay. There are a lot of things I remember. I remember them very well. I remember every case I’ve ever had, every ghost, every demon, every trick and battle. I remember all the things I’ve learned, all the readings I’ve done. But I don’t remember any of the people I’ve met, any of the places I’ve lived. Nothing personal at all.”
“But that’s awful,” Pix cried, sounding genuinely distressed. “You don’t remember any friends? Family?”
“If I ever had family I forgot them a long time ago. As for friends... I do my best not to make any.”
“Then why do you write them in the book?”
Taz shivered. He raised his eyes to Pix’s; then he glanced away again. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “Sometimes it hurts so much, reading about people I don’t remember, lives I have no connection with anymore. But sometimes.... It’s better than a black hole. It’s comforting to know there are people out there who know me. Maybe they think of me sometimes. Maybe they....” Taz shrugged. He didn’t really understand that part himself. He just knew that sometimes, when he was alone in the dark and it felt like the world and everything in it despised him, it helped to know someone, somewhere thought kindly of him. At least he hoped they did.
