Blue Moon (Book One in The Blue Crystal Trilogy)

by Pat Spence

  “Theo, you’re frightening me,” I said. “Can’t you come with me?”

  “Emily, I want to come with you,” he took my hands in his, “but I can’t. I’d be missed. And it’s not safe for you to stay. You cannot be discovered. It would mean certain death.”

  I swallowed. “Okay, I’ll go.”

  I drew the thick velvet cloak around me, and Theo carefully pulled up the hood. For a second, he gazed into my eyes, then his lips were upon mine kissing me hungrily and passionately. Despite, or because of, the danger, I responded with an intensity I had never known before, and as our lips fused together, I felt our souls touch and unite. If I didn’t make it, this might be my last encounter with Theo, the love of my life, my reason for being, and my future, if destiny allowed. I could feel Theo’s energy, his life force, filling my body with a spiritual consummation that possessed every fibre of my being.

  But time was against us and he broke away, pain and anxiety etched across his beautiful face.

  “You must go, Emily, before it’s too late.”

  Silently, he arranged the hood so that it hung over my face, concealing my features.

  “Say nothing to anyone,” he cautioned. “Walk slowly and purposefully. Don’t draw attention to yourself.”

  He opened the door and looked out.

  “All clear,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  He led the way along the corridor to the head of the main stairway and slowly, we started to walk down. Fortunately, there was some kind of commotion going on in the reception area that was claiming the attention of all present. A male guest appeared to have collapsed on the floor and others were tending to him. I could see a figure in a black dinner suit lying on the black and white tiles, his legs splayed out awkwardly, with others leaning over him.

  I saw a beautiful woman in a red ballgown, with blond hair piled high and long red gloves, say tearfully to Viyesha, “He arrived too late. There was a delay in his travel arrangements and he arrived too late. This is our worst nightmare. Is there nothing we can do for him?”

  Viyesha put a protective arm around her shoulders and I heard her saying softy, “No. I’m sorry. The power of the Blue Moon has passed. There is nothing more that can be done.”

  The red gowned woman stifled a sob, and there was a collective gasp from all those who attended the man. I felt Theo’s hand on my waist, guiding me past the assembled guests and projecting me forward. As I walked around the edge of the crowd, a sudden gap presented itself between the guests and I was able to see the man.

  It was all I could do not to cry out in horror.

  I saw a wizened, shrunken face, surrounded by wispy white hair. His mouth was open as if gasping for air, his claw-like hands were up round his throat as if he’d been trying to open his shirt. That he was dead was bad enough, but in the brief glimpse I had of him, I saw him decay before my eyes. I saw the flesh disintegrate on his face, falling into his cheekbones, I saw his eyeballs dry out and shrink, leaving two cavernous eye sockets, and I saw his lips draw back to reveal yellowed, blackened teeth in a hideous grin. The man was turning into a skeleton before my eyes.

  For a second I was frozen with fear, unable to move another step, then once again I felt Theo’s firm hand behind me, guiding me forward. I moved on autopilot, incapable of rational thought. The next thing I knew we were in a small passageway and Theo was opening a door.

  I felt the cold night air on my face and heard Theo say, “Go left past the Clock Tower, keep going until you reach the fountain, then take the pathway through the woods to the church. Go quickly.”

  The door closed behind me and I was on my own.

  Instinctively, I kept close to the walls of Hartswell Hall, bearing to the left until I reached the Clock Tower. The mist had lifted and a magnificent full moon filled the night sky, providing all the illumination I could ask for. Looking up at the turreted upper windows of the Tower, I could see a faint blue light and I knew that was where the guests had been. There was no time to linger and I ran on, reaching the circular feature in just a few minutes. Amazingly, it had been transformed into a beautiful fountain, the water spraying upwards to a height of about two metres, glinting seductively in the moonlight before falling back into the dark waters below, where I saw the silver moon clearly reflected, shimmering in the rippling water.

  Fleetingly aware that it was impossible to have renovated the fountain in such a short time, I kept moving.

  Behind the fountain was the pathway, leading through the woodland, the undergrowth cleared away and fresh bark laid down to create a good walking surface. I knew it wasn’t far to the church, no more than a few hundred metres, but it seemed to take an eternity, my breath shallow and harsh, my heart beating fast, the blood rushing in my ears. The woodland was alive around me, every rustle, every sound making me jump.

  Then the church was in front of me and I ran as if possessed through the graveyard, along the ancient path that led past the vestry, until I reached its main doors, praying silently that they would be open. I turned the old metal door ring and thanked all the angels in heaven when the huge old studded door opened before me.

  Quickly, I pushed it wide and fell into the church.

  As I turned to close the door, I glanced into the graveyard, where the gravestones glinted spookily in the moonlight. There, in the undergrowth, I saw two huge yellow eyes watching me. With a cry, I slammed the church door shut, dropped the latch and fell sobbing to the floor.

  PART THREE – KNOWLEDGE

  22. Kimberley Chartreuse

  In her Leicestershire mansion, Kimberley Chartreuse (aka Wendy Tubbs) lay back amidst her white silk sheets on her monster-sized waterbed and looked contemptuously at husband number four. He was obedient and biddable, but boring as hell, as she’d found out too late, just after they’d got married.

  It had seemed a huge laugh at first. Queen of Glamour gets hitched to Prince of the Reality World. He’d been a big hit on his reality TV show and everybody wanted a piece of Mikey-Boy. Including her. But once all the hype had been stripped back and his physical charms had started to fade, she’d found he was just a handsome husk with nothing between the ears.

  He’d served a purpose, she supposed. Her ratings had been dropping slowly but surely, not catastrophically, but enough to get her agent worried.

  “We need a big event, Kimberley,” he’d said, in his flat Black Country accent. “I don't care what it is. Well, not another breast enlargement. Perhaps husband number four? Someone that’s current you can ride on the back of, as it were.”

  “Who d’you have in mind, Danny?” she’d asked

  He’d twiddled his cigar and said, “Mikey-Boy, of course. He’s hot, he’s single and he’s gagging for you.”

  She’d grinned, liking the sound of it and after that it had been easy. Leave it to the agents. They’d sorted everything: the first date, the declaration of love, the disagreement, the reconciliation, the proposal, the engagement and the wedding. The media had been alerted at every stage and it had worked a treat. Her ratings had soared and she was back on top. Even the national news had given her coverage. She was an icon, a national treasure, the darling of young girls everywhere.

  For a time, it had been enough.

  She’d had more modelling assignments than ever, a new TV show, her own brand of Forever Youthful make-up and perfume and enough product endorsements to last a lifetime. Whatever she touched became gold. The money poured in and her coffers were overflowing. She skied in Saint Moritz, sunbathed in Saint Tropez, cruised on a yacht, had a hair stylist in London, a Botox technician in LA and a costumier in Paris. All the usual clichés you needed to buy into the jet set.

  But just recently, things had started to slip.

  What had once been effortless, now seemed tiring. What had once been easy, was now hard work. Upward and onward had always been her motto. Now she felt gravity pulling her downward.

  It was Mikey-Boy who’d first lit the blue touch-paper, which was when she rea
lised just how much she despised him. They’d been invited to yet another celebrity function, some party or dinner or opening or first night, she really couldn’t remember. She’d been getting ready to go out, preening in front of the mirror, admiring her long, shapely legs, tight ass, flat stomach and voluptuous chest. Mikey-Boy had watched, fascinated: Kimberley Chartreuse, the living Barbie Doll, everything fake, everything false, from the sprayed on tan to the enormous, double ‘F’ bazoomers.

  Then, horror of horrors, he’d leant forward, looked closely and said, “You’re getting lines! You’re showing your age.”

  She’d frozen him with an icy stare, walked out without speaking and had hated him ever since.

  That night, when she got back, she’d sat in front of her dressing room mirror for an hour and studied her face. She had a permanent trout pout thanks to too many collagen injections, she’d been under the knife more times than she could remember and it seemed every few weeks she was rushing off for a bit of ‘bo’.

  “God, how I hate getting old,” she moaned to the mirror. “If he’s noticed it, others will, and I know what the press are like. They’ll seize on every little wrinkle.”

  She picked up her cell phone and brought up an app that showed how you’d look as you got older. With trembling fingers, she selected a photograph of herself and, at the press of a button, watched her face transform into that of an old witch, creased and lined, hanging and drooping, everything going south. With a cry, she threw the phone across the room.

  The thought of having to hide her ageing face made her feel physically sick.

  “I was made for the limelight,” she declared. “I need people, I need fans, I need to be adored.”

  She retrieved her phone and dialled her agent’s number.

  “Danny? It’s Kimberley. I need you to do something. It’s urgent and it’s top secret…”

  Danny listened silently as Kimberley outlined her requirements, then he puffed on his cigar and smiled.

  “I know just the person. Leave it to me.”

  23. Truth

  At seven in the morning, I figured it was safe to open the church door. It was going to be a gorgeous day. The sun had already risen, streaking the few clouds that drifted across the sky with golden light, and all seemed fresh and clean and new.

  I breathed in deeply, and looked around. The gravestones were serene and peaceful in the morning light, dew lay on the grass and birds sang in the trees. It was the kind of morning that made you glad to be alive, all the more so for looking out over a graveyard. I peered at the bushes, but could see nothing ominous or threatening. No evil yellow eyes stared back at me and I began to wonder if I’d imagined it. I daren’t even start to process what I’d experienced, I needed to get home and surround myself with the routine of everyday life.

  More than anything, I needed time to sit and think, and decide what to do. I didn’t know when I’d next see Theo and I had to be prepared when I did.

  I was still wearing the long blue velvet cloak and now I took it off and folded it carefully. Carrying it under my arm, I stepped out of the church and closed the heavy oak door behind me.

  Ten minutes later I was back at home, creeping up the stairs and into my room. I hid the velvet cloak at the bottom of my wardrobe, pulled off my clothes and took a long, hot shower. I luxuriated in the hot water, feeling it wash the excitement, the fear and the passion of last night out of my system, and emerged feeling calmer, cleansed and able to think more clearly. I realised I was famished and, donning my dressing gown, went downstairs to have some breakfast. I made myself a large bowl of porridge, followed by a boiled egg on toast.

  ‘Now I feel more human,’ I said to myself, then shuddered at the thought.

  Those people last night, surely they weren’t human? But if they weren’t, then what were they exactly? Theo had scoffed at the idea of vampires. So were they some kind of aliens? Let’s face it, I’d witnessed some very old people being transformed into young, beautiful beings, without blemish or imperfection. And Theo was one of them. As were all the members of his family.

  I loved Theo to distraction and had never experienced such feelings of intensity and love as I had last night. But what had I fallen in love with? And where did that leave me? Theo had been most insistent I leave the hall as quickly as possible. He said I was in terrible danger. Was I still in danger? Or could Theo keep my presence last night a secret? Surely, if no one knew I’d been there, I was safe, wasn’t I? Or did I really see two yellow eyes watching me in the graveyard? And if I did, who was it? And did they know I’d been at the Blue Moon Ball?

  I didn't have any answers. The only person who did was Theo and I had to wait until I saw him again before I knew what they were.

  My mum came into the breakfast room.

  “Hi, Emily, you’re up early,” she said, in surprise.

  “Hi Mum, I couldn’t sleep.”

  That was the truth, I didn’t mention I’d never been to bed.

  She examined her face in the mirror on the breakfast room wall and exclaimed, “God, I’m looking old. I’m going to need a facelift soon.” She stretched the skin upwards with her fingers. “There, that looks better, doesn’t it?”

  I stared at her in alarm. “Old is good, mum, don’t worry about ageing naturally. Take it from me, you’re fine the way you are.”

  She stared at me in amazement.

  “Well, thanks, Emily, I didn’t know you felt so strongly on the subject.”

  “I don’t,” I back-tracked, “it’s just there’s nothing wrong with getting old gracefully. Anyway, if you’re worried, I’ve got this really good facial stuff Tash gave me. Made from beer. Makes your skin feel amazing. Allegedly.”

  “So, you haven’t actually used it?”

  “No, but look at Tash’s face. Her skin is amazing, you have to agree.”

  “Alright, I’ll give it a go. Leave it out in the bathroom for me.”

  “Okay. Always remember, mum, natural is best.”

  “Er, haven’t I been saying that for years? Every time you attempted to go out plastered in make-up?” she said, looking at me strangely.

  “That was in my Goth phase last year,” I informed her. “I am so over that now. Can’t you tell?”

  “Yes, I think I might have spotted that. I must say, your current look is a huge improvement. In fact, just recently, you’ve been positively glowing. Must be love….”

  It was definitely time to change the subject. This was getting into cringe territory.

  “Is Granddad up yet?” I asked.

  “No,” answered my mum, pouring a cup of tea and looking concerned, “he’s not too good. He says he’s going to stay in bed today.”

  “It could be the virus I had,” I suggested. “We need to build him up with home-made chicken broth.”

  “Yes, let’s do that,” my mother smiled at me. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s made of strong stuff.”

  “I'll take him a cup of tea,” I offered, jumping up and going into the kitchen. I needed to stay occupied, I felt jittery and on edge. I made the tea, dark and strong, just how he liked it, and carried it upstairs, knocking on his door.

  “Come in,” said a weak voice inside.

  It was dark in the bedroom, so I opened the curtains just enough to let in a little light.

  “How are you Gramps?” I asked, looking down at him.

  I was quite shocked by his appearance. He seemed to have aged since I’d last seen him, which had only been the day before. He lay back on his pillows, looking frail and ill. His eyes were watery and bloodshot, his face thinner with an unnatural flush to his cheeks, and his forehead was shiny with perspiration.

  “I’ve felt better, Emily,” he said, smiling feebly and struggling to sit up. “It’s this old body. Can’t fight off the germs as well as I used to. It’s probably nothing more than a cold, a few days in bed will see me right.”

  I looked at him with concern. He seemed to be breathless and struggled to get out his
words.

  “Do you want me to ring for the doctor?” I asked, feeling somewhat inept.

  “No,” he said sharply, “I’ve no need of the quack. You know what he’d say: ‘Rest, drink lots of liquids, take paracetamol. ‘Can’t treat a virus, your body has to fight it off.’ It’s always the same.”

  There was no telling my Granddad. He was one of that generation who had no faith in the medical profession and certainly not the village doctor. In Granddad’s book, there was no better medicine than fresh air, good food and a whisky nightcap. It had seen him in good stead so far, and he wasn’t going to change the pattern of a lifetime.

  “Okay. Shall I bring you up some breakfast?” I asked.

  “Not just yet,” he answered wearily. “Let me come round a bit first. I’ll be down for breakfast when I’m ready.”

  “Alright,” I said, walking to the door, “but if you want anything, just shout. I’ll bring you a nice bowl of porridge, a bacon sandwich, whatever you want.”

  “Maybe,” he said, looking exhausted.

  I closed the door to his bedroom and went back downstairs.

  “Gramps doesn’t look too good,” I informed my mother. “He says he doesn’t want the doctor, so what d’you think we should do?”

  “You know what he’s like,” answered my mother. “Don’t worry, I’ll look after him. I can work from home today, and you need to get to college.”

  College! I’d completely forgotten about it. Somehow, with everything that had happened, it seemed more like a weekend. Now, I realised it was Friday and I had just ten minutes to catch the bus. I tore upstairs, ripped off my dressing gown and flung on my clothes, and got to the stop with just a minute to spare.