by H. R. Moore
She was pulled back from her thoughts by a cry from behind and the sound of someone tumbling to the ground. She slowed and turned her head to see what had happened, but as she did, a force thumped into her, sending her and whoever it belonged to careering forwards. She landed hard on her side, the full weight of one of the Councillors on top of her, the next sensation a shocking pain in her stomach as someone’s foot connected with her body. She looked up, dazed, to see Gwyn and Marcus standing over her, hatred seeping out of them like a toxic smoke as they looked malevolently down at her. The Councillor rolled off and climbed to his feet, continuing towards Kingdom, leaving the three of them without so much as a backward glance. Anita tried to get up, but a foot connected with her lower back, another shot of pain searing through her.
‘What are you doing?’ she spluttered, her brain fogged by shock and confusion.
‘What are we doing?’ Gwyn repeated, mocking Anita with everything she possessed; her eyes, her tone, her body language, as she swung another foot into Anita’s stomach. ‘Don’t you think the question is more what are you doing?’
Anita curled over, grasping her stomach, gasping for air, waiting for the pain to subside at least a little before replying. ‘What do you mean?’ she could only manage a whisper, at the same time contemplating the best way to gain an advantage over her attackers.
‘Don’t be coy now,’ said Gwyn, warning Anita with her tone as she reached down and grabbed a handful of her hair, beginning to twist as Marcus placed his foot on her side, applying enough pressure to the injury there to make her realise she’d be foolish to retaliate. ‘You murdered the ruling Mind Descendant and you have the gall to show up at the Chase commemorating him? You thought we’d just sit back and let you win?’
‘Austin killed Bas,’ she said slowly, as though this might be a simple misunderstanding where they didn’t know the real truth. ‘He was trying to kill me. Was I supposed to just let him?’ Her confusion was fast turning to raging anger and it was taking all her self-control not to fight back. The Institution needed Gwyn and Marcus to cooperate if they were to stand any chance of carrying out Bas’ experiment, which meant she couldn’t give them any new reasons not to help.
‘Liar,’ said Marcus quietly, increasing the pressure through his foot.
Anita cried out in pain, turning her head to look at Marcus, his chocolate eyes so beautiful yet so vulnerable, a hesitance there that showed this wasn’t his idea. ‘You know I’m not lying,’ she said to him softly, refusing to remove her eyes from his. ‘You know what your father and Amber are capable of. You saw what they did to me. You rescued me from them.’
Gwyn slapped her hand hard across Anita’s face before springing to her feet and taking several erratic paces away. ‘You expect us to believe your bullshit?’ she spat, turning back to Anita and kicking her brutally in the shoulder. Anita cried out in pain and Marcus removed his foot. She curled herself further into the foetal position to protect her stomach and clutched her shoulder, reading the uncertainly that had crept into Marcus’ energy. He’d been caught up in Gwyn’s plan to put Anita in her place and his resolve was wavering.
‘You can believe what you want,’ jeered Anita, clenching her teeth against the pain, ‘but I killed Austin in self-defence, because he had just killed the man who was supposed to be your boyfriend,’ she couldn’t help herself; she might not be able to defend herself physically, but that didn’t mean Gwyn deserved to get off scot free.
‘Shut up,’ hissed Gwyn, giving her another kick, this one to her back, forcing her to arch backwards against the pain, ‘it’s all your fault. You’re the reason Bas is dead. You’re the reason Austin is dead. I never want to see you again, or the consequences will be severe.’ The threat was almost laughable coming from Gwyn, but Anita kept a straight face, not wanting to encourage further violence.
‘We need to go,’ said Marcus. ‘The others are catching us,’ he said, pointing to a group of people who’d crested the hill a few hundred metres behind them, ‘and one of us needs to win.’
‘You need to win,’ she said, to Anita’s surprise, almost adoringly. ‘Fine, let’s go.’ She went to kick Anita one last time, but Marcus stood in the way.
‘We’ve made our point,’ he said, looking down at Anita’s battered body. Gwyn, seeing the group behind them rapidly closing, didn’t argue. Instead she threw Anita a bitter look before launching into a run towards Kingdom, Marcus refusing to meet her eyes as he too ran away.
Anita struggled to her feet, pain shooting through her torso, face stinging from the contact with Gwyn’s hand. She was furious. She’d resolved not to go to the ball, but after that, she wouldn’t miss it for the world.
*****
Gwyn and Marcus arrived back at the relic first, the Councillors they’d recruited to help bring down Anita having waited obediently on the edge of Kingdom for them to catch up and overtake. Nobody had caught the runner they’d been tracking, but the crowds couldn’t have been happier, as this meant they got to see a race for the line, and they cheered vehemently as the two Descendants came into view. As planned, Marcus reached out and touched the relic first, and as he did it, the crowd gave another roar, a raft of ridiculous girls giggling and clapping wildly just behind the relic, vainly hoping he would notice them.
Gwyn rolled her eyes as she clapped Marcus on the back, ensuring she was the first to congratulate him. He smiled ecstatically up at her, just as he was supposed to, but Alexander could read the trepidation and regret in his energy, and that coupled with Anita’s non-appearance filled him with fear.
Alexander approached his fellow Descendants and warmly and publically congratulated Marcus, pulling him into a celebratory embrace, but as he held Marcus to him he whispered threateningly in his ear, ‘where is she and what did you do to her?’ Marcus tried to pull back, but Alexander held him firmly in place. Marcus said nothing and Alexander had to release him so as not to raise suspicions, but as he did he whispered, ‘I hope for your sake she’s alright.’
Alexander turned to congratulate Gwyn on coming second, Marcus trying to regain his composure as others bustled around him, offering him congratulations and refreshment, and a Councillor offering him back his cloak. Gwyn shot him a puzzled look, not the only one to notice his subdued demeanour, but Marcus looked away, sick to the stomach at what they’d just done.
*****
Alexander conducted the prize giving as the stragglers crossed the line, presenting Marcus with an engraved brass plate. It was nowhere near as extravagant as the energy metre Anita had won as victor of the last Chase, but Alexander considered this a more fitting prize given the problems the world faced. There was a tension that more than just Alexander could feel; like dry kindling on a scorching hot day which at any moment might spark alight. However, what might set this gathering on fire Alexander had no wish to find out, so he quickly concluded the presentation and encouraged the crowd to disperse, quietly instructing the Descendants and Councillors to immediately vacate the area. They got away without incident, but Alexander knew it had been a close run thing. Since Austin’s death there had been a lull in the demonstrations and direct action, but Alexander could sense it was only a matter of time before it kicked off again, and this time it would be worse than it had been before.
As they were dispersing, Alexander asked a few of the other contestants if they’d seen what had happened to Anita. Most feigned ignorance or shrugged their shoulders, but one Spirit Councillor told him he’d seen Anita limping away towards the road to Alexander’s residence. Alexander returned home as quickly as he could, hoping he would find Anita there and silently praying she was alright.
His car pulled up at the front steps and he threw the door open before his driver had fully stopped, brushing past Mrs Hudson, who had somehow managed to get the front door open before Alexander reached it. ‘Is she here?’ he demanded, throwing his cloak onto a nearby chair.
‘She’s upstairs, resting,’ replied Mrs Hudson, carefully, ‘she
wouldn’t let us do anything or give her anything to help. She said she wanted to be alone.’
Without a further word, Alexander raced towards the stairs, taking them two at a time as he hurtled towards the top. He ran to his bedroom and flung open the door, no idea what he would find on the other side. He entered the room to find a small, curled up figure on the bed, a blanket hiding her from view.
Alexander moved to her bedside and gently sat down, placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘What happened?’ he asked, feeling her wince at his touch.
Anita rolled over, moving gingerly, waves of pain shooting through her with every minute movement. ‘Gwyn and Marcus happened,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘and if we didn’t need them to help us send the relic back, they wouldn’t be looking so good themselves right now.’
‘What happened?’ Alexander repeated, relieved to see that Anita’s spirits were still high enough for her to be indignant.
Anita recounted the story, finishing with, ‘and to add insult to literal injury, I didn’t even win the Chase. So now I’ll most certainly be accompanying you to the ball, and I’ve got a good mind to come to the Crowning as well, just to wind them up a bit.’
Alexander laughed. ‘Possibly not the best idea, seeing as we want them to help us send the relic back.’
Anita rolled her eyes. ‘Fine. I won’t come to the Crowning, but I’m definitely coming to the ball.’
‘Okay,’ said Alexander, ‘but first I’m calling my doctor to have a look at your injuries. I doubt you’ll be in any condition to do much dancing at the ball.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ snapped Anita. ‘The ball’s a week away and I don’t think they’ve broken anything; I’ll just have to wear something that covers up the bruising.’
*****
Despite her vehement protests, Alexander managed to get Anita in front of a doctor. He confirmed she had no broken bones or internal bleeding and concluded that other than some serious bruising, she was fine, but Alexander still insisted she rest at home for a couple of days to make sure she properly recovered. Anita reluctantly agreed, mostly because Alexander promised to stay at home with her and Anita had nothing else she wanted to do anyway. After two days of lazing around eating, reading, playing cards and idly chatting, Anita was itching to get out and do something, so was ecstatic when Alexander told her over a breakfast of muesli muffins that he had something he wanted to show her.
After breakfast, wrapped up against the driving rain, they bundled themselves into Alexander’s town car and were whisked into Kingdom, to an area on the outskirts of town that Anita had never previously visited. They pulled up outside an inconspicuous looking townhouse and as the car came to a halt Cleo threw open the front door, rushing over to speed Anita inside.
‘You have got to see this,’ Cleo squealed, now literally pulling Anita through the entrance.
‘See what?!’ she asked, laughing and throwing an interrogative look back over her shoulder at an amused Alexander, who shrugged his shoulders as though he had not a clue what was going on.
‘Words cannot describe,’ said Cleo, breathlessly, ‘you have to see for yourself.’
Anita followed Cleo wordlessly inside, across a black and white marble floor, past an impressive flower display on an imposing circular table, and up three flights of winding staircase with black wrought iron railing until they came out into what looked like a high end clothes boutique at the top. Every wall was adorned with rails of clothes, the windows were swathed with tulle to keep out direct sunlight, several opulent looking sofas had been strategically placed in the middle of the room, and there was a plush curtained off changing area with impressive full length mirrors.
‘What is this?’ asked Anita, entirely confused.
‘My mother’s wardrobe,’ said Alexander, quietly, who she hadn’t even realized had followed them up the stairs.
‘She had quite a collection,’ said Anita, ‘but why are we here?’
‘Well, I know you need a dress for the ball now you’ve decided to come, so I thought you might like to borrow one of these,’ he said, waving his hand around the room. ‘I’m sure you’ll find something to hide the bruises, and if anything doesn’t fit, Fernandez will alter it before next week.’ As he said the name Fernandez, a short, flamboyantly dressed man with round glasses entered the room and flashed Anita a smile.
‘Of course,’ he said, confirming Alexander’s statement.
‘And I’m here to help you choose obviously,’ said Cleo, already leafing her way through the dresses. ‘I’ve already put a couple of options in the changing room. You should start with those.’
Fernandez raised an eyebrow, not impressed by this overexcited slip of a girl treading on his toes, so he not so subtly made his way into the changing room to inspect her choices. He came out a minute later with a reluctant smile on his face, ‘you’re choices are excellent,’ he said genuinely, then to Anita, ‘you should go and try them on.’
Anita could almost reach out and touch the bond forming between her best friend and Fernandez, and threw Alexander a desperate look, conveying something akin to ‘please don’t leave me with these two’. But Alexander sent her a ‘you know I can’t do that’ smile, shrugged to indicate it was already out of his hands, and wheeled out of the room and down the stairs before she had time to open her mouth.
Realising the situation was also entirely out of her hands, Anita compliantly made her way into the large changing area and pulled the curtains closed. Cleo and Fernandez barely even noticed, now engrossed in a conversation about the merits of some black number compared with a midnight blue one. She stripped off and tried on the first of the four dresses awaiting her, a black silk satin number that revealed bruises on her back and at her shoulder, so she quickly took it off. She didn’t even try on dress number two as it was red and too similar in colour to the dress she had worn to the last ball. She was just shrugging on the third, a flowing silver chiffon, when the curtain was thrown unceremoniously aside. Anita whirled around in surprise, but Cleo and Fernandez didn’t seem to notice.
‘No, no, no,’ said Fernandez, pulling the dress off her before it had made it past her shoulders. ‘Try this one,’ he said, passing her another black dress. But she had barely put that one on before it was also abruptly removed and another one handed to her, a pattern that was repeated several more times before Cleo and Fernandez took a step back and made appreciative noises.
The source of their approval was a modestly cut but form fitting yellow silk that hugged her body to the knees then kicked out extravagantly with swathes of flowing fabric. The dress had elegant drape sleeves which not only hid entirely the ugly marks Gwyn and Marcus had left on her arms, but also served to soften the ensemble, giving the laughable impression that its wearer was in some way docile.
‘Spectacular,’ said Fernandez, manhandling Anita into turning a circle so he and Cleo could see the outfit from all sides. ‘This is the one, don’t you agree?’ Anita was about to answer when she realized the question hadn’t been addressed to her.
‘It’s perfect,’ replied an unusually quiet Cleo, ‘just perfect.’ They stood in silence for a moment appreciating their handiwork before Cleo returned to her normal self and a further flurry of activity ensued. ‘Shoes,’ she said determinedly, spinning out of the dressing room and returning moments later with three pairs of stilettos.
‘Hair down but with gentle waves,’ said Fernandez, supporting Anita as she climbed out of the first and into the second pair of heels, these much lower and covered in gold sequins. ‘Yes, these are the ones,’ said Fernandez, Cleo agreeing, brusquely tossing aside the third pair, their pretty flower adornments already forgotten.
‘And natural makeup,’ said Cleo, ‘something soft but glowing.’
‘Indeed,’ Fernandez replied, ‘you’ll come here on the night to get ready and I’ll have stylists waiting for you.’
‘Splendid,’ said Cleo. ‘Now what else?’ she pondered aloud.
‘Nothing,�
�� said Anita sharply. She was inwardly delighted with her outfit but she’d had enough of playing the mannequin and was ready to leave. ‘This is everything I need, thank you.’
‘Spoil sport,’ said Cleo, pouting.
‘Your sport, not mine,’ Anita replied good-humouredly, kicking off the shoes and turning her back to Fernandez for unzipping. ‘It’s lovely though, thank you,’ she said, softness in her voice as the dress fell from her shoulders.
‘You’re quite welcome,’ said Fernandez, Anita pulling on her clothes. ‘The length will need to come down an inch; you’re taller than Celia was, even with lower heels on, but other than that, it’s flawless. I’ll look forward to seeing you before the ball.’
‘Thank you Fernandez, I’ll look forward to it too.’ With that, Anita headed for the staircase, a reluctant Cleo trudging behind her, turning for one last longing look at the treasure trove before following Anita down the stairs.
Chapter 15
On the morning of the ball Helena called them to a meeting at Monty’s. The other Descendants had all but disappeared from public life since Austin and Bas’ deaths, so the ball was an unmissable opportunity to get them on side, but given recent happenings, everybody acknowledged that would be no straightforward task. ‘What about Peter?’ asked Cleo. ‘Can’t we try to get him to convince Gwyn?’
‘She’s never respected her father,’ replied Helena, ‘he’s a source of constant embarrassment to her, not least because he was the one to break the female line.’
‘That wasn’t exactly his fault,’ muttered Cleo, under her breath.
‘Alexander could try?’ suggested Milly. ‘One ruling Descendant to another?’
‘Seeing as Gwyn blames me for Bas’ death,’ said Anita, ‘and Alexander is my boyfriend, I think, if anything, that would push her further in the wrong direction.’
‘It’s best coming from me,’ said Rose. ‘Bas was my son, so she should do me the courtesy of at least hearing me out.’
