Box of Frogs (The Fractured Faery Book 1)

by Helen Harper

  ‘All the same,’ I told her, ‘apart from when you’re here or actually on set, I will be with you at all times. That’s my condition.’

  ‘You’re not afraid to be with me?’

  I shook my head. Frankly, after all that I’d learned about myself, I wasn’t sure I was afraid of anything.

  Chapter Eleven

  If I’d hoped that the gin-induced pounding in my head when I woke in Julie’s guest bedroom the next morning would take my mind off the spreading pain from the cut on my finger, then I was very, very wrong.

  Agonising threads of discomfort were spreading across my shoulder and collarbone. Simply turning my head was becoming painful. I might have snubbed Morgan’s offer of some nux to counteract the rowan poison in my body but if I didn’t find some soon, I’d be crawling back to his door and pleading with him for help. My joints were growing stiff and, when I sneaked a look at the cut itself, the foul rotting scent and sickly-green pus made me recoil. I gave myself a ten-hour deadline. Find nux before Julie finished work tonight or lose my pride, self-esteem and ego.

  After wrapping the wound tightly so that it was protected and the gangrenous stench didn’t seep out, I got dressed and headed gingerly downstairs.

  Julie was already sitting at the breakfast bar in full make-up, sipping from a delicate china cup. Initially I thought it was coffee but when I got closer, I realised I was very wrong.

  ‘You took the news so well last night,’ she said, ‘that I didn’t think you’d mind if I partook of a little of the red stuff.’

  I watched her take a sip. The blood stained her lips but, oddly, I didn’t feel nauseated. I congratulated myself for having a stomach of steel. Decapitated corpses, witnessing the drinking of blood and even copious amounts of alcohol – it appeared nothing could make me vomit. ‘Do you heat it up first?’ I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

  ‘It’s much tastier when it’s warm.’ She smacked her lips then arched an eyebrow as if daring me to retch.

  I shrugged in response. ‘Whatever floats your boat.’

  ‘Would you like some?’

  I smirked. ‘I’ll pass, thanks.’

  She took another sip and smiled. ‘So, I promised you some help with the amnesia problem.’

  ‘I’m not sure you can help,’ I said honestly. ‘Not unless you have a magic memory potion tucked away along with all that blood.’

  ‘I could try bopping you over the head to knock those brain cells back into action.’

  We shared a grin. ‘If I thought that would work, I’d hand you the mallet.’

  Julie chewed her lip thoughtfully. ‘Is there anything you’ve come across that’s been familiar in any way?’

  ‘I feel like Manchester is familiar. I know my way around even if I don’t remember specific streets or buildings,’ I admitted. ‘So I must have lived here before.’ Morgan’s face flashed into my mind. ‘And there are people I’ve met who know me. Or knew me,’ I amended.

  ‘You know, darling, your face just took on the strangest expression. Are we talking about someone special?’

  ‘There’s a man.’

  Julie laughed. ‘There’s always a man. Is he good looking? Upright? The sort you want to wrap his arms around you and always keep you safe?’

  I sighed. ‘Yes, yes and yes. But he won’t do any of those things. He hates me.’

  ‘Why on earth is that?’

  ‘Something to do with a guy called Rubus. As far as I can work out,’ I said, carefully avoiding any mention of the weird Fey shit, ‘I betrayed Mr Sex On Legs by running to Mr Evil.’

  Intrigued, Julie leaned forward. ‘Mr Evil?’

  ‘Not his real name, obviously.’ I winced in frustration. ‘Some guy called Rubus who I’ve not yet met but who doesn’t appear to be the nicest man in the world.’ I laughed bitterly. ‘That’s an understatement. Everyone seems to think he’s the devil incarnate. Because I supposedly work for him – or maybe even sleep with him – I’m the same by default.’

  ‘Do you think this Rubus is the devil?’

  ‘All the evidence seems to point in that direction,’ I said glumly. ‘I’ve not heard a single good word about him.’

  Her eyes held mine. ‘It’s my experience that there’s rarely smoke without fire. You might do best to avoid this Rubus fellow altogether.’

  ‘I’m certainly not trying to seek him out,’ I told her. ‘I have enough complications in my life without adding an alleged super-villain to the mix. I gather I’m pretty villainous too, but there has to be a line somewhere. The reaction that people have to Rubus whenever his name is mentioned is bloody scary.’

  ‘Then avoiding him is definitely the best course of action. Normally I’d say you should make up your own mind rather than listening to gossip, but it sounds as if you don’t need any more problems.’

  I nodded, feeling better for the conversation. ‘What time are we leaving for the studio?’

  Julie glanced up at an old-fashioned clock hanging on the wall. ‘Now would be good.’ Draining the last of the blood, she stood up. ‘Are you ready?’

  I nodded and followed her into the hallway. She checked her reflection in a large hallway mirror and patted her hair before smiling at me and pointing at her reflection. ‘Another thing the books got wrong,’ she murmured.

  ‘I’ll never believe anything I read again,’ I told her. Then I caught a glimpse of my own face in the mirror. Truth be told, if anyone were a shoo-in for the living dead it would be me. My complexion was pale, my freckles stood out in sharp relief and my hair looked matted and unkempt. I made a vague attempt at smoothing the frizz down; if anything, I made it worse. It was lucky I wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

  ‘I’ll drive,’ Julie announced as we reached her car, which was parked in the small garage attached to her house. ‘I need you to go through my lines as we travel.’ She tossed me a dog-eared script. ‘That’s the trouble when you’re on television three nights a week,’ she muttered. ‘Too many damn words to learn. I acted before, you know. In the twenties. Just stage stuff, of course. There weren’t many films being made back then. At least with the theatre, you only have one script to learn.’ She tutted irritably to herself.

  As we drove, I scanned the sunny street, searching for anyone watching Julie’s house. If there was anyone, they were keeping a low profile; all I saw were a few tired people on their way to work.

  I flipped through the script as a thought occurred to me. ‘Do the hunters know that all the vampire myths are – well, myths? Or do they think you can’t go outside in the sun?’

  ‘I’m on television, Mads. St Thomas Close usually shoots during the day. I think the fact that I can withstand sunlight is well and truly out of the bag.’ She paused. ‘Although I have to admit that they tend to try and attack me at night.’

  ‘How many times have they tried?’

  She revved the engine, speeding up to avoid a red light. ‘Too many to count.’ Despite her calm mask, I could sense the underlying tension. She might have evaded capture – or worse – until now but that didn’t mean she wasn’t scared.

  ‘I won’t let them get you,’ I said quietly. I meant it too and not just because she was paying me – although that helped.

  ‘Thank you. I appreciate the sentiment.’

  I drummed my fingers against my thigh. ‘You know, there’s one question you’ve not answered. How do they know? How do these hunters know what you are?’

  For a long moment she didn’t answer. When she did, her eyes were distant. ‘The simple answer is that, like many of my compatriots, I shared my secret with the wrong person. Even though I knew what had happened before, and even though I’m young by vampire standards and have history to guide me, I made the same mistake. The complicated answer is that I fell in love with the wrong person and my name and likeness ended up on the wrong list. My own personal real-life soap opera.’ Her jaw tightened. ‘It was a long time ago. Now, I need to practise. Start when my character, Stacey, wal
ks into the hairdresser.’

  I saluted. I knew when a change of subject was required. ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Finding her first scene, I began to read the lines. ‘Good morning, Stacey.’ I glanced up. ‘Hardly Shakespeare, is it?’

  Julie rolled her eyes. ‘It’s a soap opera.’ She shook her head slightly and deepened her voice. ‘Tom told me you were out with my husband last night. Is it true?’

  ‘Yeah, it is true. And you know what else is true? He loves me.’

  ‘You’re lying!’

  ‘No, I’m not. The best part of all this is that I don’t give two figs about him. I’m only with him because I know it will wind you up.’

  ‘Cue audience gasps,’ Julie muttered.

  I looked at her. ‘You seem annoyed.’

  She made a face. ‘I’d quite like to play the villain for once rather than the wronged, innocent wife. After all, vampires are always being painted as villains. Sometimes I think I should play to type. And Stacey is just so good. She has a lot of fans and people love her but it gets rather monotonous always being so upright and morally good.’ Then she laughed. ‘Don’t go getting any ideas. That’s not the vampire in me talking. Not really. That’s the actor. Bad guys are more fun to play.’

  ‘Why?’ I half-listened while skipping forward to see what happened next in the script.

  ‘Your typical bad guy moves the plot forward. Good guys are weak because they wait for things to happen to them rather than the other way around. Not to mention that all drama is conflict. Villains create that conflict. The people watching at home might be rooting for Stacey to take her revenge on Lisa for what she’s done, but they’ll relish every moment of Lisa’s actions. The entire show would be pulled off air in a moment if it weren’t for characters like Lisa. St Thomas Close needs them more than it needs characters like Stacey.’

  ‘There’s a catfight at the end of this scene. That’s exciting at least.’ I turned the page. ‘Wait. Is Hector your on-screen husband?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He interrupts the fight! And look!’ I jabbed at the words on the page. ‘He believes Lisa when she says you started it. She’s horrible!’

  Julie took her eyes off the road for a moment to look at me. ‘See?’ she said. ‘You’re more fascinated by evil Lisa than by perfect Stacey.’

  ‘I’m on Stacey’s side though,’ I protested. ‘I want her to win.’

  ‘Sure you do. You also want to see her suffer first.’

  I opened my mouth to argue. Then I realised she was probably right. Shaking my head in dismay, I read on. My amnesiac self knew enough about pop culture but nothing about this programme so I’d probably never watched it before. That was definitely a mistake I planned to remedy. After I’d solved all my other problems.

  ***

  I stuck around on set long enough to glare at the production crew and actors as well as to satisfy myself that Julie was as safe as she could be. It would be just my luck if she got herself vamp-napped on my first day on the job. It probably wouldn’t be all that great for Julie either. Still, given that even she had to plead with the studio security to allow me in, and that there was a minimum of entrances and exits, I couldn’t see how she was in danger here. Besides, I had to respect that she’d been at this hunter-avoidance business a lot longer than I had and was fully aware of her vulnerabilities and strengths.

  Borrowing her car with the proviso that I’d pick her up again at seven o’clock on the dot, I drove back towards Manchester city centre. It seemed that if I wanted to get confirmation or repudiation of Morgan’s assertions – as well as some much-desired nux – the man to find was this Rubus fellow. I’d start with Mike Timmons, the Travotel manager. He’d mentioned Rubus so he must have a good idea where I could locate him. I was almost certain that he’d alerted the golf-course goons about my presence in the hotel so they could try and kill me again. This time I’d have the element of surprise on my side; even if I ran into the would-be assassins, I’d be more prepared.

  I indicated left to leave on the next slip road, checking my mirrors as I did so. It was just as bloody well. A boy racer in some showy red sports car appeared from nowhere, undertaking me. I narrowly avoided slamming into his side and the family saloon behind me narrowly avoided crashing into my arse.

  ‘Gasbudlikins!’ I slammed on the horn. The only response I got was a tanned arm thrusting out from the driver’s window and flicking me the finger. Then he accelerated away.

  For the briefest moment, I stared after the disappearing car. A typical superhero would catch up to him, force him to stop in a safe place and remind him pointedly of the rules of the road. I had no idea what a typical faery would do. I did, however, have a very clear image in my head of what a villain would do after such a slight. Bad guys move the plot forward, I reminded myself. Well, I was going to move this arsebadger’s plot forward.

  Speeding up, I gripped the steering wheel and focused, keeping the red car in sight. He wasn’t stupid enough to run the red light at the next crossroads so I caught up to him quickly enough. Music blared out, some thumping, tuneless idiocy that I supposed passed for a song. He deserved some come back for forcing everyone to listen to that rubbish. My guts tightened. I had to time this perfectly.

  In the split second before the traffic lights flicked to green, I altered time. It was becoming easier to manage the more I did it. This time I felt the smooth transition as the road rager’s seconds turned to sludge whilst mine remained normal. Then I veered out on the hard shoulder in front of him, effectively blocking his path. A moment later, time returned to normal and his oh-so perfect vehicle smashed into the back of mine with a tremendous sound of crunching metal.

  For a few seconds I watched in my mirror as he sat dumbstruck in his car. He had the sort of tanned smooth skin and overly large forehead that were annoying all on their own. I paid close attention to his expression, noting the exact moment when it changed from shock to grim determination. He opened his door and got out, anger vibrating in his shoulders.

  There was no doubt in my mind that he’d find it easy to shout at me. He’d use the fact that I was a slightly built female with unkempt hair to try and intimidate me with his maleness. As if. All the same, this would be far easier if I were a large burly bloke. Preferably with a swarthy beard and biceps.

  I waited until he was almost at my car door and got out. When he caught sight of me, his face altered and he hesitated. Then he pulled back his spine and glared.

  ‘You crashed into me!’

  I cocked my head and regarded him. ‘No,’ I said calmly. ‘You crashed into me. You hit my rear. Not only is the liability yours, but the fault is yours.’

  His brow creased for a heartbeat as if something were confusing him. Then he pursed his lips and shook off whatever was bothering him. ‘That’s bullshit,’ he blustered. ‘You … you came out of nowhere.’ He swung his head from left to right as if searching for witnesses who didn’t exist to prove his claim.

  ‘I think you weren’t paying attention. Give me your insurance details and we can settle this properly.’ It occurred to me, rather belatedly, that I didn’t know whether I had any insurance. It didn’t matter; this wasn’t about the money, it was about the racing arsebadger getting his come-uppance. ‘In fact, given that you’re clearly a menace on the roads, we should probably just call the police.’

  As expected, his face paled dramatically. No doubt he had some form of contraband in his wanker-tanker that he didn’t want the police to find. Drugs, probably. Even though I was supposedly a drug dealer myself, I didn’t have any sympathy for him. He should have thought of that before he drove like a maniac and almost killed three people. Although it was tempting to pop out one of his eyeballs or demand his firstborn as retribution, given his reaction to my mention of coppers this seemed like the best way to go.

  ‘We’re not calling the fucking police,’ he hissed. His fists clenched.

  Here we go: this was where he would step forward and threaten me. Ther
e would be numerous epithets – bitch, whore, whatever – and he’d use his size to tower over me and force me into submission.

  I upped the ante myself and took the first step, closing the gap between us. Huh. He was shorter than I’d realised. ‘Why not?’ I enquired, the very picture of calm, cool and collected.

  The man’s face contorted, a furious red flushing his neck. ‘I’ll give you money for the repairs,’ he muttered. ‘We don’t need to involve anyone else.’

  I blinked. I hadn’t expected such a fast climb down. I was almost disappointed. ‘Really?’ I asked. ‘You’ll just give me a wad of cash?’

  He looked from the damage at the back of Julie’s car to the damage on his. ‘Yeah. Like you said, it was my fault. I’ve got money in the glove box. Hang on.’ He twisted on his heel and got into his car, as if fiddling around to find the money. A second later, he started the engine and swerved round both me and Julie’s car in a bid to escape.

  He hadn’t appreciated quite how much damage had been done to his own vehicle. He barely got fifty metres away when his car came to a juddering halt and smoke started to pour from his engine. Once again he got out. He kicked the tyres and started to yell inarticulately at the sky. Either he was a supernatural creature who had the power to talk to animals or he was having a very, very bad day because he’d only just started when a pigeon flapped overhead and let loose, splattering both him and his smoking sports car with gross white liquid. He screeched and then shouted even louder.

  I walked to the back of Julie’s car. It was dented, to be sure, but the damage looked fairly superficial to me. She could dock my wages but it would be worth it. I shrugged, got in, drove the short distance up to the still-bellowing arsebadger and popped my head out of the window.

  ‘Tell you what,’ I said, interrupting his tirade, ‘you pay more attention to how you drive and we’ll call this quits.’ He was lucky I was in a good mood. I was an evil villain, after all.

  He opened his mouth then apparently thought better of answering, snapped it closed again and nodded mutely. I watched him and decided I should make sure. Leaving my own engine running, I got out of the car again and opened his passenger door, ignoring the smoke still billowing out of the front. While the feckless man stared at me, I reached into his glove box. There was, alas, no money but there was a small plastic bag filled with at least a dozen white pills that I doubted he’d got on legal prescription. I ignored them and found his driver’s licence.