by Helen Harper
“Get it to the others, Julia,” I managed to say.
“Yes, my Lord.” She turned to Mack and gave her a strange look then quickly left.
I licked my lips, trying to right myself. I wondered if I would be able to stand up.
Staines turned to Mack. “Thank you.”
“What was that? Can you speak up a bit? I didn’t quite catch it the first time.” She waggled a finger in ear while I tried not to roll my eyes.
“Fuck off.” He looked back at me. “My Lord, we should get you to bed.”
“No.” I could feel some semblance of strength returning to my limbs. “I need to check on the others.” I stood up, testing out my balance and blinking to clear my vision properly. I fixed my gaze on Mack. “I suppose I owe you a thank you.”
“I am here but to serve you, oh Lord and Master.”
I snorted aloud at her melodramatic obsequiousness. Unfortunately, it was my undoing because it meant I stopped concentrating on staying upright and fell heavily against her. She still caught me though.
Staines grabbed me too. “You are going to bed to rest, my Lord Alpha.”
“Staines,” I growled, “I said I would check on the others and that is what I am damn well going to do.”
“And what good is it going to do them if you keel over on top of them?” he scolded.
Who was Lord Alpha around here? “It is my duty.”
“Shut up, my Lord. A few hours’ rest and you will be raring to go and fighting fit.”
“As right as rain,” Mack interjected. The humour in her tone was so obvious that both Staines and I turned and stared at her.
Staines bowed in her direction. I almost applauded. He was prepared to admit when he’d been wrong. “As the Lord Alpha stated, again, thank you.”
Mack, sadly, was less than gracious. She grinned cheekily back at him and winked. I realised that regardless of how distracting her presence was, I couldn’t bear for her to leave.
“Mack. Will you stay?”
She met my gaze, regret mirrored in her eyes. “I have to go, my Lord. I have a prior appointment that I must keep. I’m sorry.”
My stomach twisted. “Don’t call me that.”
“Err…what?”
“My Lord. Don’t call me my Lord. You aren’t one of us.” I wasn’t explaining myself very well and I could see her body stiffening with hurt.
“Of course,” she said tightly.
I sighed. “The two of us seem to live in a world of constant misunderstanding. What I mean, Mack, is that you aren’t one of my subjects. In fact, after having saved my life and potentially the entire Pack’s lives too, you are most definitely my equal.” Staines’ reaction was one of horror. I ignored him, however, and focused on her, taking her soft hand in mine. “Whatever manner of creature or mage you might be, I don’t just owe you a thank you. We all owe you a true debt of gratitude. I would like you to keep in touch, Mack. And, know this, if you ever need help in any shape or form, then the Pack will be at your side. Do you need intervention with the mages?”
“I … No. Thank you. I gave them my word that I would return to them. They won’t hurt me, they just want to help me.”
It wasn’t unexpected but I felt disappointment all the same. Then she reached out, almost touching my cheek before she seemed to think better of it and pulled away.
Staines coughed. “I can have someone drop you back at the Ministry.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Mack bit her lip. “Can you say goodbye to the others for me? Julia and Betsy and Tom?”
“You don’t want to say goodbye to them yourself?”
“I, uh, no. It’s best this way. I’m going to be gone for a long time.”
I wanted more than anything to stop her. I could dig out those restraints again and force her to stay with me. The others would accept her now the strange weed she’d brought actually was an antidote after all. But keeping her here would be like trying to cage the wind. Besides, she might be leaving to be with the mages but at least this time I’d know where she was. Things could still work out. I leaned over, wanting a taste of her before she vanished yet again. I brushed my lips against hers then, as much as it pained me to do so, I drew myself up “Then I’ll be seeing you, kitten.”
I think I’ll go to my room now after all, Staines. Don’t let me do anything stupid like fall to my knees and beg her to stay.
He took my arm and began helping me stagger off. You’re still sick, my Lord. That’s the red fever talking.
I resisted the urge to look back round at Mack. If you say so. Then I heard the front door opening and I looked back anyway. Her red hair was the last thing I saw.
Epilogue
I put down the phone on the Arch-Mage. Staines gazed at me expressionlessly. “I’m not sure, my Lord, that threatening the entire Ministry is the best course of action.”
I shrugged. “Mackenzie Smith saved our sorry hides, Staines. The least we can do is make sure that the mages treat her properly.”
“She’s still going to cause us trouble, you know.”
I grinned. “I certainly hope so.” I nodded towards the door. “Is he here yet?”
“He’s been waiting for over an hour. Don’t crow too much.”
I raised my eyebrows at him and smiled. “Show him in.”
When the vampire finally walked in, I didn’t bother getting up out of my chair. “Good afternoon, Aubrey. How are things with you and your little bloodsucking friends?”
He inspected his fingernails, attempting to remain nonchalant. I could tell he was still feeling rather tense though. “Things are fabulous, Lord Alpha. We cannot wait to attend the first of the Otherworld social gatherings.” His tone, naturally, conveyed the complete opposite. “We are glad the Brethren and the Pack have come out relatively unscathed from your recent health scare.”
I smiled even more broadly. “I bet you are.”
His eyes sparked with sudden malevolence. Then he swallowed it down. It occurred to me that he hated me because he feared me. I kind of liked it. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a photograph. “We thought, as a token of our … regard for you, we would give you this.”
Somewhat warily I took it from him. I really hoped it wasn’t going to be a picture of the vampires’ casual indifference to violence. When I turned it over and looked at it, however, I was somewhat taken aback.
“I’m told,” Aubrey sniffed, “that some people think they’re cute.”
I stared at the photo of two Cwnn Annwn puppies frolicking in a meadow. It was date-stamped three days previously. “Some people might say that,” I said. “But they also have to be careful that they don’t get their hands bitten off if they try to approach them.”
His gaze met mine. “Indeed, Lord Alpha. Indeed.”
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Night Shade – Chapter One
You have to have a dream so you can get up in the morning.
Billy Wilder
There’s a famous Chinese curse that states, ‘May you live in interesting times.’
I didn’t understand it when I was younger; back then, I was all about living for the moment, attacking each second as if it were my last and sucking the marrow out of life, as Robin Williams’ character in Dead Poets Society would say. But then, as I experienced more of life, more of other people, more of the world, more of simply ‘being’, that is when I truly understood.
The Holocaust was ‘interesting times’. I also have no doubt that those brave soldiers, going over the edge and into the horror of no man’s land in World War One, didn’t pause to think that they were lucky because their lives were not dulled by the tedium of slippers, cigars and armchairs filled with lazy, fat, purring cats. I’d also be surprised if there were any Americans who thought on September 11th 2001, ‘Well, if only
my life was more exciting.’
My true epiphany, when I really worked out how utterly cool boredom can be, was when I was around fifteen years old and had the opportunity to watch paint dry. People pay vast amounts of money to achieve that kind of meditative experience in India, Nepal and Thailand. I achieved this feat without even leaving my bedroom.
My parents had allowed me to choose my own paint. Instead of the baby pink that I’d grown up with, I was finally being given the freedom to design my room the way I wanted. And I wanted black. Black to match my heart, my adolescent angst and my need to be different. Of course, it didn’t occur to me at the time that I was playing into the biggest teenage cliché in the book but, hey, I was happy so it didn’t matter.
It took me the better part of the morning to cover every section of the room carefully and leave no streaks. Black, as it turns out, is a particularly tricky colour to get right.
Anyway, once I was done with the final difficult-to-reach, corner, I sat cross-legged on the floor and began to watch. The first hour was the hardest. It was incredibly tempting to reach forward and touch the paint to see how dry it was. I managed to resist the urge; I also didn’t want to start shifting around uncomfortably – I was on a mission that didn’t involve what my legs felt like or how quickly I could achieve pins and needles. I wanted to watch paint dry.
When you pause and take in the world around you (and I mean really take it in) it’s amazing what you notice. I had always assumed that the walls of my little space were perfectly flat but they had a personality of their own. There was a slight groove in the corner where the door occasionally banged and scraped whenever I was in a bad mood, and there was a veritable atlas of bumps, notches and scrapes that even the thick black paint couldn’t hide. There was a particularly fascinating dark area that was shaped like my English teacher’s head. You’d imagine that you couldn’t spot a dark spot on black paint but it just goes to show that nothing can ever be truly covered up. There’s a lesson in that somewhere. Anyway, I focused on that splodge for at least forty minutes. For weeks afterwards, I felt like I was being watched. As a result, my English homework was extraordinarily well done for a long time afterwards.
At some point, my mother called up the stairs that lunch was ready. I ignored her. If I went off to eat, something might happen whilst I was gone. The patch that was lying in a gleam of sunlight might dry whilst I was away – and that simply would not do.
In that one day, despite the hungry belly, the pins and needles and the ever-watchful gaze of Mrs Humphreys’ splodge, I learned that boredom can be fun. That you can always find beauty in the details, no matter how small. And that sometimes we need to take a break and appreciate the world.
Excitement is a matter of opinion.
* * *
I start every day the same. I have my routine off pat and if Mrs Humphreys could see me now, she’d be impressed – well, she would be with the routine part. When I finally realised what was happening and what I had to do to avoid sliding into a spiral of never-ending despair, I decided to be strict with myself. It was the only way I could avoid staying up till goodness knows when watching dodgy late-night television and reading pointless articles on the internet before collapsing into a coma. Then I’d stay in bed until after three – if I managed to extricate myself from my duvet at all. That way lies madness; I know what I’m like if I don’t keep a handle on my life.
My alarm goes off at 6.24am. I allow myself to hit the snooze button once so when it rings for a second time, it’s bang on half past six. The Chairman doesn’t enjoy my extra doze, even though he should be used to it by now. The moment the first alarm peals into the dark silence of my bedroom, he hops up next to my pillow and stares down at me, occasionally pawing at my face. I’m often tempted to forego the clock and see what he does next but habit is something I must maintain.
I brush my teeth, shower, get dressed and put on make-up. I know that it’s ridiculous to spend time and money on mascara and foundation when almost no one sees me but they help me to feel normal. Normal is important.
I feed the Chairman, who by this time is biting my toes to get me to move faster, then I eat my own breakfast. It’s usually fruit, or maybe a bowl of muesli if I’m feeling unusually hungry. I watch my diet. Junk food is something else I’ve trained myself to avoid; that was easier than I expected. I drink chamomile tea (no, it doesn’t make me any calmer, but I have to try) and check the news and my email. By eight o’clock I’ve started work.
I enjoy the mundanity of my existence. There are no surprises. I can take the time to appreciate subtleties, such as how one day my boss, Jerry, will sign off his email with Warm Regards which gives me an odd fuzzy feeling, despite its formality. The next day he might simply use Regards, and then I wonder if the new baby kept him up the previous night and he’s feeling grouchy. When he’s in a particularly genial mood, he uses Cheers. And today, because he’s asking for more than my contract generally allows, he’s used High Five From Down Low. I wrinkle my nose. I generally don’t enjoy cheese. Still, the task is vaguely interesting – sorting out bugs on a website a different contractor created – so I get down to it. By mid-morning, when the doorbell rings and the familiar terror attacks me, I’ve made considerable inroads.
When I say familiar terror, it really is that. Anyone who’s ever felt frightened will recognise the symptoms: the hairs on my arms stand up and my heart starts to quicken. I push back from the desk, gripping the arms of my ergonomically designed (and vastly overpriced) chair. My breaths are already fast and shallow so I peel one hand away from the armrest and place it above my belly button, reminding myself to exhale.
When I hear the voice calling from outside, my shoulders sag in relief. It’s only my mother.
‘Cooooeeee!’
I’m tempted, as always, not to answer but I can’t pretend that I’m out. She’d just get worried and do something stupid like call the police. She did that once before, in the early days when I refused to get out of bed. I spent the next five hours in my wardrobe and was only coaxed out when they threatened to section me. You’d think that would make her less likely to involve the police again but logic’s not my mother’s strong point. Not that I have it in spades either.
I sigh and stand up. I have special coping mechanisms for the times I need to open the front door. I ignore the rising nausea and lightly pinch the tip of each finger, alternating hands. Then I slowly walk out. I brace my palms on the walls of my narrow hallway to remind myself of their solidity. Fortunately, I already know who’s on the other side so I don’t get light-headed. It’s a small victory but one I still celebrate internally. Baby steps.
My front door takes a long time to open. It’s steel reinforced and has five separate locks. Frankly, if the inheritance I received from my grandfather had allowed, I would have gone the whole hog and ordered a retinal scanner too. Just because I live in a quiet cul-de-sac in a small Scottish town doesn’t mean I shouldn’t take security seriously.
When I finally open the door, I keep the chain on. There’s a spyhole but it doesn’t provide a clear path of vision because of the large oak tree in the front garden. I double-check there’s no one other than my exasperated-looking mother waiting on the doorstep before I fasten the chain. I can see the Chairman rolling around in a bolt of sunshine behind her. He has a special collar that allows him – and only him – through the cat flap. He blinks at me lazily and I smile.
‘Zoe, for heaven’s sake, is all this really necessary?’
My smile vanishes and I roll my eyes. The door was installed sixteen months ago; my mother visits at least once a week and she still goes on about it. At least she’s stopped asking for a key. It’s not that I don’t trust her but as I have carefully explained many times, if her bag was lost or stolen, anyone could get into my house. ‘I wasn’t expecting you today,’ I tell her sternly.
‘Well,’ she answers, pushing past me, ‘I agreed to join Madge and her cronies for bridge tomorrow so I can’
t come as I promised.’
‘Is bridge really a good idea after the last time?’ I start to lock the door again.
‘I’d had too much gin then,’ she dismisses.
Reaching up for the highest lock, I’m glad she can’t see the expression on my face. ‘And this time you’re going to stay off the booze?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, darling. But gin makes me silly. I’ll have Pimm’s instead.’
I turn round. She’s observing me with a mixture of fondness and despair. I can’t blame her really.
‘What happens if there’s a fire?’ she asks.
‘Mum…’
‘I’m being serious. You’ll never get out in a hurry.’
‘I’m very careful. As you well know.’
She snorts. ‘You’re twenty-five years old. You’re not supposed to be careful. You’re supposed to have fun.’
‘I am having fun.’ I don’t look at her as I say this. I don’t have to.
‘We could try the doctor again.’
‘I’ve seen enough doctors.’ I remain stubborn. ‘Besides, few of them make house calls these days.’
‘Madge’s son has a friend from university who’s a psychiatrist.’
I grit my teeth. My condition is not a secret but I still get wound up when it’s obvious she’s been discussing me. She spoke to Madge, Madge spoke to her son, her son spoke to his mates. I know I’m a weirdo; I don’t need the rest of the world to know it too. Okay, my mother means well but I’ve been down this road before – and not just once. I’ve accepted my life with what I believe is impressive equilibrium. I wish everyone else would do the same.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ I manage.
‘I’m not staying. I have an appointment at the hairdresser’s.’ She eyes my home-hacked mop but thankfully doesn’t comment. ‘I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Do you need anything?’
I soften. She goes out of her way to look after me and it can’t be easy having a hermit for a daughter. ‘No. I had a delivery yesterday.’
