Gideon squeaked at her, then suddenly vanished into thin air. Jem blinked in disbelief.
‘He found his talent quite quickly after he arrived in the house. He’s been practising,’ said Mirabelle.
There was the sound of something scampering away.
‘There he goes,’ said Mirabelle, coming to a stop.
They were standing at the entrance to the corridor that led down towards the larder.
‘It won’t hurt just to look, despite what Aunt Eliza and Uncle Bertram say,’ said Mirabelle.
‘So this is the way to down below?’ said Jem.
Mirabelle nodded.
That was when Jem heard it. A long, low moan, rising up from the dark. She took an instinctive step back.
‘Come on,’ said Mirabelle, looking completely unperturbed.
A slightly reluctant Jem followed her past the larder and into the dark. The floor sloped downwards, and the air had a moist earthy quality. The more they descended, the colder it got. Jem could feel the back of her neck tingling. Eventually they reached a long corridor gloomily lit by two dirty yellow bulbs set into wall sconces.
Mirabelle stopped before a huge iron door set into the wall. It looked completely out of place with its surroundings, and in the dim light Jem could make out dozens of strange figures in bas-relief on its surface. Things that looked like two-headed dragons fought with bellowing ogres with mouths likes caves. A creature with the head of an eagle and the body of a lion was ripping into the shredded carcass of a giant serpent. On and on these figures went, filling almost every inch of the door.
One figure in particular caught her attention. A creature with long bony limbs and claws with its skin hanging off. It seemed to be howling and attempting to devour everything around it. Looking at it made her uneasy.
Mirabelle laid a hand on the door, closed her eyes and nodded to herself, her mouth moving as she said something under her breath. Jem could feel the air getting colder around her and she shivered.
Mirabelle opened her eyes and smiled at her.
‘That’s done. I like to say hello.’
Hello to who? Jem wondered. She felt relieved as they made their way back up the slope and headed towards the kitchen.
The kitchen was grey and dusty, and Jem thought it peculiar that a family with such a large dining room would have a kitchen that looked as if it hadn’t been used in decades.
‘Let me show you the garden,’ said Mirabelle.
She took a step towards the back door, then pulled up suddenly before opening it. She watched the sun setting behind the trees, a faraway look in her eyes.
‘What is it?’ asked Jem.
‘I just need a moment. It’s not safe yet,’ said Mirabelle without taking her eyes off the sun, her expression still dreamlike.
Jem turned to watch the sunset through the window: livid tongues of orange and red in a sky bruised to a deep rich purple. They faded as the sun finally disappeared.
Mirabelle sagged, sighing with what seemed to be a mixture of relief and disappointment. She opened the back door and motioned Jem to step through.
It was warm in the garden. The night air hissed softly through the leaves. Jem could see enough to notice that the garden was overgrown, but there was a rightness to its wildness, a kind of pleasing symmetry to the chaos.
Mirabelle had deftly unhooked a bucket from beside the back door. Now she swung it back and forth, whistling as she went. Jem stopped abruptly when she saw what lay ahead of them. There was a huddled mass of flowers clumped together on a patch of grass. They were the same type of flowers that had attacked her and Tom. They were slightly smaller than their counterparts on the path, but there was no mistaking the thick stalks and drooping heads. They looked as if they were sleeping.
Mirabelle looked over her shoulder at Jem. ‘Come on. They won’t bite. I won’t let them.’
Mirabelle held the bucket up so that Jem could see its contents. It was filled with bones. Some had a little meat and gristle still attached. ‘Flower food,’ Mirabelle said.
She took a bone out of the bucket and waved it almost serenely back and forth in the air. One of the flowers straightened up and unfurled its petals, then looked directly at Jem and hissed.
Jem had a strong urge to run, but felt a hand squeezing her arm. Mirabelle looked at her reassuringly.
‘Don’t be afraid. They won’t hurt you. Not while I’m here.’
Mirabelle threw a bone high above her head. It wheeled end over end, and as it arced towards the flowers more of them unfurled their petals and a soft peeling sound filled the air. As the bone made its descent, at least three of the flowers snapped at the air in an attempt to grab it. One was successful, and Jem watched in horrified fascination as the bone landed in what passed for a mouth. The flower sucked it down, while its companions shrieked and hissed in anger.
‘Hush now!’ Mirabelle shouted, taking a step towards them.
The flowers whipped their necks about for a moment, before settling down, their heads bobbing gently as they regarded Mirabelle.
Mirabelle held another bone out and urged one of the flowers forward like someone coaxing a dog with a biscuit. The flower leaned down and took it gently from Mirabelle, then straightened up as it swallowed it back.
‘These are a young batch. The Flowers of Divine Lapsidy have been protecting the house for hundreds of years. They do tend to wander a little, but they’ve made a solemn promise never to go into the outside world.’
Mirabelle handed Jem a chicken bone. ‘You try it.’
Jem took the bone. She was keenly aware that several of the flowers were now crowding against each other as they jostled for position, vying for her attention. Jem tensed herself and raised the bone towards the nearest flower. The flower bowed its head and slowly took the bone between its cupped petals, threw its head back and gulped it down. Jem was surprised when it started cooing, then dipped its head towards her, as if bowing.
‘Go on,’ said Mirabelle.
Jem reached out and touched the flower’s petals. They felt like silk. The flower nuzzled her cheek and cooed some more while its companions chirruped and murmured as if in appreciation.
‘You see?’ Mirabelle giggled. ‘Nothing to be afraid of.’
Mirabelle scattered more bones around the flowers and they proceeded to pick them up and eat them with a little more civility while Jem and Mirabelle sat watching from a nearby bench. There was a symphony of lip smacking, crunching, biting and gentle hissing. Jem was utterly hypnotized by the scene. She shook her head in disbelief.
‘What is this place?’ she asked.
Mirabelle shrugged. ‘Home.’
‘But it’s separate from everything . . . and you’re all . . .’
Mirabelle tilted her head and waited.
‘Different,’ said Jem, feeling as soon as she said the word that it was the wrong thing to say. She was relieved when Mirabelle threw her head back and laughed.
‘We’re people, like you. But not like you. We’re—’
‘Just people,’ said Jem, nodding in understanding.
‘We’re family,’ said Mirabelle.
‘Why do you hide?’
Mirabelle started to swing her legs, looking at her shoes as she spoke. ‘Once, long ago, your people and ours didn’t exactly see eye to eye. Some of us went out into the world when we emerged from the Ether, and your people hunted us.’ Mirabelle paused for a moment. She seemed to be considering something. ‘Many generations ago, we came to an agreement with humankind so that we could all live in peace’ The agreement is called the Covenant.’
‘And the people in the village, have they always known about your existence?’
Mirabelle nodded. ‘Yes, the agreement was made with their ancestors and extends to the world beyond the village. Meanwhile, we stay here, and they stay in the village, keeping our home a secret. Members of the Family can choose to wander into the outside world, but they can’t reveal their true selves or do harm to any huma
ns. Any of the Family who wish to can return here whenever they want, like Odd coming and going. Uncle Enoch calls this place “a pocket out of time”. It’s contained both within and without your world because of magic that has been worked by those who came before. If you have the key, you can gain access.’ She made a face. ‘Or if the magic starts to wear thin and age, which is how you managed to get in.’
Jem considered all of this. There was so much to take in, but the idea of people appearing from globes of lights fascinated her most of all, even after everything else she’d seen.
‘But don’t you have parents?’ she asked at last.
Mirabelle shook her head. ‘We have each other.’
‘But . . .’ Jem trailed off. It just seemed so strange to her, the idea of emerging from some mysterious otherworld, and not having parents.
‘What about you?’ asked Mirabelle. ‘Do you have parents?’
A cold dagger between the shoulder blades would have been kinder, but Jem tried not to show her pain. She shook her head. It took an effort for her to finally speak.
‘My dad died in the war, and Mum . . . my mum died afterwards.’
Jem turned her face away and felt the telltale prickling of tears at the corner of her eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Mirabelle.
Jem waved a hand at Mirabelle as if there were nothing to be concerned about and tried to smile.
She could sense the hesitation in Mirabelle’s voice when she asked her next question.
‘What’s it like? Losing someone, I mean. It’s just that we don’t age or die like you do, and . . .’
There was a long pause. A sudden great stillness. Even the flowers seemed to be listening.
‘It hurts,’ said Jem, trying to focus on the flowers, who now seemed to be looking at her sympathetically.
‘Where?’ asked Mirabelle.
Jem looked at her. Mirabelle seemed genuinely at a loss. Her brow furrowed as if she were trying to translate a strange new language.
‘Here,’ said Jem, laying a palm against her own chest. She thought about it for a moment. ‘Everywhere,’ she said, clenching her hands.
A soft silence descended again, eventually broken by a solitary word from Mirabelle.
‘Sorry.’
Jem looked at her and nodded.
‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ said Mirabelle.
‘You didn’t,’ said Jem.
Mirabelle looked grateful.
They turned to look at the flowers. Their meal finished, they now curled their petals inwards and lowered their heads to sleep.
The garden was quiet. The two girls sat in silence, both of them feeling suddenly at home in the cavernous blue night that surrounded them.
When Jem got back into the bedroom she shared with Tom, she found him on the floor scrabbling under the bed. He pulled himself out from under it, looking slightly exasperated.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘There’s absolutely nothing here!’
‘What are you doing? You should be in bed.’
Tom stood up and dusted himself down. He took a candlestick off the blanket. ‘I did find this. What do you think it’s worth?’
He held it out towards her, and Jem frowned and pushed it aside. ‘Get back into bed.’
He rolled his eyes and smiled, but the smile vanished as he was suddenly racked by a bout of coughing. Jem stepped towards him, but he raised a hand to stay her, and coughed a little more into his forearm.
‘It’s all right. I’m a lot better.’
‘Did you eat?’
‘The big fellow brought me some dinner. He really likes to talk, doesn’t he? Mainly about food. I reckon he’s loaded. His clothes are a bit worn, but they were worth something once. I’ll bet he’s one of those who has all his dosh in a suitcase under his bed.’
Tom went towards the table where some food was still laid out. He crammed bread into his mouth and talked with his mouth full.
‘Where have you been all day?’
‘Mirabelle was showing me around.’
‘Did you see those flowers and that bear again? I wonder what this place is exactly. It’s like some elaborate parlour trick.’
Jem shook her head. ‘It’s no parlour trick. And there are other things, unusual things.’
‘More unusual than man-eating flowers?’
Jem didn’t know what to say. It was hard to put into words exactly what she’d seen. She fully expected to be laughed at.
‘It’s a big house,’ she said. ‘There’s a lot to explain. Maybe later when I’ve had time to think.’
Tom froze mid-swallow, his eyes wide. ‘Did you see anything valuable?’
Jem shook her head angrily. ‘No, Tom. Not this time. We’re guests.’
Tom advanced towards her. ‘Go on, Jem. Tell me.’
‘You’re not stealing anything,’ said Jem, standing her ground. She didn’t like the look in Tom’s eyes. That wild light with which she was all too familiar, the slightly crazed almost hungry look. Beneath this there was always the desperation, and the hurt. That hurt came bubbling right up to the surface now.
‘Have you seen this place?’ he said, gesturing around him. ‘It’s huge. No one who has nothing has a house like this. They’re hiding something. Whatever they have they’re hiding it. I bet they’ve got more stuff than the stinking Allisons!’
His face was contorted and ugly when he said that name. The Allisons were a rich local family who had employed their mum as a secretary for years. When she’d got sick the Allisons had simply let her go. They never sent her anything. They never asked after her. When she died only Tom and Jem were at her funeral. Afterwards they would see old Mr Allison with his finely coiffured silver hair being driven around town by his chauffeur, nose in the air and with the look of a man who didn’t have to deal with the paltry things in life.
His car had been burned out months later. No one knew who did it, apart from Jem, and she never spoke to Tom about it.
‘Think of it, Jem,’ Tom said now, nodding furiously as if that alone might persuade her. ‘Think of all the stuff they have here.’
‘They have nothing,’ said Jem. ‘And even if they did we’re their guests.’
Tom wheeled away from her in disgust. He leaned against the table and started cramming grapes into his mouth.
‘They have plenty,’ he said sulkily. ‘Look at this. They don’t even have to worry about rationing. They’ve got all this food. More than they need.’
‘Whatever else they have, we have no right to take it.’
Tom looked at her. ‘You weren’t saying that when we robbed that butcher’s in Fulham a few months back.’
Jem felt the heat as her cheeks became pink.
‘Or that time when we snaffled those pies from that shop on Denmark Street.’
‘This is different.’
‘How?’
Because I have a friend now, thought Jem. I have a real friend. Someone strange, but someone nice. Someone who trusts me, and I trust her.
She thought these things, but didn’t say them. To say them might invite derision from Tom, and even thinking them made her feel exposed, yet also stronger than she’d felt in a long time. It was a jumble of emotions she just couldn’t tease out. She decided the best thing was to explain nothing.
‘It just is,’ said Jem, feeling slightly foolish. She hated feeling like that, as if Tom somehow was in the right and she wasn’t.
Tom coughed again.
‘You need to get back into bed,’ said Jem.
Tom scowled at her, but he didn’t resist when she took him by the elbow and led him over to the bed. She spotted the medicine bottle on his bedside locker.
‘Have you been taking your medicine?’
‘Yes,’ he said, his tone surly.
He clambered into bed.
‘You should take some more,’ said Jem, unscrewing the bottle and pouring out a spoonful.
‘It makes me drowsy,’ Tom complained.
Jem
held the spoon towards him. Tom rolled his eyes, but he let her put the spoon in his mouth.
‘Do you want me to fluff up your pillow?’ she said.
Tom scowled again, but she could see him trying to fight a smile. He settled back and closed his eyes.
Jem was ravenous. She sat at the table and had some food while Tom drifted off. She ate a peach and some grapes, and then followed that with a bacon sandwich and some ginger ale. She’d never tasted food like it. Years of rationing and being fed scraps by her uncle meant she’d never had anything this delicious before. It was heavenly. She was just finishing up when her attention was drawn to the door. She thought she heard something. A sound like someone whispering outside.
For a moment she couldn’t move. Her heart started to pound, but she took some deep breaths to calm herself and then went towards the door.
She reached out and turned the handle slowly.
The door opened. It was dark in the hallway, but it was also empty. Jem let out a sigh of relief.
You shouldn’t be out here, said a voice on the air.
Jem flinched.
It’s not safe. You should stay in your room.
Jem could barely move. Her heart thudded again, beating faster and faster.
She somehow found the strength to edge back into the room and slam the door shut behind her.
She lay against it for a moment, panting and trembling, trying to calm herself. She almost hopped out of her skin when she heard another voice.
‘Something nice and tasteful. That’s all I’m asking.’
She looked at the bed where Tom lay with his eyes closed and a half-smile on his face. He was clasping the candlestick gently against his chest.
‘Just something nice . . .’ he murmured.
His features slackened as he fell into a deeper sleep. Jem exhaled again.
She was still trembling slightly when she climbed under the blanket a few moments later to go to sleep. She was thinking about that voice she’d heard outside the room. Although she hadn’t heard it exactly. Instead it had felt as if the voice had somehow invaded her mind. But there had been no one in the hallway. Only a solitary spider hanging from the ceiling just above her head.
Though she could have sworn it was looking right at her.
The Monsters of Rookhaven Page 8
