The Flower and the Serpent

by Madeleine D'Este

  ‘That's what I'm here for.’

  ‘And Alan Wolf will be here on Friday?’

  ‘He said he would.’

  The more times Ravenswood said it aloud, the more he believed it was true.

  Angelika walked away, leaving Ravenswood with nothing else to distract his mind. He shuddered. What was that noise?

  ***

  ROWAN

  Headed down the corridor, Rowan's head thumped in time with her boots on the linoleum. She pressed her palm against her queasy tummy as the walls shimmered and the red exit sign in the distance hurt her eyes.

  She dropped a few silver coins shakily into the slot and dialled.

  ‘Oh good. You're there.’ She sighed. ‘I'm not feeling so good. Real pounder... There's this rotten smell. I can't get away from it... Maybe it’s something I ate... Not that. I hope it's not that. Don't even think it.’

  The lights blinked off and on again. Rowan swallowed hard and glanced up at the flickering ceiling.

  ‘S'OK.’ She grimaced. ‘The lines are so hard. I can't make sense of it, you know, it’s all old poetry. I don't know if I'm up to it... Yeah, I talked to him.’

  Something fluttered in the corner of her eye. She blinked and then squinted at the payphone. Hairy black legs poked out of the coin return. Rowan jumped back, dropped the phone and clamped her hand over her mouth. Her eyes bulged as a black spider slid out from under the silver flap and scampered across the keypad. The receiver swung on its cord and thumped against the brick wall.

  The spider scuttled away into the darkness and Rowan took a breath. She cautiously picked up the phone again, but she stepped back until the cord stretched taut.

  ‘Sorry. A spider came right out of the coin slot. I know. Yuck,’ she said, forcing out a laugh. ‘At least, I think it was a spider. Last night I had the weirdest—’ She scrubbed her hand over her forehead. Her skin burned hot under her fingertips. ‘I'm coming down with something. Can you come and get me? I don't want to go home. Not yet.’

  She rested her cheek against the cold brick wall.

  ‘Down by the Outlet in... fifteen minutes? Can you come any sooner? It's creepy down there. Okay, I guess... I've been thinking about what you said last night,’ she said, with a little chuckle. ‘Maybe. See you soon... You too.’

  She put down the receiver and wrapped her black woollen scarf around her neck then checked her watch with a sigh. She picked up her backpack, turned and jumped.

  ‘Oh.’ She staggered back against the brick wall and clutched at her scarf. ‘You scared me. Go ahead I’m finished.’

  With a snap, the power dropped out completely and the corridor was black as a cave. In the dark, the putrid smell returned and amplified. It oozed inside Rowan's nostrils and down the back of her throat. Her mouth felt coated with a cloud of roadkill, manure and off milk.

  Rowan didn't see what happened next. But she felt the first blow.

  ***

  VIOLET

  Violet shoved open the heavy fire doors as dusk snuffed out the last of the daylight. She jammed a cigarette into her mouth. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with her lighter.

  Three times she tried and failed to produce even the smallest spark.

  ‘Shit,’ she grunted.

  ‘Need some help there?’

  The tech guy, his black hoodie pulled up over his head like a monk, stretched out his hand with a crooked grin.

  Violet dropped her scowl and handed over the yellow plastic lighter.

  ‘Toby, right?’

  He nodded and struck the wheel, producing an inch-high flame on his first try. Violet shook her head with a half-smile.

  ‘I've got a knack.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Lucky.’

  She reached for the lighter but he beckoned her towards him instead. She leaned in, cigarette in her mouth and he lit it for her.

  The first drag was so good, she almost moaned out loud. The little white stick magically smoothed off the edges of her rough day.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said through a plume of smoke.

  ‘No worries,’ Toby said and lit his own. His cigarette crackling as he sucked hungrily. He handed back her lighter. ‘See ya tomorrow,’ he said, and Violet watched him as he loped away, his black shirt blending into the darkness.

  Violet’s shoulders softened as she drew more smoke deep into her lungs. Time slowed down and all their lies drifted away. By the time she squashed the butt into the concrete with her boots, her head was clear, and her hands were still.

  Lionel was waving to Jacinta as he crossed the Quad. He flowed rather than walked across the concrete, he always seemed to be on stage. With his golden skin and dark almond eyes, he was not exactly Violet’s type, but he was what her grandma called ‘handsome’. He was different from the others. He listened and didn't stink of dirty socks and or cheap deodorant.

  ‘Wait up,’ she called. She pushed the last coil of smoke out of her lungs and hauled her bag over her shoulder.

  Lionel turned, his forehead furrowed for a brief second. ‘Violet. How are you?’ he said without breaking stride.

  ‘I've had better days.’ She scuttled to catch up with him on her short legs.

  ‘Fighting with friends is never fun.’

  ‘Friends. Ha. Smoke?’ She offered him the packet but he flicked his hand away. ‘I'm glad we got a chance to be alone. We need to chat.’

  ‘Do we?’ He arched an eyebrow.

  They mounted the steps towards the school entrance and the bus stop, past the clipped lilly pilly hedges and the low floodlit concrete wall, which was carved with the school's name and logo –- the symbol of a light on a hill.

  ‘Our show last term was a real hit.’

  ‘It was fun.’

  ‘But this one....’ Violet groaned. ‘Ravenswood's nowhere near as good as Mrs Tulloch. Is he?’

  ‘He's alright,’ Lionel said as he brushed something off his jacket sleeve.

  ‘But he's so inexperienced and arrogant.’

  ‘He's not that bad. Besides, there's only so much we can achieve in a few days.’

  ‘Exactly. It's mental trying to do Macbeth in three days. Most of the idiots don't even understand it. I wonder if he even does.’

  ‘I wouldn't worry yourself. It'll be fine.’

  ‘I'm not worried. But Alan Wolf, eh? That makes things really interesting,’ Violet said as she struggled to keep up.

  ‘Should be good,’ Lionel yawned.

  ‘Totally. You want to go on to study drama, don't you?’

  ‘No.’ Lionel guffawed and pulled himself up to his full six feet. ‘I'm going to be a barrister. This is only a bit of extra-curricular activity. Looks good on the resume, you know, working in a team, public speaking, that kind of thing. Sport bores me to tears, so drama was the other option. And I seem to be alright at it.’

  Violet's shoulders slumped. Was she the only one taking this production seriously? She pursed her lips. ‘But you don't want Angelika dragging you down?’

  ‘She won't drag me down.’

  ‘He only picked her because she's pretty.’

  ‘She's not quite my type,’ he said with a raised eyebrow. ‘But yes, she is very beautiful. Blind Freddy can see that.’

  ‘If you like that kind of thing. Personally, I think you and I would've made a much better match for the Macbeths,’ Violet said. ‘Don't you think?’

  ‘Interesting,’ Lionel said.

  ‘Remember the review for The Sound of Music? We could have done it all again.’

  Lionel reached the bus shelter a few steps ahead of her. The Perspex wall was covered in the same yellow graffiti Violet had seen on the Quad wall in the morning. A thin fog was crawling in. The mist had already swallowed up the square school building behind them.

  Lionel stepped out and peered down the road.

  ‘We had real chemistry.’ Violet followed Lionel to the kerb. ‘Everyone said so.’

  ‘People were very kind.’

  ‘I knew you'd agree,’
Violet said. ‘You know you’ve got influence. Ravenswood listens to you. All you need to do is have a word with him and I'm sure he'd ditch Angelika and put me in the role.’

  ‘I'm just an actor like the rest of you.’ He shrugged. ‘And what about Rowan?’

  ‘Never mind her—’

  ‘Need some help there, Lionel?’ Wayne and Jason emerged out of the fog, bringing their own cloud of pot with them. ‘She bothering you?’

  Lionel laughed politely. ‘Thanks fellas, but I can handle myself.’

  ‘Seriously. Think how much better the play would be with me by your side?’ Violet said as she grabbed his wrist. ‘It's going to be a disaster without us.’

  Lionel flinched and snatched his hand from her grasp.

  ‘Vile-ette's trying it on with the gay bloke,’ Wayne cackled.

  Jason snorted, his eyelids droopy. ‘She's even dumber than I thought.’

  ‘I wasn't—’ Violet spun around, her jaw clenched hard as Wayne and Jason laughed openly in her face. Lionel stood there, without a word in her defence and pretended to look for the bus.

  Maybe he was just like the others.

  ‘I thought you'd understand,’ she huffed at Lionel and stomped into the fog towards the gravel carpark.

  ‘Don't worry about them, Violet,’ Lionel called. ‘The bus is coming.’

  ‘I'd rather walk,’ she yelled back and tugged up her duffle coat hood to hide her face.

  ‘Be careful.’ Lionel’s voice drifted through the white fog.

  ‘You're the ones who should be careful,’ Violet muttered as she trudged away.

  ***

  HOLLY

  ‘She's talking about hurting people,’ Holly said as she leaned over the bus seat and Lila dabbed her nose with a blood-soaked tissue. ‘I'm worried about her.’

  ‘She's heart broken,’ Lila replied with a nasal voice.

  ‘You're too good to her,’ Holly said. ‘Are you sure you're alright?’

  ‘I'll be fine,’ Lila said. ‘It's a bit weird, though. I never get nose bleeds.’

  Holly pressed the button for the next stop. Today a round-bellied man sat behind the wheel and there was no sign of yesterday's strange woman.

  ‘You're not going home?’ Lila cracked. ‘I thought we could—’

  ‘I've got to go and see Dahlia.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Lila looked down.

  ‘Family stuff,’ Holly lied.

  Lila smiled painfully. ‘I guess I'll go home then.’

  ‘I’ll call you later? You should get an early night. Eat some soup.’

  ‘It was only a bit of blood,’ she said with a swallow.

  The rain lashed down hard on Holly's head as she waved goodbye to Lila. She ran towards the shops and under the protection of the corrugated iron awning. The shop-front lights shimmered in the puddles and Holly shook the drips from her hair and headed for The Three Torches.

  A chorus of bells tinkled as she pushed open the door and stepped into a warm cloud of cinnamon sugar and spicy incense.

  The voluptuous Dahlia straightened up from a glass display case, a chunk of pink crystal in her hand and a silver pentagram swinging at her neck. Her hair was exactly the same shade of brown as Holly's, but long and coiled on top of her head. ‘Little niece. I've been expecting you.’

  ‘Read it in the cards?’ Holly lifted an eyebrow.

  ‘Cheeky. I saw you get off the bus.’

  ‘It’s bit dead in here.’ Holly glanced past the rows of tall dark-stained wooden bookshelves to the cafe. ‘I thought witches weren't afraid of wintry weather.’

  ‘How many times have I told you? This is a new age health café.’

  ‘What's all that stuff for then?’

  Dahlia smiled as she placed the pink crystal alongside the small steel-bladed daggers and solid eggs of jade, and locked the lid on the red velvet-lined cabinet. Bookshelves loomed behind her, crammed with books on every topic from macrobiotics to Morris dancing. Pink feathered dreamcatchers floated from the ceiling and, on to the left, sat a rack of tie-dyed leggings and tunics in jewel-toned crushed velvet.

  ‘Novelty gifts. That's what I tell the police. One of the lovely boys in blue popped in today. Asking me about some yellow graffiti. Tea?’

  ‘If you can fit me in.’ Holly waved her hand past the bookshelves and towards the cafe at the back. It was a ghost town.

  ‘It’s been quiet all afternoon. I even sent Starshine home. Grab yourself a seat.’

  Dahlia’s eggplant-coloured gown rippled over her generous hips as she crossed the black and white linoleum, her silver jewellery jingling. She flipped up the hinged counter-top and stepped behind the till to the well-stocked cake fridge. For a health café, there was a distinct lack of brown rice and lentils.

  Holly took the seat closest to the small stage, which was used mainly on Thursday nights for bad erotic poetry and fiddle music. The rain continued to bucket down on the tin roof, the drumming drowned out the pan flutes being piped through the speakers.

  Dahlia waddled over to join her. Two small earthenware teapots with cups and a plate of golden biscuits balanced in her arms.

  Holly grabbed a biscuit before the plate touched the yellowing lace tablecloth.

  ‘Ginger?’ Holly mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs.

  Sulphur filled the air as Dahlia struck a match and lit the tea-light candle beside the sugar bowl. ‘Trying out a new recipe for winter solstice. You know? On Friday? You are coming to the party, aren't you?’ Dahlia pointed to a flyer pinned to the wall, a black linocut of an owl on a leafless tree. ‘I know your mother forgets these things. But it's important to maintain the traditions.’

  ‘That's our performance night.’

  ‘Ye gods. I didn't realise.’ Dahlia patted Holly's hand. ‘So sorry, little one. I'm going to have to miss it.’

  Holly pressed her lips together, before crunching into another biscuit. ‘It's fine.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Holly roused a smile and made a mental note to remind her mum. ‘A few more of these, and I can be persuaded.’

  ‘They’ve won the Holly seal of approval? The coriander makes all the difference,’ Dahlia said as she poured a cup of tea. The steam whirled towards the ceiling, which was painted with silver stars. ‘How is the play going?’

  Holly sipped her tea. ‘Ugh.’

  ‘It’s dandelion. Good for your kidney, liver, tummy, and all that. Cleans out everything. All that fried food you've been eating. Don't argue. I know you.’

  Holly tipped in four teaspoons of sugar, stirred thoroughly and sipped again. ‘Much better.’

  ‘How is the play going?’

  ‘Shakespeare is hard. The old words and the rhythm. But playing a witch is fun.’

  Her aunt winked and Holly rolled her eyes with a half-smile. ‘Don't start.’

  ‘I didn't say anything.’

  Holly threaded her fingers around the warm earthenware and held the cup to her lips. She listened to the slosh of car tyres on the wet road outside. Dahlia steepled her fingers on the table, her blue eyes probing into Holly's face.

  ‘So? Out with it.’

  Holly sighed and planted her cup down. ‘It's Violet—’

  ‘What has she done this time?’

  ‘She didn't get the part in the play she wanted and she's gone a bit…’ Holly stirred up a whirlpool in her herbal tea. ‘She's saying all kinds of crazy stuff.’

  Dahlia's forehead wrinkled. ‘What kind of stuff?’

  ‘I was trying to be supportive. You know, look at the situation from her side. But then she started to say all kinds of weird things. And I couldn't help myself.’

  ‘Your honest tongue unfolded again.’

  ‘She said she wants to hurt Angelika, the girl who got the part she wanted. Get her out of the way.’ Holly slumped. ‘What do you think I should do?’

  ‘She’s always liked a drama. But would she actually go that far?’

  ‘I'm worried. Maybe she's havi
ng a nervous breakdown and Angelika is in real danger. What if something happens and I didn't say anything? Then again, I could get her in real trouble for talking shit.’

  ‘You're a good person.’

  ‘I don't feel like it.’

  ‘There are ways you can stop her. Without tattling to the teacher. You can bind her from hurting anyone. Including herself.’

  Holly shook her head and exhaled through her teeth. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? I don't want any part of that stuff.’

  ‘You came for help.’ Dahlia raised her eyebrows as she sipped her tea. ‘You deny your own heritage, but you know we have solutions.’

  Holly blinked, her head heavy on her neck. What else did she expect from Dahlia?

  Her aunt sighed. ‘If you insist on being so normal, I'll be the good aunty and give you tea and biscuit sympathy.’

  Holly chewed on her lip. ‘I'm not sure what to do.’

  ‘Listen to your gut.’

  She replied with a half-shrug.

  ‘Your mother has taught you nothing? Not even the simplest things like scrying?’ Dahlia tutted. ‘Such a waste.’

  ‘I’m not like you.’

  ‘It’s in your blood,’ Dahlia insisted. ‘But alright, tell me more about Violet. Has she changed?’

  ‘She's different than when she was Jeanette.’

  ‘Does she still feel like Violet?’

  Holly squinted. ‘In some ways.’

  ‘Are you sure it's her?’ Dahlia's tone turned serious.

  ‘Of course. She was right in front of me.’

  ‘But is she still Violet? Still the same person? Teenage girls are particularly vulnerable.’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘There are strange energies at work here. Beacon Hill is not like other places.’

  Holly lifted an eyebrow. ‘Do you know a woman bus driver?’

  ‘The strange can be good or bad.’ Dahlia grasped Holly's hand, her palm warm and smooth like dough. ‘What is your inner voice telling you?’

  ‘I don't want to be a dobber,’ Holly sighed. ‘Maybe she's just letting off steam.’

  ‘You have to do what you feel is right. Don't start the rest of your life ignoring what you feel. Don't be like the rest of the sheep.’