“A blood promise it is.”
Smithy leaped out of bed, the action so smooth and athletic I was gobsmacked, and ran to the bathroom to return with a razor. He snuggled close and I offered him my thumb, intensely aware of the friction of our flesh. Parts of my body flickered pleasantly, harder and harder to ignore. He made the cuts and we pressed, Smithy enclosing our thumbs in his other hand. The strength of his gaze seized my lungs.
“I swear on everything precious to me that I have never, and will never, look without your permission. If your life is in jeopardy, all bets are off.”
“Hey! I didn’t agree to that.”
He peeled his thumb from mine. “You know, at the start, the jealousy towards that bastard, Hugo, was so bad. I could only get a glimpse of you when you were seriously stressed. The visions didn’t happen a lot. I had to wait for them, yet he was with you constantly. It didn’t seem fair.
“Then the rollercoaster started. Why did Aunt Bea feel the need to appoint a guardian gargoyle for you? Aside from a few bullies, whose butts you kicked as easily as blinking, where was the risk? Finally, it occurred to me. Maybe you were in some kind of danger. After those early months, I gradually became grateful Hugo was there, keeping you safe. I can’t describe the relief now you’re home, where I can take care of you.”
I was over being coddled, pulling my hand completely free of his grip. Who gave a hoot when they’d shipped me off to boarding school and I really craved the comfort of a friend?
“Poppycock,” I snapped. “I don’t bloody need all this security. Bea’s going senile if that’s what she thinks. And I don’t want you to take care of me! I am not a toddler.”
Competing with the anger, the rash on my wrists grew worse and stung like Chinese burns. I rubbed my arms against my thighs.
“Winnie. What have you done?” Smith, who apparently never missed a thing, grabbed my hands and turned them over for a clearer view of my inner wrists. “You got tattoos?”
On each was the faint outline of a triangle, positioned so one of the points tipped to my fingers. I had seen this design before – frames filled with odd symbols – the triangle from the front of the diary. The same blood-red triangle Raphaela died in. Abruptly, Bea popped her head around my bedroom door, which stood ajar.
“I am pleased to dispel the rumour of my senility, Winsome. Less happy because it means you truly are under threat. If you would both get dressed and meet me downstairs without delay, I’d be most thankful.” And then she was gone.
“I hate it when she does that.” I began to scoot to the side of the bed, both eager and hesitant to discover what truths they’d finally share.
“Winnie, wait.”
I turned back to Smithy. He beckoned me closer and I crawled over. His cheeks were pink and he looked edgy. “I, um, think we need a better way to make a pledge.”
Considering this for a moment, I nodded and lay against the bedhead. “Okay. As long as it involves less pain, not more.”
He wriggled up from his flat position to face me, delicately adjusting my robe so I was fully covered. We were almost nose to nose. If only I could nip into the bathroom and clean my teeth, run a comb through my fuzzy, sleep-mussed hair, but there was nothing I could do without ruining the moment.
“I think that’s possible.”
“What did you have in mind?” I croaked, my pulse accelerating.
His turquoise eyes gazed dreamily into mine, the longing clear in his expression. Shimmying to wrap every bit of me, his arms secured me to his chest and legs entwined mine. And then it truly hit me. Where I was: in my bed next to a dazzling boy, who seemed to genuinely care for me, two flimsy layers of cotton the only barrier to his tantalising bare skin. After all the recent pain and fright, desire seemed the most incongruous reaction, brighter because of the tense circumstances, like a ray of sunshine after weeks of rain.
Bubbling attraction electrified the air between us. He cupped my face and slowly traced a path along my jaw, the fingers of one hand coming to rest beneath my chin. He brought his mouth down to mine so slowly I had plenty of time to take in his long lashes and notice the flecks of amber in his irises. The anticipation was so sweet, I ached for the moment of contact. I almost couldn’t breathe.
“I have waited so long to do this properly,” he whispered.
He moved to feather his slightly parted lips against mine, so softly at first it tickled. His eyes closed. I reacted automatically, trailing my fingers up his spine until my arms wrapped about him. I folded myself harder into his warmth, rubbing his strong back, one hand tangling in his hair. I lightly followed the contour of his mouth with my tongue, hungry for the experience, enjoying the sweetness of him and conscious of our skimpy outfits.
The pressure of our kiss increased, mouths a little wider, lips caressing urgently. It was the most tender lingering sensation that made me yearn for more. Heat blistered through my body, our inhalations shallow. I flattened myself closer, tugging the robe apart to trace the sensuous ripples of his bare chest. I did not want to stop, greedy for every bit of him. He abruptly pulled back.
I gasped at the interruption. “Why are we stopping?”
“Geez, Bear! I didn’t expect you to be so … so great at it, straight away.” Completely flustered, his shoulders heaved and he struggled for composure.
Should I be insulted or complimented? “Why didn’t you think I’d be good?”
My enthusiasm fizzled. Removing my hands from his torso, Smith placed them in my lap and pulled the robe about himself, lashing the belt and knotting it for good measure. “Well, you know. You haven’t had much experience.”
“And how would you know?” I had a bad feeling about this.
“Well, I told you. I get flashes of you when you’re agitated.”
Holy mother! I warped from bliss to mortification at the speed of light. “Well I’m spectacularly agitated now! How many angles are you getting this from?”
“It doesn’t happen when I’m actually with you. And it wasn’t my choice to see it. You with another guy. Believe me. My punching bag copped an extra work-out.” His expression merged exasperation and awkwardness. “Making-out for you seemed boring, an experiment or a chore.” I couldn’t dredge a grain of sympathy and glared at him.
“Luckily, it was only twice and you ended it quickly. That lowlife in the movie theatre got what he deserved. I would’ve broken more than his hand.” He glowered mutinously. “But I want your first time to be something you remember forever, something special. Not a backseat grope with a clueless schmuck who’s too dumb to appreciate the beautiful girl he’s with.”
I’d never seen Smithy so indignant. My face slackened from glare to stare.
“I want you to want it to be with me. And it’ll be my first time not drunk-out-of-my-mind and thankful not to remember in the morning. My first time with someone I actually want to be with.” He squared his shoulders, gathering courage as though preparing to dive from a tall cliff. “My first time with the only girl I’ve ever loved.”
Smith gulped, watching me keenly, while hope blossomed on his divine face. It was not difficult to let the last two sentences wipe out everything I’d endured since arriving home. The joy overwhelmed and I took a deep breath, ready to share how elated I felt.
“Winsome, please. Time is of the essence.”
Bea sounded desperate, her voice a distant echo from somewhere in the warehouse below. Alarmed, Smithy jumped from the bed, hurrying towards the door. “We’ll talk later. I’ll meet you in the corridor as soon as I’m dressed.” He smiled over his shoulder. “You’d better get dressed too, or I won’t be able to concentrate on anything other than you. I have a feeling what comes next is very important.”
I sighed once he’d jogged from my room. I had that same feeling too and the understanding brought on black despair because once the facts were out, I could not deny the horror of what was coming anymore.
Avoiding shards of broken glass from my shattered wardrobe mirror, I skirted to my drawers on the opposite side of my room to rummage my hidden stash of clothes banned by Fortescue. I’d had to rescue my favourite lucky t-shirt from the bin on several occasions, its motto: ‘Get Funked’. I really needed all the luck I could get. Hugo’s abandoned cot ran along the wall, forlorn without its owner. It was weird I had so quickly accepted his presence, after my initial complaint. I wished again that he was here.
Donning a daggy pair of drawstring shorts, I dawdled on the edge of my bed slowly lacing moth-eaten Converse sneakers. Their original red suede was now scuffed and faded. Picking my way over crunching glass, I shunned my reflection in the bathroom mirror and cleaned my teeth. I pulled my hair back in a messy bun. I’d never had to dress up for Smith and wasn’t about to start. Now there was even less point, given that he could sweep in on me via psychic CCTV at any opportunity.
Then I wasted more time opening the window shades. A bleak grey sky emerged to signal an imminent downpour, the weather matching my mood. With no further excuse for delay, I eventually made my way to the top of the stairs, where Smithy loitered in boardies and a singlet, the embodiment of beach-bronzed Aussie male splendour. He inspected my t-shirt approvingly, his eyes lingering to read its message. I sucked in my tummy.
“Maybe later.” He winked and captured my hand in his.
We descended the steps into the collection hall in silence, my palm sweaty in his, neither of us brave enough to speculate on what came next. Smithy grimaced as we skirted a collection of thumbscrews in a lit display case, heading for Mike in the central space. Up ahead, partially obscured by the slab of granite forming our angel’s plinth, Mrs Paget and Fortescue could be glimpsed lurking by two golden Doric caducei framed in a cross on the landing wall, just inside the entrance.
These were the staffs carried by ancient ambassadors, the entwined snakes and wings of Hermes now a symbol for medicine. Double full-sized onyx statues of Isis, Egyptian goddess of children, and her husband-brother Osiris, god of the afterlife, guarded either side of the door. Ritual chalices were shelved in upright display cabinets, which made a parade heading up to the steps.
“As Brigadier General for the Royal Regiment, Fifth Battalion, I exercise my right to carry a bayonet.” Fortescue’s voice floated our way.
Mrs Paget grunted permissively. “In that case, I’m bringing my slingshot.”
Bea appeared from a side corridor, sliding a bullet cartridge into the gun she carried and chambering a round, before tucking it away in a holster strapped to her waist. Smith and I gave each other incredulous sideways looks as we approached. The cats paced up and down at the door.
“Please do not start, Jerome. A bayonet is rather conspicuous on modern city streets. And if you insist on dragging out one of those moth-eaten uniforms, I really shall follow through on my threat to burn them. I feel a slingshot is redundant, Grace, given the revolver belted beneath your vest.”
Fortescue sniffed. “It is alright when you wish to gallivant about with a crossbow, Beatrice.”
“Oh, for goodness sakes. This, from someone with a collection of axes. Besides, that was two hundred years ago in Lithuania. Crossbows were considered a fashion accessory back then.”
Mrs Paget cleared her throat in warning as we appeared. They were all dressed in dark, comfortable clothing, fit for stealth. I pretended I’d heard and seen nothing. I could not begin to guess what Smithy pretended. We cleared the collection and joined the five of them.
“Ah. The lady of the hour. Show us your Deltas, Winsome.” What the hell was a Delta? Fortescue’s lips pursed when he spotted my t-shirt. “That horrid top seems to be a boomerang. It has a habit of resurfacing, despite the fact I’ve thrown it in the garbage. Several times.”
“I guess it’s magic,” I smirked.
“A sense of humour in times of strife is one of you most redeeming qualities, Winnie.” Aunt Bea smiled at me, her face haggard and deeply etched by new lines. Silver streaked her crimson bob.
I looked in horror from one to the other. This close, they were all visibly withered, lacking flesh to fill out their skin, which suddenly seemed three sizes too big. Old age ravaged their previously spry bodies, Mrs Paget’s spine so crooked that she was forced to peep up from a hunch.
A chill froze my blood. “What has happened to you? How can we stop it!” Smithy stepped closer, his gentle touch at the small of my back. Tears flooded my eyes. In the scant span of two days they were rushing abnormally quickly towards death.
“Winnie,” Bea said gently. “No one lives forever.” The grief consumed me and I could not speak. “I am sorry for the subterfuge of the past few days. Some things are better learned through experience rather than talking.”
I wanted to call an ambulance, not hang in the foyer speaking in riddles. But whatever affliction wreaked havoc on my guardians’ health did not seem the kind of thing handled by normal doctors. It was an altogether unnatural scourge. Mrs Paget and Fortescue came down the stairs and stood with Bea in an expectant half-circle around Smithy and I, their faces united in compassion – compassion targeting the two of us. That in their suffering they reserved pity for us was alarming. And I could no longer hide behind false ignorance and denial, forced to finally confront my suspicions. Dragging in a breath to still my nerves, I broke the silence.
“Please tell me what this is all about.”
Bea’s gaze did not waver from me when she said, “Grace?” Mrs Paget shuffled forward, reaching out both of her hands, palms to the ceiling. It took only a moment for me to understand what she wanted. I lay my wrists with the tattoos upright in the curve of her frail fingers. Bea continued, “Do you remember who a Keeper is, Winsome? What she does?”
I nodded apprehensively. Smithy peered down over my shoulder, watching Mrs Paget keenly. He radiated the clean smell of floral soap and the ocean, his strong presence the single familiar and reassuring aspect of the drama engulfing my existence. I could not shake a sense of mounting doom. “The Keeper hides the Stone from its owner.”
“Yes,” Bea said. “But a Keeper’s true strength resides in her ability to conceal anything that promises to benefit her enemies.”
Mrs Paget peeked up at me with a loving smile. Slowly, she rotated my wrists together until the tattoos met. As soon as the triangles made contact, she flickered and blinked out. Just like that, she vanished completely.
I yelled unintelligibly and jerked from her hold, lurching rearwards into the iron wall of Smithy. Scuttling to the side, I put some distance between myself and all of them, glaring from one to the other and battling not to hyperventilate. Mrs Paget had returned to view once I’d pulled from her grasp. Smith stared at me, his mouth agape, which appeared to be the only reaction he could muster.
“It can’t be real!” Gulping, I forced the words out.
“I wish that were so, Winnie.” Bea gazed at me with infinite kindness, which somehow made everything worse.
I pointed at her accusingly, backing farther away. “It’s not real. Please. Tell me it’s not real.”
Hitting a tall gilt chalice on its pillar, the lot rocked perilously before settling. None of my guardians had moved a muscle to catch the priceless cup, which spoke volumes on their priorities right now.
“You cannot deny your birthright, Winsome. No matter how all of us want it to be otherwise, you are the Last Keeper of the Crone’s Stone,” Fortescue spoke softly, his brow puckered.
“And you’re the Sacred Trinity,” I whispered, not sure whether I should laugh hysterically or run screaming into heavy traffic. Which meant Smithy was … But there was only so much one fraught mind could take.
Fortescue cleared his throat. “Beatrice, tempus fugit.”
She nodded at him. “Yes, Winnie. Like you, we are the only ones who remain. And if we do not fix your predecessor’s mistakes with utmost alacrity, I fear disaster will befall us all.”
She beckoned me closer, but I maintained my stance. My heartbeat pounded too loudly and a cold sweat beaded my lip. Who were they, really? Who had I just become? I wanted to rewind time to a week ago when my biggest issues were avoiding Mallory and staving off frostbite. This new trouble was too huge a departure from normality. My mind spun, unable to gain traction on the truth of my aunt’s words. I knew the three of them weren’t lying to me this time and I had seen, or rather, not seen, Mrs Paget with my own eyes. But the experience tore a rift through rationality, fracturing all I’d ever held sacred.
Did stars still twinkle in the heavens or had they ripped free to rain down on the earth like plummeting comets? Would the sun rise tomorrow and set beyond the horizon at day’s end as it always had, or would the moon take its place? Accepting the significance of my heritage shredded logic so that I’d never fully trust myself or anyone or anything else ever again. Demons roamed the globe, dressed in everyday clothes, forging hell-bound bargains with the unwary. An enemy more foul than any I could conjure stalked our wake in figure-hugging red leather. In a matter of seconds, the world had become a more wicked place, a place in which it was impossible to fathom my new role. My unfortunate birth had sealed my fate.
I wasn’t ready for any of it and never would be. Strangely, admitting to myself that such a point of preparation was unlikely to eventuate was calming. Fighting destiny was futile, so I opted for my default coping mechanism: box each problem separately and deal with a little piece at a time. Who knew Mr Jenkins’ advice to compartmentalise would end up so useful? I regained a tenuous grip on my mental faculties, although my spasming lungs and heaving stomach were slow to get on board.
“What can we do?” Smithy – ever the pragmatist – asked Bea.
“Hugo is a loose canon. If he has been taken by Anathema, then our situation is dire. The warehouse would no longer offer camouflage and we must flee. We have to locate him as quickly as possible.”
“Let us go after him.” I don’t know what I expected after the ominous announcement. Thunderbolts? Lightning. Shock and awe? But nothing seemed different. My voice sounded the same, if croaky and distraught. “You stay and rest. Recover, get better,” I begged.
“Come here, Winsome.” Bea spread her arms wide.
I ran into her embrace, burying my face in the nape of her neck and working hard to stifle a sob. Her bones were so fine and brittle beneath my grasp. She hugged me tightly, enveloping me in lavender scent, aware in her usual instinctual manner that what I needed most was human contact. Enough had been said. After all, what good could more information achieve? Of course, no one ever heeded my opinion and I was often wrong.
“You cannot venture outside until you’ve claimed the Stone.” Bea ruined any slight comfort. The prospect of claiming stones or other mystifying upcoming ordeals were best pushed to the very deepest, dankest nook in my warehouse of boxed problems. “Unless we find a way, the Stone’s evil influence grows and seeks you especially, the embodiment of those who have thwarted its mistress across centuries. Your fear becomes real, feeding the demons that inhabit Finesse’s nether world. They are attracted by terror, increasingly stronger and able to break the barriers between dimensions. You must remain calm, Winsome. And think only happy thoughts.”
“We’ll stay indoors,” Smith said firmly. “I know where.”
Happy thoughts? Unbelievable! “No! I can’t let you go out like this.”
The cats howled, their pacing furious. Mrs Paget tenderly extracted me from Bea’s embrace, getting up on tiptoes to kiss my cheek. It seemed extremely poor form to fight someone so fragile. She gestured for Smithy, who circled my waist in an unbreakable loop. I glared at him over my shoulder. “We can’t allow this!”
His expression twisted in remorse. “We have no choice.”
The urge to oppose my imprisonment was strong, but Bea would disapprove of such a loss of dignity. In any case, there was no possibility of a successful mutiny against their unified front. I sagged in Smithy’s hold.
“We would not leave you defenceless, Winsome. Remember, the Crone is not the only one who is powerful.”
With an encouraging nod, Mrs Paget moved away to complete arrangements for their quest, while I battled that stubborn queasy sensation and pondered what dubious power I possessed. So far, it had been doggedly absent and I couldn’t foresee an occasion during which it would suddenly manifest. Mrs Paget’s disappearing trick didn’t seem an act I’d been responsible for. In any case, I didn’t think I could do it again. I didn’t know how.
“You are not merely a Keeper, if such a one can be referred to as ‘mere’. You are the last, Winsome. We feel certain you will be most special,” Fortescue said. He added, “Not that you aren’t already.”
He winked, before turning to the task at hand. Fortescue actually winked, which attained a new level of bizarre. If that was even possible in these circumstances.
“All you need to know is in your diary on the kitchen table. I encourage you to read it thoroughly,” Bea said.
On the platform by the front door, Fortescue and Mrs Paget hefted large hikers’ backpacks containing who knew what, readying to leave. Her tiny body was swamped, the pack towering over her stooped form. Reed thin, Fortescue barely withheld an arthritic groan at the weight of his burden. In response, I barely withheld a scream of frustration at their obstinacy.
“Oh, and Vegas? I have conferred with the judge.” Aunt Bea shouldered her own pack, knowing better than to refer to the man in question as Smithy’s father. “He is under the impression you and Winsome have taken a getaway on a yacht in the Whitsundays to celebrate her arrival home. It is not a misapprehension of which I felt obliged to disabuse him.”
“Thank you, Aunt Bea.”
He wore the bemused look of one who’d come to doubt all he’d ever held true. Or possibly, he wrangled with Bea’s last sentence. She firmly clasped Smithy’s hand in both of hers, gazing over at me.
“I love you, Winsome. Please be careful. I cannot emphasise this enough: do not leave the warehouse.”
“I love you too, Aunt Bea.” I nearly cried with the force of feeling. “You be more careful. Bring yourselves and Hugo back, safe and sound.”
And then the doors glided open. My guardians hobbled from the warehouse after the cats. Out into a sinister day that tainted my future in ways I could never begin to imagine, and promised to steal every person I’d ever loved.
