He was screaming and screaming, but his throat would make no sound.
Someone was holding him. Patterns whirled around him, black and white.
“Lucas! For fuck’s sake! Calm down. You’re okay. I’m here, I’ve got you.”
He heard the words but couldn’t understand them. The hole in his chest became the burning chasm through which he was falling. The world had broken into shards of ice that tumbled through the Abyss with him, and it was all his doing. “I broke it,” he gasped. “The ice giant is coming.”
“Luc, you’re all right. You’re having a bad trip.” He saw Jon in front of him, like a wraith, all bones and eyes. Lucas flinched backwards, warding off the apparition with outstretched hands. Jon’s voice was far away, murmuring without meaning, while worlds shattered around him.
Time jumped. The voice became suddenly clear, sounding tired and desperate. “Come on, Luc, you’re safe. Can you hear me? Listen to me, Luc, please.”
“Where are we?”
Jon sighed in relief at his response. “Dumannios. Hold on, try to relax so I can take us back.”
“I can’t. It’s all broken.” He clawed at the fire in his chest.
“Take this.” Jon held a bottle to his lips. It was blue and ridged, like an apothecary’s poison bottle. A syrupy, bitter liquid went down his throat.
“Why are you giving me cough mixture?” said Lucas.
Jon laughed. “It’s tincture of blackdrop. Wonderful stuff, calm you right down. Are you with me now?”
“They cut the rope,” Lucas said, feeling this would explain everything.
Then the world seemed to stop, and pulse, and wash away into a glorious warm light. Lucas felt his heart beating slow and heavy, like the heart of the Earth. The pain of his wound eased to throbbing soreness. The light, softening to blue, entranced him.
“We’re in the Dusklands again,” said Jon. “You really scared me. What did you see?”
“I don’t know. Everything. Terrible.”
“Tell me.”
Lucas tried. “The doe told the story, but it was real. The white demon cut the rope—he was in the boat with the gods. They were bird-heads like Lawrence.”
“You’re making absolutely no sense,” Jon said gently. He began to craft a joint, shaving blackdrop resin along its length.
Lucas took a deep breath. He felt distant from the terror but it was still there, a motionless shape in the corner of his vision. “I fell into the Abyss. That’s why I was screaming.” He rubbed at his breastbone, wincing as he found a tear in his T-shirt and raw flesh underneath.
Jon looked up, frowning. “God, Luc, what is that?”
Lucas pulled his coat open and raised his T-shirt. On the breastbone was a red-raw circle, two inches across. To his distorted senses it seemed a bomb crater. “I don’t know. It’s as sore as hell.”
“It’s only on the skin. How did you get it?”
“Malikala shot me.” He laughed. “No. That’s crazy. I must have fallen over. I—I saw the rebellion of Jeleel against Malikala, like I was actually there…”
Jon was staring intently at him. “You really went through,” he said, soft with awe. “It worked. Next time, if we get the dose right—”
“No, no.” Lucas felt rising panic. “Never again.”
“I don’t mean now.” Jon lit the joint, took a drag and offered it. “Let’s chill and talk it over.”
Lucas, who rarely lost his temper, became violently angry. From the burnout of drugs or fear, he didn’t know. He struck the joint out of Jon’s hand. “Are you trying to fucking kill me?”
“What?” Jon flinched back, astonished.
“Keep it all away from me! I’ve had enough.” He pointed wildly at the rocks of Freya’s Crown. “Your father’s right. There’s something terrible in there. If we disturb it, we could all die—the world could end!”
Alarmed, Jon raised both hands as if to calm a startled horse. “Luc, cool down.”
“Am I still not making sense? Lawrence knows what he’s doing! There’s some appalling force behind the Gates. I don’t know what the hell it is, but the Gates keep it still, like a dam. If he opens them, it will wake and surge out like a flood. He was right to lock them. He had no choice. Are you satisfied?”
Jon stared at him. In the silence, Lucas looked up and saw the Gates in their true form, a great, raw monolith. All his rage and emotion rushed out like fire and hit the stone. He couldn’t stop it. The ground trembled. He saw flame running over the surface like ignited petrol, runes flashing in its wake. He felt heavy segments of rock grinding against each other, shifting an inch or two before juddering to a halt. He saw a thin dark split down the rock face that wasn’t there before.
Lucas held his breath, trying to grasp what he’d experienced. Hallucination. He closed his eyes and when he opened them, the crag had returned to its usual self. It contained not one crack but hundreds along its sheared planes.
They were in the surface world. A colorless, dewy dawn.
Jon hadn’t noticed anything; all his attention was on Lucas. “I wasn’t trying to poison you,” Jon said, reaching out to clasp his arm. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I’m shaken up.”
“I see that,” Jon began, but his voice was drowned. A towering, raging figure came out of nowhere, his overcoat flapping like crow’s wings.
“What are you doing? What the hell have you done?”
Lawrence.
Intent on each other, they hadn’t seen their father storming up the hill. The shock reawakened Lucas’s terror and sent it spiraling like a flock of birds. Lawrence seized them both by the scruff of the collar, like boys caught thieving, lifting them almost off their feet. Then he threw them hard onto the ground.
Lucas’s drugged heart stumbled, refusing to keep up with his panic. He was in the Abyss again, drowning in nightmares. “Who would dare to interfere with the Gates?” Lawrence ranted above him. “After all I’ve said, all my warnings. How dare you?”
“We haven’t done anything,” came Jon’s voice, high with alarm. “Dad, honestly—we were only talking.”
“Don’t lie to me! What were you doing here?”
Lucas climbed to his feet, saw Lawrence hauling Jon up by his jacket lapels, clutching handfuls of his Indian shirt with them. Jon stared sideways at Lucas, eyes huge and pleading. “Dad, we were only—”
Lawrence’s face was frozen stone, as furious and heartless as the frost demon or the giant in the Abyss. “What’s the matter with you? Are you drunk, or drugged?” He shook Jon. “You reek of smoke. You think it’s a game to come here and weave your foolish twig tokens? Did you actually think you could go through? How dare you try, how dare you even think of it? You’re going to tell me everything and, by the gods, you’re going to be sorry you disobeyed me and set foot on this sacred place.” Lawrence’s head swiveled slowly to take in Lucas. “Both of you.”
His expression was the most horrifying thing Lucas had ever seen. He began to back away, stumbling on the rough ground. The growing impulse flared. His nerve broke and, in blind panic, he turned and fled.
* * *
The house was a wedding gift from Auberon. A perfect three-bedroom detached Fox Home on the edge of Ashvale. With a small garden front and back, it was set on a curving road arranged to capture the feel of a charming old village. Ideal start to a new life.
Rosie knew she was spoiled rotten. Other couples struggled for years to afford the most basic home. She felt guilty that she couldn’t love it.
Each day she drove to the office with Alastair and worked between him and Matthew under Auberon’s benevolent eye. It was a pleasant life and she drifted through it as if sedated. She felt cocooned between husband and brother; simply letting it happen because it was so safe and warm.
Sometimes too warm. Hot, stifling. She was struggling to burst out of a too-tight skin; but when she looked for the cause of her distress, the world was serenely ordinary. No one was imprisoning her. She was free to walk out of the door and see anyone she chose at any time. Then she’d wonder if she was going insane.
Most weeks she was on site, working on the gardens she’d designed. That was her escape. Yet she never touched the Dusklands while landscaping these new, bare plots of earth. She’d walked along golden beaches with Alastair, soporific with heat, and never sensed the Dusklands there, either. They were closed, gone, as if she’d become human; and the worst thing was that she couldn’t talk to Alastair about it, couldn’t turn to him and say, “Is it me, or do you feel it too?”
On honeymoon she had longed for home, but when they came back, it seemed the Dusklands had turned sideways like a sheet of paper, folded away and vanished.
Married to a human, banished from the faerie realm? That was how it felt.
Alone in the new house, she would walk around searching for a taste or scent of the Dusklands, for hidden rooms to appear as they did at Oakholme, for her secret tree and mystical fiery lights. The rooms, however, stayed solid and prosaic, as though sneering at her search. She couldn’t bring herself to decorate the plain white walls. That would feel like surrendering to the house.
Alastair, of course, was oblivious. She knew that if he became aware of her behavior, he would quite reasonably think she’d gone mad.
There was almost a hint of Dumannios in the atmosphere… not even that, because Dumannios at least had a malign energy. This house had nothing. It was dead.
And then, one Saturday morning, she realized what was wrong.
“Can you feel it, Dad?” She’d asked Auberon to come round while Alastair was at rugby practice. “Or rather, not feel it?”
At work he was very much the boss in his suit; but today, in causal trousers and earth-brown sweater, he was her father again. She followed as he went from room to room, pausing in each one to consider the atmosphere. At least he was taking her seriously. He looked carefully over the whole house, then said, “Any chance of a coffee?”
As they sat together in the small bright kitchen, Auberon asked, “Well, what do you feel is the problem?”
“I don’t want you think I’m ungrateful,” she said hurriedly. “It’s not that at all; we like the house, it’s great. But Dad, people buy Fox Homes because they walk in and it feels like home. That’s your magic. You bring the earthly, homely part of the Otherworld into the building, and even humans feel it and fall in love. But it’s not here. It’s because the Gates are closed, isn’t it? The magic’s failing.” He put his large hand over hers. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to go out of business.” He smiled, but his eyes were serious. “Selling houses isn’t sorcery. It’s all about design and materials. We mimic that feel for human buyers, it’s true, and they fall for it, but I can’t create actual magic for them. Rosie, are you sure it’s the house?”
“How do you mean?”
“This is all new for you, love. It’s only been two months. It’s bound to take time to settle in.”
“Of course,” she said. “I miss Oakholme. I took the Dusklands for granted. It didn’t matter that the actual Gates were closed, because I couldn’t miss the deeper realms if I’d never been there.”
Auberon nodded. He was the one person who made her feel safe without stifling her. “But we bring the Dusklands in ourselves,” he answered. “I can’t build them into a house, love; either they seep in or they don’t, rather like a stray cat sensing where it’s welcome.”
She took a sip of her coffee. “So a human in the house might be a barrier?”
“Perhaps. An Aetherial might be, too, if she was unhappy. Rosie, is anything bothering you?”
“No! No. Dad…” She caught a breath and was on the point of spilling it all out.
That nothing felt right and she’d made a mistake, living with Alastair was like rubbing along with a friend, comfortable enough but that didn’t mean you wanted to live and sleep and eat and work with them and because her life was so perfect on the surface, she had nothing to struggle against and that made her feel trapped and if she loved Alastair why was she so numb and indifferent to everything, why was she sleepwalking through what should have been her life…
“Dad, I, er…”
The phone rang, making her jump. She went to answer it and Faith was on the other end, sounding nervous and too cheerful, as she did when something was wrong. “Rosie, can we meet up sometime? I can’t tell you on the phone.”
“Course, what is it?”
A soft sigh. “About Matt… I don’t know…”
“Is he okay? Is it urgent? Only Dad’s here and…”
“No, no, not urgent at all. I just need to talk something over. It doesn’t matter, really.”
“Yes, it does,” Rosie said firmly. “I’ll call you back later, okay?”
When she returned to Auberon, the moment for confession had passed. “Sorry, Dad,” she said. “It’s just… I can’t stop thinking that we should have paid you for the house. You’re too generous.”
“Nonsense. If I can’t give my daughter a gift, what can I do? Let’s hear no more about it.” He patted her shoulder. “Give yourself time to settle in, Rosie. And any problems, don’t hesitate.”
After Auberon had left, she headed towards the phone, meaning to call Faith back. Just as she touched the receiver, someone knocked at the front door. She opened it, and Lucas came spilling through like a wraith.
He was dressed completely in black with a long overcoat pulled around him. Underneath it he was hunched and shivering like a man caught in a storm. “Luc?” she said. “What’s up?”
“I need to talk to you.” He looked jumpy, haggard and exhausted.
“Come in, come in.” She closed the door and pulled him into the front room, all thoughts of Faith flying out of her mind. “Dad was here a minute ago.”
“I know. I waited until he’d gone. He can’t hear this.” He collapsed on the sofa.
“Why not? You look awful.” Suspicion flared. “Have you been with Jon?”
“We’ve had a massive row with Lawrence, Jon and me. He’s going to kill us.”
“Lawrence? Why?”
He closed his eyes and shivered. Briskly, Rosie prised his coat from him, finding it damp with mud and grass. He sighed shakily. “We were at Freya’s Crown again. Lawrence caught us. He went absolutely crazy. I panicked and ran for it, jumped on a bus.”
“Oh, Luc!” She clasped his shoulder. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“No,” he said, touching her arm in return. “It wasn’t the shouting. It was the look in his eyes.” He rested his head back, skin bleached against the blackness of his hair. He looked like an ethereal black-and-white image from an anti-drugs poster.
Sitting beside him, she asked, “When did you start seeing Jon again?”
“Yesterday.”
“For heaven’s sake,” she sighed. “You were fine, all the time you kept away. Now you’re with him for one night and you look like death!”
“Yeah, you told me so. God, I hope he’s okay. I should have stayed, but I was so scared… You know how there’s this light in your head that should come on but won’t, for some reason?”
“Oh, yes,” said Rosie. “I know that one. Please tell me there weren’t drugs involved.” Instinct had told her long ago what Jon’s shivering and shadow haunted eyes had meant. She hadn’t wanted to admit it. “Oh, Luc!”
He looked away. “Not street drugs, I told you, only Duskland stuff.”
“Natural doesn’t equal harmless! Christ, you could have poisoned yourself!”
“I know that,” he flared back. “We thought the risk was worth taking. Shamans have always done it, Jon said. It was to see through the Gates.”
“And did you?” He paused. Slowly he unbuttoned his black shirt and pulled up the T-shirt beneath to reveal his chest. On the pale and hairless skin was a disk of blistered flesh, lividly red and weeping. “I went through,” he said hoarsely. “I came back with this.”
She was staring. “That looks sore. What is it?”
“I don’t know.” Before her curious fingertip could reach him, he pulled his shirt down again, wincing as fabric touched the wound. “Every time I’m with Jon he pulls me into this nightmare.”
“That time you were ill at his party?”
“That was the first time, yes.”
“God, I might have known,” she exclaimed.
“I believed in him. He’s so compelling, it took me forever to see what a problem he’s got.” In response to her questioning look, he went on, “Aetheric blackdrop, it’s a resin he cooks up from the sap of Duskland poppies. Makes all your problems float away, like opium. He said if it was good enough for nineteenth-century poets, it was perfect for us.”
“Well, that sounds romantic and every bit as nasty.” She drew up her feet and sat cross-legged, holding on to her toes. “Is he an addict? Are you?”
“He said our bodies are more resilient than humans’, so it’s easier to stop—if we want to. It makes all the pain go away…” His dark head drooped. “I stopped, but he won’t. I feel sorry for him, really.”
“When he came to the cottage about Sam, I thought he was all pale and shaky because his brother was in prison. What kind of idiot am I?”
“One with a decent heart,” Lucas put in.
“Great, my supposed soul mate and your brother—You could have said no.”
Lucas’s dark eyes flashed. “Like you’d have said no to him? He didn’t force me, I wanted to—to prove I had the guts to travel with him.”
“Doesn’t sound like he’s going anywhere,” she said bitterly.
He took her hand and held it hard. “He was like some mystical shaman with all the answers. I didn’t want to let him down. Last night was horrendous—I saw things so real, so horrible… When I came out of it, I looked at Jon and realized: The reason he wants to escape through the Gates and the reason he uses drugs is the same. He’s empty inside. And he was taking me with him. This morning I looked at him and thought, I can’t go back to this. We’ll both be dead in a gutter within a year.”
Lucas wept, head turned away from her. She reached for him and drew his face into her shoulder. “Don’t. He’s not worth it,” she said.
“But you love him.”
“No, I don’t, Luc. Not anymore.”
“So why are you crying?”
“I’m crying for you, idiot,” she said.
He pulled away from her, sat wiping his cheeks with his hand until she reached for a box of tissues and handed one to him. “There’s this fantasy that when you meet your soul mate, you’ll know,” she said. “When I saw Jon I thought I knew, but I was so wrong. And it’s nothing to do with his behavior. If he’d loved me back, no doubt I’d have let him get away with murder.”
“Like I have?” Lucas put in.
“Yes, dear, like you have. Instead I had a lucky escape. We saw through him in the end, and it hurts.” Luc nodded. He closed his eyes in a brief, sharp expression of pain. She said gently, “D’you want to tell me about this vision?”
“Yes. No. It was… It seemed real, but…” He gave a violent shudder. “I just want to forget it, Ro. Any chance of a drink and a shower?”
She sent him to the bathroom, made coffee. When he came back, in a shirt and baggy jeans of Alastair’s, he was calm. “Jon’s not all bad,” he said. “He’s had… tough things to deal with. I shouldn’t have left him with Lawrence. I hope he’s all right.”
Looking up, Rosie saw a movement outside the window, a haunted face looking in at her. She gave a small gasp. “I think you’ll find he is.”
* * *
Jon was on the doorstep, a terrified refugee. He had his arms wrapped around himself and kept glancing over his shoulder. He smelled of the outdoors, of damp grass and bonfires. “Is Lucas here?”
“Yes,” Rosie said coolly. “No thanks to you he’s still alive.”
“I’ve got to see him. Please.”
Sighing, she stepped back and let him in. She watched numbly from the doorway as Jon stumbled to the sofa and flung himself down beside Luc. “I got a taxi. Phoned your mum for the address. I guessed you’d be here. If in doubt, run to Rosie’s.”
“You useless bastard,” Lucas grumbled under his breath.
“Me?” said Jon. “You’re the one who ran away!”
“D’you blame me? Not enough to poison me, you nearly get us killed.”
“Are you really mad with me?” Jon looked ashen.
“Fucking fuming,” said Lucas. “No, I’m just glad you’re okay. I thought Lawrence was going to kill us both.”
“Me too.” They embraced like shipwreck survivors. Then Jon pulled his feet up and sat cross-legged, oblivious of his dirty boots on the seat cushions. “He’s thrown me out. My father’s thrown me out!” He put his head in his hands.
Rosie stood with folded arms. She wanted to yell like an outraged parent, but didn’t. They were both in such a state, there seemed nothing more to say.
“I’ll make some lunch,” she said. “You both look starving.”
“Thanks, and can I ask a favor, Ro?” said Lucas. “Can we stay for a bit? I can’t face Mum fussing.” He and Jon looked expectantly at her.
“You can, Luc,” she answered quietly. “I don’t want Jon here.”
“But he’s got nowhere to go. Please.”
She felt suddenly cast in the role of carer to two delinquents. Still, it was preferable to them ending up in more trouble. “All right,” she said, relenting. “Only for a day or two. Then he has to go. And no drugs in my house.”
Jon began earnestly, “No, you don’t get it, it’s not recreational—” but Lucas gripped his arm and said, “Shut up. Of course we won’t, Ro. It goes without saying.”
Rosie withdrew to the kitchen and tried, as countless generations both human and Aetherial had always done, to heal things with food. She was shaken, but what was the point of anger? Lucas needed a safe haven, not a lecturing parent. As she buttered bread, she heard the front door opening. There was a pause, then Alastair came into the kitchen, dropped his sports bag and stood there. Rosie felt a sense of dislocation, as if she’d forgotten he existed.
“What the hell’s going on?” he asked at last. He looked irritated, verging on livid.
She decided to simplify. “Lawrence caught Jon and Lucas smoking pot, and threw them out.”
“Good grief! This is our home, not a doss house for druggies!”
“That’s my brother you’re talking about. Where can he go, if not here?”
“Er—his own home?” Alastair said with sarcasm. Solid in a red rugby shirt, he looked the opposite of Lucas and Jon. They were skinny, scruffy students, wild spirits out of the Dusklands. Alastair seemed by contrast heavy and prosaic, a bit baffled, set in his ways, so ordinary you could sell him by the pound.
“Mum will fuss, if she finds out,” said Rosie, grating cheese. “He knows he won’t get hassled here.”
“Right, but they’re not kids. They can look after themselves. I want them gone.” One thing she’d leaned about Alastair since marriage was that he hated his routine being upset.
“And they will go,” she answered reasonably, “as soon as Lawrence calms down. We’ve got spare bedrooms. What’s the problem?”
“One spare room! You needn’t think they’re taking over my study! Look, I know you care about Lucas—”
“Yes, I do,” she said pointedly.
“But that thing you had about Jon is no big secret.”
She grated a fingernail, and winced in pain. “Oh, come on, that was a million years ago. They know they’ve been idiots. They need to sort themselves out.”
“Have you still got feelings for him?”
“Don’t be daft.” His sudden, needling questions made her uncomfortable. His eyes looked bloodshot. “Alastair, have you been drinking?”
He didn’t answer. “It was supposed to be just you and me, Rosie,” he said. “You think I want some guy around that you used to drool over? This is the sort of thing she would do.” He meant the ex-girlfriend, she who made his eyes go blank with hurt anger.
“I’m not her.”
“Letting dodgy friends stay, up all night snorting coke like it was perfectly normal and there was something wrong with me for objecting.” A heavy pause. “All of them laughing at me, the idiot who didn’t realize she was sleeping with most of them.”
Coldness flashed over her. Alastair’s expression was wild, disturbing. “This is totally different. I’m not about to do any of that, especially not with my brother.”
“How about your old flame?”
Rosie laughed. “Have you seen the state of him? I think he’d break if I jumped on him.” She meant it lightheartedly but Alastair’s expression only turned madder. He couldn’t suspect about Sam, could he? She asked in shock, “Is that what you think of me?”
“Fucking hell, Rosie, I don’t know what to think!” Suddenly he flung open the kitchen door and stomped out into the garden. She heard a strangled growl, then the dull thunk of something breaking. Tense, Rosie continued preparing food. A few minutes later, Alastair came back in, his face flushed, expression sheepish, his big shoulders hunched with contrition.
“I’m sorry, Rosie,” he said quietly. “I kicked a plant pot. I’ve calmed down now.”
“Not my little bay tree?”
“Sorry. I’ll help you repot it.”
“God, Alastair!” she cried, furiously cutting up sandwiches. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“It’s not you. I’ve been dropped from the team for the next game. Apparently I’m not fit enough. I was bloody fuming at the coach so yes, I went for a pint. Then I come home to find this! Sorry, sorry, I lost it for a moment. I know it’s your brother, but we really don’t need the lazy pair of them lying around messing up the house. That’s all. The stuff I said, I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”
He put his arms around her, so apologetic that she softened, and kissed his warm cheek. “Hey, you’ll get back in. I know it’s disappointing, but Ashvale Tigers will soon realize they’re useless without you. And I’m sorry, too, about the invasion, but you have no reason to be jealous.”
“I can see that,” he said, his brawny arms tightening possessively. A smile entered his voice. “If you seriously had the hots for that scarecrow in there—well, everyone’s allowed a wee lapse of taste, but thank goodness you got over it, eh?”
“Yeah,” she breathed, untangling herself from him and piling food onto plates. “I know it’s a nuisance, but they’ll only be here for a day or two. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, no, it’s fine,” said Alastair, clearly not happy but at pains to be obliging and tolerant. “Whatever you need to do.”
“Thank you,” she said crisply, heading for the door with a loaded tray. Once she’d thrust food and drink at the strays, she left them to it and dealt with the tension of the house in the best way she knew. She escaped outside and attacked the front garden.
* * *
“Hey, sweetie.”
Rosie was on instant alert at the familiarity of the voice. For twenty minutes she’d been so absorbed in digging a flower bed that she hadn’t noticed his noiseless approach. She sat back on her heels and saw Sam a few yards away on the footpath that bordered her front lawn. He was very still, as if he’d been watching her for a few minutes.
In a split second, every part of her mind and body swirled into chaos; stomach thrilling with anxiety, heart leaping, warmth rushing up her spine and blood rioting though her. An instant replay of erotic ghost sensations mingled with general embarrassment, panic, guilt, and a truly disturbing flash of excitement… She’d always wondered how it would be when they met again, as they were bound to; what on earth she’d say or do. She’d decided on a stance of cool, detached politeness. She’d even rehearsed it in her head but now, faced with reality, she was hopelessly flustered and drowning—just as she’d always known, wretchedly, that she would be.
All of that flared through her and was smoothed over in the second it took her to stand up. “Hi, Sam.”
He was observing her, head tilted a little to the side, gauging her demeanor. He was dressed simply: black jeans, blue T-shirt, black leather jacket, a steel and leather cord around his neck. His clothes hung neatly and beautifully on him. Worrying, that he looked better every time she saw him; lean and compact, with light shining through the ends of his hair, making an aura around him so that he seemed dark yet gilded at the same time. Rosie didn’t know what she felt, but it wasn’t angry or defensive. They’d both behaved badly but it was over; the playing field was level. So her greeting came out with a slight smile. He gave a very tentative smile in return. Oh, he was wary, all right. Holding back, so as not to give her reason to lash out at him. She thought, Perhaps he’s put it all behind him and moved on; which was only what I wanted…
“How are you?” he asked.
“I’m great,” she said. “How about you?”
“Couldn’t be better. So this is it, chez Rosie.” He glanced over the house. “Nice.”
“Thank you. Well, thanks to my dad, really.”
“All settled in?”
Again heat prickled her skin like warm fur. “Yes, lots to do of course, and, er… why are you here?”
“Don’t worry, love, I’m not stalking you.” One eyebrow arched suggestively. “Much as I’d like to. I’m looking for Jon. Did you hear, he had a huge fight with Lawrence, and got the boot?”
“Yes.” Removing her gardening gloves, she walked closer so they could speak quietly. “He’s here.”
“I guessed as much.” Sam nodded, looked down at his feet. “Where else would the beggars go to ground, when they’re in trouble? I need to speak to him. Is that all right?”
“As long as he wants to see you.” She folded her arms, shook her hair back over her shoulders. “Did Lawrence send you, and are you going to give him a hard time?”
“No to the first question, and to the second, probably. All I want is to know what the hell’s going on. Come on, I’ll be gentle, I promise.”
“Mind you, Jon deserves a hard time,” she said. “Okay, but no fighting or yelling in my house.”
“There won’t be.” Sam remained at the edge of the lawn, a half-smile on his lips. “Aren’t you going to invite me over the threshold?”
“Why do you need inviting? Have you turned into a vampire?”
“Not a vampire. I’m just trying to work out how mad you are with me.”
“I’m not mad with you, Sam.”
“Really? You were well and truly seething, last time I saw you.”
“And that was two months ago. I can’t seethe for that long. Anyway, there’s nothing to be mad about, is there?”
“Oh, right,” he said, nodding. “Because nothing happened.”
“Exactly. Nothing happened,” she repeated firmly, then spoiled it by holding his gaze a bit too long. Coloring, she turned towards the front door. “Come on.”
“By the way, you look amazing,” he said over her shoulder. “I prefer it to the wedding dress. I always knew how hot you’d look, slaving over the soil.”
“Shut up.”
“Just making an observation, sweetheart.”
She stopped at the corner of the porch and faced him. “And please don’t call me sweetheart in front of Jon and Lucas and Alastair.”
“Alastair’s here?” Sam blanched.
“Well, yes. He happens to live here.”
“Of course he does. And hey, he’s in. Great.”
“What difference does it make?” They were close together, whispering. The more Rosie looked at Sam’s face, the more unstable the earth felt beneath her feet. “You’re here for your brother, aren’t you?”
“That’s right. All I’m interested in is Jon. Honestly, Rosie, I’m not going to embarrass you. Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“I know you’re not an idiot, Sam. I don’t trust you, that’s all.”
“Thanks. That’s bloody charming, that is.”
“Don’t be disingenuous. You’ve always liked making mischief. I’m simply asking you, please don’t. Don’t even think about it.”
“What? You think I’m going to make a pass at you in front of Alastair, or ask him if he’s ever had you up against a tree so we can compare notes?”
Rosie gasped. She stood speechless.
“Give me some flaming credit,” Sam went on. “Do you think I’ve spent the last few weeks pining for you? I’ve got other fish to fry. I’ve been good, I’ve stayed away from you like you wanted, and I’m only here now for Jon. I’m not going to drop you in it. What more can I do?”
She found her breath again. “I knew this would happen. Only together five minutes, and we’re scrapping like a pair of hamsters.”
“This is not a fight.” Sam moved imperceptibly away from her, his tone cooling. “I’m trying to say that you’re right, it would never have worked between us. The little taste I had of you was an eye-opener, and very nice, thank you, but it’s over. You’re safe. Stop worrying.”
She stood glaring at him. “Is that all it was? All the faked emotion and tears, just to prove you could have me? One shag and you’ve won the game? Just walk off smiling with the cup, Sam one, Rosie nil? I might have known.”
“Since we’re not arguing, and since I’m a gentleman, I really shouldn’t point out that you kissed me first. But what the hell? You kissed me.”
“All right, we were as bad as each other. That’s why I’m not angry, or only with myself. But—no, we can’t talk about this now. Or ever. It didn’t happen.”
“Whatever. Can I see my brother now?” he said, looking pointedly at the front door.
“What fish?” said Rosie.
“Pardon?” His gaze came back to her face. Although she could see through his bravado, she didn’t actually trust her own eyes. She couldn’t cut straight to the truth, like Mel could.
“You said other fish to fry. Are you seeing someone?”
“Bit too late to be jealous, love.”
“I’m not. I only wondered what you’ve been doing.”
“Every woman in the county, young and old alike,” he said thinly, “trying to get over you.”
Rosie felt as if someone had flung a heavy ball into her stomach. Of course he’d been sleeping around with one female after another; what else would he do after three years in jail? Worse, she could picture it vividly. This was horrible, miserable. Meeting Sam again was a thousand times worse than she’d ever dreamed it could be.
“Is it working?” she asked as she opened the door for him, her voice cold and thin.
He looked at her. The look seemed to go on forever. At last, as he stepped lightly inside, he said, “No.”
* * *
“You plank,” said Sam, sitting on the edge of an armchair facing Jon. He sounded more exasperated than angry, Rosie thought, hovering in the doorway. It was weird to see Sam in her living room; unnatural to the point of alarming. Jon sat glowering back at him, shamefaced but defiant. He’d lit a thin roll-up, filling her pristine room with smoke. Lucas stared at the carpet.
“Great, this is all I need,” said Jon. “So, are you going to take him home, or what?” Alastair said, over Rosie’s shoulder.
Sam turned to Alastair with the most sublime look of contempt and loathing Rosie had ever seen. “I would if I could,” he said, his conversational tone bearing no relation to his expression, “but Dad’s thrown him out and I don’t know how long he’ll take to relent.”
“Why are you here, then?” Jon asked sullenly.
“To make sure you’re all right, knob-head,” said Sam. His face changed completely when he looked at his brother. “I don’t know what to say. I warned you, over and over. You can’t claim this is any big surprise, can you? If anything, you’ve got off lightly.”
Narrow-eyed, Jon sucked on the roll-up. “I suppose. I’m just pissed off. Not with you—well, a bit with you, Sam. With everyone for not seeing that we’re doing something important, absolutely vital, and if Dad can’t hack it anymore he should think about retiring.”
“What the hell’s he talking about?” Alastair said, genuinely puzzled. No one answered him.
“Instead we get treated like a pair of kids,” Jon went on. “Like idiots. I’m not an idiot, Sam.”
“Yeah, well, that’s a matter for debate. By the way, Sapphire wants to see you.” At that, Jon virtually levitated, dropping ash everywhere. Lucas’s head jerked up and he looked at Jon, half-frowning. “No! No, Sam, no way can I see her. Make her stay away.”
Sam shrugged. “My feelings too. What are you going to do now? Hole up here while you think up a different way to save the world?”
Jon shook his head, lips thin. “All I want is to be left alone.”
“Might be an idea to talk to Dad, once he’s calmed down.”
The head-shaking became more emphatic. “I can’t. It’s too late.”
“I want to see him,” Lucas said out of nowhere. He sat forward, all nervous energy. “I really need to talk to him.”
Everyone looked at Lucas in surprise. “And say what?” Jon exclaimed.
“I don’t know.” Lucas looked sideways at Jon. “Nothing about… anything. I just need to tell him… that we’re sorry.”
“I thought Lawrence scared you out of your wits,” Sam said dryly.
“I’m not scared. D’you think he’ll see me, Sam? Will you give me a lift over there?”
* * *
Rosie wouldn’t let Lucas go alone, so she had the uneasy experience of sitting beside Sam in a metallic blue cabriolet—Sapphire’s, apparently—with Lucas silent in the back seat as Sam drove through the twisting lanes towards Cloudcroft. She wished she’d taken her own car. Too late now.
As soon as Sam let them in through Stonegate’s imposing oak doors, Sapphire appeared. She wasn’t her normal glowing self, Rosie observed; she looked tired and harassed, and had applied too much makeup to compensate. She spoke to Sam only to ask about Jon; then focused her attention on Lucas, ignoring Rosie completely.
“He’s in the library. I’ll go and ask if he’ll see you,” Sapphire said when Lucas made his nervous request. “Don’t hold out any hope, dear. He may not even speak to me, in this mood.”
They waited in silence. The musty weight and ice of the atmosphere fell heavily on her, darker and more warped than ever. She looked at Sam, but he only gave her a cynical, speaking glance, as if to say, Lovely, isn’t it?
Sapphire came back, all brisk poise, and said, “He’ll see you.”
Rosie went upstairs with Lucas, aware of every footstep echoing through the vault of the great hall. When they reached the door to the library, Lucas turned to her, his face so bloodless it shone. He looked fragile but certain of himself. “Have to do this alone,” he said. “I’ll be fine, Ro.”
The door was ajar, leaving a tall narrow chasm of semidarkness. He slipped through and the door closed. She hovered outside for a few minutes, couldn’t hear anything. By the time she decided to go downstairs again, Sam was nowhere to be seen. The house was oppressive.
Rosie went out into the garden and made her way down the sloped lawn to a bower of rhododendron bushes. She wasn’t consciously looking for Sam, but instinct led her and when she found him, it felt inevitable. There was a clearing like a leafy cave, with yellow birch leaves scattered on the earth and a large flat boulder in the center. Sam was sitting on it, resting his elbows on his knees.
Rosie cleared her throat. “There you are,” she said.
“Well,” he said, “this family gets better and better.”
Softly, Rosie went and sat beside him. “You’re really worried about Jon, aren’t you?”
Sam exhaled. He didn’t react to her sitting there; didn’t turn towards her or move the braced arm that made a barrier between them. She wondered if he’d got over her after all. It was what she’d asked, but now it seemed to have happened—she felt awful, as if she’d been dropped in midair.
“I am and I’m not, love. He puts on this aura of being a pathetic mess and yet he’s the one who always bounces back like some pouf in a shampoo advert, while I end up with the split lip, black eye, blood all over the pavement and handcuffs.”
“Poor you,” said Rosie, with the gentlest hint of mockery. “Hang on, I’ll get my violin out.”
“I’m much more worried about Dad. He’s holding himself together by a cobweb and no one seems to see it but me.”
“We see it, but he won’t let anyone near him, will he? No wonder Jon’s a mess.”
“I don’t know to do about Jon,” Sam said wearily. “It’s like talking to a brick wall. It’s one thing derailing himself, but taking Lucas with him…” He dipped his head and ran his hands over his hair. “Where did I go wrong, Rosie? Is it my fault for protecting him too much? Not telling him to stop?”
“Sam,” she said gently. “You’re his brother, not his parent. People have minds of their own and they do stupid things, whatever you say to them. You can’t control him or Lawrence. Matthew can’t control me, no matter how hard he tries.”
“Is that right?” He looked sideways at her. “So, how’s married life, Mrs. Bob-the-Builder?”
“He’s an architect. There’s a difference. It’s fine.”
“Lots of mad passion and romantic gestures?”
“It’s peaceful. Which is nice.”
“Good. I never wanted you to be unhappy, Rosie.”
“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt on that.”
They sat in silence for a few moments. The inch of space between them became charged with their body heat. Sam always smelled good and now his scent was redolent of long intense conversations and heated arguments and delicious lust. She only had to catch that spiced fragrance and it bypassed her common sense altogether. Warmth crept over her. She was all too aware of the lean firmness of his shoulders and arms and hands so close to her, the heavy ache of desire that she’d never felt for Alastair. Her breath was unsteady.
She tried not to think of the other women, all the dozens of other women sighing and convulsing underneath him. They didn’t exist.
“Sam,” she said, “do you think that the locking of the Gates makes Aetherials go mad?” He turned a little, his arm falling to his side. Their knees touched lightly. “I’m damn sure it does. Why?”
“Because I think that either I’m mad, or people around me are. I feel like I’m in being kept in chains somehow. Soft chains. By Matt, Alastair, even my father. Bounced between work, home, marriage like I’m in a little padded cell. I didn’t expect Alastair to be so… possessive. Is it them or me? What do they think is going to happen to me?”
“I don’t know.” He frowned, his eyes dark aquamarines. “Me, perhaps?”
“But they don’t know about us. They don’t even suspect.”
“There’s an us?” he said, mouth softening.
She ignored that comment. “No, I mean it’s as if there’s a conspiracy to keep us from even thinking about the Spiral. Like if we only think about the surface world, eventually the Otherworld will fade to nothing and we won’t even remember. I expected that from Matthew, but not from Auberon.”
“I don’t think you’re mad.” He turned more towards her, so that his thigh pressed hers along its length. “I don’t know what it means, but we’ve got a duty to find out, don’t you reckon? They can only make you feel trapped if you let them.”
“I know, but… Oh look,” she said with a nervous laugh. “We can have a conversation without arguing. That’s a relief.”
“Let’s write the other one off, then, shall we? At least it broke the ice.”
“With a sledgehammer,” Rosie said, raising her eyebrows.
“By the way, about what I said before…”
“You said a lot before.”
“About sleeping with every woman I could get my hands on?”
“Oh, that.”
“It wasn’t true. It was total bullshit. For what it’s worth, I’ve not been able to look at another girl. I did try, but it was only window shopping. Nothing happened.”
Rosie felt a ridiculous wave of relief. I’m definitely not thinking straight, she told herself. If he’s still obsessed with me I should be concerned, not glad… Her body, however, was not listening.
“Oh,” she said unsteadily. “Didn’t meet anyone you liked?”
“That’s the trouble.” His hand slid onto her knee. “I’ve already met her. As you know damned well.”
“Sam,” she groaned. “Oh god, don’t…”
He moved towards her and whispered in her ear. The tickling heat dissolved her. “When we were in the woods, I know it was wrong, it was wicked and I’m sorry, but wasn’t it the best thing you ever felt? How can you think that once was enough, Rosie? It was only the first taste…”
Their mouths came together and here they were again, devouring each other, hands everywhere. She sensed the Dusklands at last, shimmering around them like flame. His body was so slim and hard, his clean scent so warmly enticing, she wanted to seize and consume him with her mouth and with every other part of her…
“No, no, stop,” she said, pushing him to arm’s length and holding him there. “I can’t. I’m not doing this again.”
He held on to her forearms, gently struggling to stop her pulling free. His face was radiant and intent. “You know what this is, Rosie. It’s the Otherworld calling you. This is what happens when you try to deny it.”
“No. This is lust. Don’t try and dignify it.”
“And whatever insipid thing you have with Alastair, that’s love, is it?”
“We made vows.”
“Since when do human vows hold us?”
“You’ve got no morals,” Rosie said vehemently. “That’s what’s wrong with you, Sam.”
“You still want me inside you, though.” His velvety, urgent whisper unraveled her. “We can’t go through the Gates, but can we reconnect to our Aetherial nature through each other. You could say we have a duty…”
“God, you’re unbelievable!”
“Tell me you’re enjoying incredible passionate ecstasy with Ginger and I’ll walk away. But if you are, why are you here with me?”
She tried to sit very still, to cool her own arousal so that Sam wouldn’t sense the warm musky waves flowing towards him. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t have let it happen. We can’t keep doing this.”
His hands moved gently over her. He touched her hair. “You’ve got me, Rosie. You know I love you.”
“I don’t know any such thing. I know you say it, to wind me up.”
“It’s such fun winding you up, though.”
She stood abruptly. The molten pull of desire was so strong, it was almost impossible to walk, let alone walk away from him, but she must. “Sam, I’m sorry. I don’t know why this keeps happening. I never meant to lead you on. I’m married and I don’t love you; it’s as simple as that. I think we should just keep apart from now on and get on with our own lives.”
“Fine.” He rose and faced her, panther-lean. “So why are you crying?”
“I’m not.” Quickly she swept moisture out of her eyelashes.
“Don’t go, Rosie. Stay and talk, I won’t lay a finger on you.”
“No, I’m going to find Lucas. Don’t try to see me again,” she said helplessly, beginning to walk away.
“Oh, all right.” Arms folded, he stood at the entrance to the bower and looked at his watch. “So you won’t be wanting a lift home in a few minutes, then?”
“Always with the smart answer,” she said over her shoulder.
He smiled. “Don’t forget, you invited me over the threshold.”