No one said a word.
The lovers reclined in disarray on the tangled bed, frozen as if caught in stage lights. Alastair stared. It was only for seconds, as long as it took him to process the scene. His lips began to form unanswerable questions—What the hell? or, How could you?—but nothing came out.
His eyes glittered. Blood rose in his face. Then he whirled on his heel and walked out.
They heard him stomping down the uncarpeted stairs. A door slammed, filling the house with tense echoes. Rosie sat there in shock. There was no breath in her to speak or react. Arms, hands, legs, nothing would move.
“Oh shit,” said Sam, sitting up. “Oh, god, Rosie. Bloody hell.”
She put a hand to her face, squeezed her eyes shut and said, “Fuck.”
Sam got off the bed and began to gather their scattered clothes. She sat on the edge of the bed with her head bowed, then shook herself and began to dress, fumbling so much that Sam was fully clothed a good minute before her.
“Are you all right?” he asked gently, one hand hovering near her shoulder without actually touching.
“Help me fix the bed,” she said, hauling the covers over the sticky, rumpled sheets. Her mouth was dry, her heart trying to explode out of her chest, but all she could think to do was tidy away the evidence, too late. “Chuck me those cushions.”
Sam obliged. “How did he know we were here?”
“He knew which plot I was starting. He often drops in, if he happens to be on site. I never thought he would today. God, I’m an idiot!”
“No. It’s just crap luck.”
The room was soon as pristine as they’d found it. No one was likely to disturb the bed again until the house was sold; but when they did, they were in for a fairly unsavory surprise. Rosie took a deep breath, shuddering. “Oh god.”
“I’m so sorry, babe.” Sam raked his hand through his hair. She’d half-expected gloating pleasure from him at being discovered, but she’d misjudged him again. “I never wanted this to happen. What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know, Sam.” She finally managed to meet his eyes. His hair was all tousled and he looked tender, beautiful and worried to death. “I’d better go after him.”
“No, let him cool down first, I would.”
She exhaled. “It’ll be worse if I put it off. He deserves an explanation.”
“Let me come with you. Face him together.”
“Oh, he’d love that.” Shock had turned the afterglow to ashes. They could barely touch each other. “Thanks, but no. I have to do this alone.”
* * *
Lucas made his way towards Freya’s Crown. He approached from the west, across the wildest part of the estate, where he wouldn’t be seen from the manor. He pushed through drifts of waxy evergreens, through beech woods and brambles, climbing the steep rocky slope towards the great molar on the crest.
This was a huge risk. If Lawrence caught him, it would be the end. If Jon found out, he’d be furious—tough. Jon had done nothing for months, except sit on Rosie’s spare bed, brooding and feeling sorry for himself. Lucas had finally worked up courage to seek the truth.
The tilted volcanic outcrop loomed over him. Reaching it, he pressed one hand to its surface and rested there to get his breath back. The wind was freezing up here. He’d had time to get over the frantic fear of his last visit here and now, although nervous, he was surprisingly calm. Again he glanced around the wild landscape to make sure he was alone. The grey shadow of a dysir began to sniff around him, but made no move to stop him.
Carefully, Lucas let himself blend into the Dusklands.
The world turned liquid blue. The Great Gates stood in stately glory; a structure created by the Ancients. The sight induced swooping dizziness and he paused to steady his nerve… then he began to work his way around, trailing his hands over the gritty surface. The ridged scar on his chest began to throb and burn.
He didn’t expect to find anything. He must have hallucinated the rock face opening after the bad trip with Jon. There couldn’t really be a crack, or Lawrence would have found it.
The rock spoke, making him jump. A deep, echoing ah of heavy stone shifting. His fingers found the rim of a fissure. It was a jagged line of darkness stretching from crown to base, just barely wide enough for a slim person to squeeze into.
Lucas sank to his knees, overwhelmed, staring into the dark. He could perceive nothing inside. Only inky blackness. Perhaps the hint of a cold draft.
It was true. The Gates had cracked open as he’d come out of the drug trance. Had the gap been here all this time, or had it sealed itself and just this minute opened again at his touch? Whatever—it meant he’d somehow unlocked it. Panic swelled under his heart. Why hadn’t Lawrence found it? If he had, he would surely have mentioned it, raged about it—and, above all, relocked it long ago.
Did this mean that Lawrence, impossibly, did not know the crack was here?
It was only a sliver, hardly even a Lychgate. Not enough for anything to pass in or out, Luc told himself… not even Brawth. At least, he prayed with all his strength that nothing dangerous had crept through. “It can’t have done,” he said aloud. “We would have known, wouldn’t we?”
He felt into the fissure with both hands, pressing his palms to the cold hard walls. He tried to imagine stepping in, but couldn’t; it was too terrifying. You could stare off a cliff top, but—unless you had a death wish—you wouldn’t jump.
Holy crap, I’ve unlocked the Gates, he thought, but Lawrence doesn’t know. How can he not know? He said they’d never be opened again. He said there was only one Gatekeeper and it was him. So how…?
Unless Lawrence has lost the power.
No, thought Lucas, no. I can’t be responsible for this.
He sensed no flood, no storm, no ice demon rushing towards him. Only an intense, wintry chill. He snatched his hands out of it, rose to his feet and stared at the gap in helpless alarm. He had no idea how to open it any further—not that he wanted to—and no idea how to close it, either.
What the hell was he supposed to do now?
He shut his eyes and saw, all around him, figures in masks. Foxes, wildcats, wolves, hawks, lizards and jeweled fish—vast, transparent deities, watching him from another place as if from the tiers of a great amphitheater. They were ghostly, shining with their own eerie light; and they all simply stood there, staring at him. Waiting.
He had no idea what they wanted. He’d been seeing them in dreams for weeks. “Come,” breathed the wind. “Come to us.”
Lucas jerked backwards, stepped into the dip behind him and fell, lurching violently back into the surface world. Clear air, stark landscape. He rolled to his feet and stood there, head whirling with shock. He knew he should tell Lawrence or Auberon—but what drastic action might they take? How could he keep such a monumental secret to himself… but how could he even begin to confess it?
If the Lychgate had stood unlocked like this for months, was it possible that there was no danger after all?
Lucas turned and walked away. Head down, hands in his coat pockets, he was nearly running. And all the way down the hill the wind kept hissing at him, “Come in, come to us. It’s time.”
* * *
The aftermath was a panicky muddle. Locking the house and loading the truck as if nothing had happened, even though the world was falling in. Driving Sam back to Fox Homes to collect his motorbike; watching nervously for Alastair’s car all the way; persuading Sam to leave quickly, before anyone saw him.
“When am I going to see you?” he asked.
“I don’t know. You’d better keep out of the way for a while.”
“How can I?” Sam was dismayed. “What if he rants and raves?”
“I don’t need protecting from him. Please, just over the weekend.”
“And… what happens then?”
Rosie shook her head. “God, Sam, don’t ask me that.”
“Am I fired?” he asked so plaintively that she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
“Have you got a mobile?” she said. “Quick, give me the number. Then I won’t have to get past Cruella again.” And they stood inanely swapping phone numbers, while the dark hunt came thundering towards them through the cosmos.
Once he’d gone, Rosie hauled herself upstairs to the architects’ office, steeled for disaster. Matthew greeted her with a feeble joke about Sam tunneling to freedom and never being seen again. When she asked if he’d seen Alastair, he looked innocently puzzled. “I thought he went to find you.”
“We must have missed each other,” Rosie said lamely, and rushed out. So Alastair hadn’t run straight to him—and why would he? No man would want to admit such humiliation, even to his best friend.
She looked for his car, checked the nearby pub. Finally she went home, shaking with anxiety all the way—and there he was. Waiting for her on the living-room sofa; a solid mass of bewilderment, pain and simmering anger. His face was purple with emotion.
Rosie sidled in, as if making no sound would make her seem more contrite. “Um,” she said softly, and perched on the arm of a chair.
Alastair said nothing at first. The atmosphere hung sour and awkward between them. Finally, as if they’d already had half an argument—which perhaps they had, inside their own heads—he said, “You know, I came to tell you I was sorry.”
“About what?” Rosie said, startled.
“Matthew and me, being rude to Sam. I felt bad about it after. It was childish. I’ve got nothing against Sam, he’s obviously a great fellow”—the word was loaded with sarcasm—“but when I say to Matt, ‘Maybe we went over the top,’ he sneers and starts telling me Sam’s a troublemaker, a psycho and all that, and I start thinking, oh lord, even if Matt’s exaggerating, I let Rosie go off on her own with him. Better make sure she’s all right.”
“You felt you needed to check up on me?”
“No. I thought, I’ll apologize for being a prat, and see if she’s all right. I was concerned about my wife, is that okay?”
Rosie bit her lip. Her throat ached. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said, and meant it. She was fond of Alastair, perhaps more than she’d realized. No passion between them, but there had been something; affection, friendship, habit, something too solid to be thrown away lightly.
“No, they never do,” he said darkly. His accent grew more Scottish when he was upset. “‘It just happened. It’s not you, it’s me.’ And so on. I’ve heard it all before. So, what was it, a spontaneous shag to get back at Matt and me?”
“No. It was nothing to do with that.”
He pondered. His eyes shone with tears. That brought her close to the edge, too. Truth dawning, he said, “It wasn’t the first time, was it? How long’s it been going on?”
“A while.”
“But we’ve only been married four months!” he shouted. He slapped his palms hard on his thighs, jumped up and paced around the room.
Watching him, Rosie felt a strange sense of resignation. She hadn’t wanted this—but what had she planned instead? To deceive him, find excuses to avoid sex, then sneak off for heated liaisons with Sam? So her plans had been torpedoed. It served her right. She felt sad and wretched, but relieved that he knew.
“We should have stayed friends, Alastair,” she said gently. “I shouldn’t have married you.”
“Then why the hell did you?” His voice was tight with anguish. “It seemed right at the time. I made a mistake. It’s my fault, not yours.”
“You settled for me. I always knew, but I tried to kid myself it would work out. I thought you wanted that cretin Jon, so why are you screwing his brother?”
Then he started crying. He stood with his shoulders shaking, desolate. Tears ran down Rosie’s face. Neither of them spoke for a time.
Eventually Alastair composed himself and said, to her complete astonishment, “We can put this behind us, Rose. You wanted to go a bit wild, maybe. I suppose that’s in your blood. But you’ve got it out of your system now, right? Can’t we forget it and make a new start?”
It was the hope in his voice that destroyed her. He was offering her a way back. Sam was a wolf in the dark, but Alastair was part of her family.
She realized that this was the moment of heartbreak. Not being discovered, but this.
“No,” she said, quiet and firm. “I’m sorry, Alastair. I shouldn’t have married you. It wouldn’t be fair of me to stay.”
“No, wait. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Yes, I do. I want Sam.”
“But he’s a nutcase!” He began to pace again.
“No, he isn’t. Even if I stayed with you, I’d go on seeing him, and I can’t do that to you.”
“I should never have let you go to that bloody prison!”
“Let me? It wasn’t up to you!”
“You’re not thinking straight. This isn’t you, Rose. You’re sensible, you’re kind.” His hands were shaking, his eyes growing wild. “You wouldn’t do this to me.”
“I would. I have,” she said somberly. “And I’m terribly sorry.”
Alastair paced a bit more. Finally he seemed to accept what she was saying. Then he lost it. “When did I strike you?” he cried. “When did I strike you?”
“What?” She was on her feet, startled by his sudden rage. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve read the folktales. If a man takes a faerie wife, he knows the rules; if he once mistreats her, she’ll vanish back to the land of Faerie. That’s the deal. He can’t control her like he would a human wife. He hits her, she’s gone. One strike and you’re out. I’ve kept my side of the bargain! So tell me, when the hell did I strike you?”
Rosie stood aghast. She wondered what she’d missed by taking him at face value. “What do you mean? Where did that lot come from?”
“Oh, I know what you are. The elder race. The others. You told me yourself, sort of laughing as if you assumed I wouldn’t believe it. But I’ve had chats with Jessica. Words with Faith, who couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it. Even Matt, who’s almightily embarrassed by it, more or less sold you to me on the strength of it. Yes, you might be a wee bit wild, but the magic of you more than made up for that.”
“He marketed me?” she said numbly.
“Special. More than human. All glamorous and mysterious, like a goddess.”
“I didn’t realize you were such a romantic,” she said scathingly. “Oh my god, I never guessed. You really thought you were buying into a fairy tale?”
“Yes, it sounds idiotic, put like that. But I did, because I thought you’d be different.”
“How? As compared to the coke-snorting hell-bitch who broke your heart before me?”
“Aye, different from her. Exactly. But oh, no. Human, Aetherial, you’re all the bloody same! All women have this witch inside them!”
She stood incredulous at the volcanic rage boiling out of him. “And you married me, thinking that?” Outraged, she squared up to him. “Matthew was so desperate for me to marry a human, I never stopped to quiz your motives. You thought you were getting some kind of special offer, one faerie princess, slightly soiled, comes complete with rich father and chastity belt?”
“I never thought that. I loved you.”
“Maybe it’s all the love you’re capable of, but it felt pretty bloody lukewarm to me.”
“Well, I’m only a humble mortal. You’re a princess and I treated you with respect. Now I’m not passionate enough for you? But you knew what you were getting! I thought you were happy. Satisfied. I didn’t realize you secretly wanted some man all over you like a rutting hog. Just not me, eh?”
“I thought we were happy, too, but that’s because I was dead inside. Sam brought me back to life.”
Alastair glared at her, fury seething in his eyes. He took a couple of steps back, nostrils flaring. “Will you get yourself away from me?” he said, an ocean of disgust in his voice. “You stink of sex.”
“Well, I have just had lots of it. I’ll take a shower,” she said icily. She turned away, heartsick. From calm sorrow to cheap, vicious insults—what had made her think they could do this with dignity?
As she went into the hallway she saw Lucas and Jon, hovering at the bottom of the stairs. Great, all she needed was the whole ghastly scene to have been witnessed. Lucas looked wide-eyed and upset. “Are you all right, Ro?” he mouthed.
She didn’t answer. Jon’s expression was closed, contemptuous. Despising me for getting mired in a human mess? she wondered. I bet that’s exactly it. He thinks he’s above all this.
“Come on, Luc,” Jon said flatly, walking towards the front door. “I need to get out of here.”
“Who’s going to tell Matthew?” Alastair said as the door closed behind them. He stood with his hands on his hips. “You or me?”
“I will,” she said. “He’s going to be furious with me, whoever tells him.”
“Where am I going to live? Because if you think you’re moving Sam in here—”
“You can have the house,” she said quickly. “I’ll go to Oakholme.”
“I don’t want the bloody house!” he cried. “I want you. Rosie, please!”
She looked away. She couldn’t bear his anguish.
“That’s it, is it?” he said shakily. “You’d give up everything to fuck some loser who can’t even get a proper job? It’s really over?”
“I’ll leave,” she said faintly.
“No, don’t stir yourself.” His voice turned flat with anger. “I can’t talk to you any more.” And he was gone. She winced as the front door slammed.
* * *
Two hours later Rosie sat in the kitchen, numb. She was alone in the cold-hearted house with winter darkness falling outside. She wanted to call Sam, but didn’t. She needed to distance herself from him before she could even straighten her thoughts, let alone speak.
In the shower, she’d cried until she couldn’t anymore. The water had washed away the essence of Sam and her tears together.
Now she was cradling a mug of tea. Thought of adding brandy, decided it wouldn’t help. When she heard the front door opening, she went on red alert, steeling herself for another bout. Lucas’s face appeared in the doorway, porcelain-pale and worried. She slumped in relief, asking, “Where’s Jon?”
“We had an argument.” Lucas came in, removing his coat and throwing it on a chair. He sat opposite her. “We met this mate of his, and Jon wanted to go off with him and get stoned. I was mad at him for thinking about himself when you’re having a crisis, but getting mad at Jon only makes him more obstinate. So I left him to it.”
“Great,” Rosie sighed. “And Alastair’s walked out.”
“So it’s just you and me.” Luc sat looking anxiously at her. “That was a bombshell, you and Alastair. You want to tell me about it?”
“I don’t know what to say. I’ve been seeing Sam. Alastair caught us in bed at the show house I was working on.” She gave a sour laugh. “If I’d told him we’d taken our clothes off to have a rest after a tough morning’s gardening, I don’t think he would have bought it.”
“Good grief, Ro, you’re a dark horse. I thought you were the last person… d’you remember, the morning of your wedding? I knew your heart wasn’t in it. I knew.”
“Yes, you did.” She gripped his hand across the table. “I’ve screwed up royally.”
“Come on, you’re not the first person ever to… uh,” he trailed off as they caught each other’s eye.
“Must run in the family, eh?” Rosie gave a sour grin.
“I’m confused. You don’t even like Sam.”
“I thought I didn’t. Actually I was like a cat on a hot plate every time I saw him, and I never knew how to react, except to fend him off. He grew on me. I like him. A lot.”
“Do you love him?”
“I don’t know yet. That’s the problem, I’m scared I’ve wrecked our lives for nothing. What if it’s only lust in the end? Demon lovers promise the world then leave you high and dry. I don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t worry, Ro. Don’t rush into anything. It’ll work out.”
She smiled at Lucas, feeling an intense wave of love for him. He was pure-hearted, loyal, the light of his soul shining clearly in his eyes. A being of light, no less. “I’m so glad you’re here. We’ve got each other, whatever else happens.”
“I seriously need to talk to you,” he said, eyes darkening. “Sorry I’ve picked a bad time.”
“Oh, I’m tired of my own problems. What’s up?”
His shoulders hunched. Skeins of black hair fell forward. “Don’t know where to start. I daren’t tell anyone. I—I—I think I opened the Gates.”
“You’ve done what?”
“Oh—not wide open. Is there a word for not even ajar?” He held up his hands in prayer position, a few inches apart. “Just a sliver.”
She sat speechless, listening intently as he explained. “I didn’t intend to do it. I don’t know how it happened. It was months ago, just after that bad trip with Jon—I sort of felt the Lychgate crack open, but I told myself I’d imagined it. Then today I plucked up courage just to go and check… and it had really happened. I’m certain Lawrence doesn’t know, otherwise he would have gone completely insane about it, and reclosed it long ago… but he didn’t. I don’t know what I’ve done. I’m so scared.”
Rosie knew her brother well enough to believe him. “So he was angry just because you were messing around at the Gates—not because he realized you’d unlocked something? Hold on, are you absolutely certain this crack hasn’t been there forever?”
He paused, considering. “No. When it first happened, I felt it—inside.” He touched his chest. “Today I felt it again. I saw these beautiful, ghostly Aelyr calling to me. I didn’t sense danger, only this bitter cold. Perhaps it’s all right.”
“Perhaps you should talk to Lawrence again,” she said quietly.
“I can’t. God knows what he’d do.” He looked imploringly at her. “I’m sorry to lay this on you. I feel like the world’s falling apart. Then you and Alastair…”
“And I’ve been too busy to notice what a horrible time you’re having. I’m sorry. God, I’ve done nothing but apologize today.” She blushed suddenly, remembering that it was far from all she’d done.
Luc squeezed her hand, to tell her it didn’t matter. “Part of me is drawn to the Gates. Part of me wants to run like hell. I daren’t tell anyone, not even Dad.”
“What about Jon?” she asked. “I thought he’d be the first to know.”
Lucas shook his head. “Not with the state of his head at the moment. I dread to think what he’d do. I know he’s infuriating, but I still care about him.”
“I know,” said Rosie. “He’s obviously in denial about what a mess he’s in. Er, when Lawrence threw him out—are you sure that was all about the Gates, and nothing to do with Sapphire?”
Lucas flinched. “Gates, definitely. Lawrence doesn’t know.”
“About the French-kissing of the stepmother?”
“You’re not still sore about that, are you?”
“No,” she said. “Merely puzzled. All the girls or boys he could have had...”
“You don’t understand. It was all Sapphire.”
“Is that what he told you?”
“He told me the truth. She got hold of him when he was sixteen and he didn’t know how to stop her. If she was a man, no one would think twice about calling it abuse.”
“Sixteen?” Rosie was silent, shocked. Pieces fell into place. She felt sick. “Of course. That’s why Sapphire’s all over him. And it’s why he’s refusing to see her.”
“You’ve got it.”
“Oh,” she gasped, heart accelerating. “Sam doesn’t know, does he? I went into denial and told myself it was just a kiss, and I never mentioned it because, truly, it’s none of my business. If he’d known, he’d have been raging on the warpath about it long before now.”
Lucas’s eyes shone with alarm. “You mustn’t tell him! I was supposed to keep quiet, but stuff like this—it’s too much.”
“Great,” she groaned. “Another bloody secret.” She imagined lying in Sam’s arms, knowing and not saying… “I can’t not tell him, Luc! Oh, don’t worry, I won’t. But if Sam finds out I knew, and didn’t say anything—I’ll just go and live in a monastery, shall I?”
Lucas gave a sweet, tired grin. “We could slip away through the Gates together. No one would ever know where we’d gone.”
“Tempting.”
His smile faded to a frown. “Seriously, what are we going to do?”
“Sleep,” said Rosie. “Nothing will seem as bad tomorrow. That’s what they say, isn’t it?”
* * *
Alastair did not come home that night. Next morning, there was still no sign of him. It was Saturday, so Rosie had two days’ grace; two days to smooth things over so they could all—Sam included—turn up at work on Monday and behave in a civilized fashion and so avoid her father’s wrath because his key staff were missing, and all because—she closed her eyes, mortified at the prospect of everyone finding out—she and Sam couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
Not a hope in hell.
Rosie fastened her crystal heart around her neck; it helped her to feel safe, because it reminded her of her father. Then she switched on her mobile phone and found a dozen messages from Sam, each increasingly urgent.
RUOK?
Please call me.
Switch your bloody phone on!
Rosie what’s happening?
Just let me know ur OK…
She dialed his number. He answered within one ring. “Rosie?”
“I’ve spoken to Alastair.”
“How was it?”
“Horrible.” She pressed her knuckles to her forehead. “As bad as it could be.”
“Oh, Christ. Are you all right, love?”
“Yep.” Her throat was in a knot. She tried to swallow past it. “He wants to forgive and forget. Thinks we can get over it, like it never happened.”
Sam went quiet. She sensed his fear, like a cold wave across the ether. “And what did you say?”
“I said no. I told him it wouldn’t work and I made a mistake marrying him. Should’ve listened to you, shouldn’t I? I ended it, Sam. He walked out.”
“Oh.” He sounded shocked. A pause, then cautious hope. “Does that mean you and me can…”
“No, not yet. It’s too soon. I don’t know.” She choked on tears, couldn’t help it.
“Rosie, don’t. Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have upset you like this for anything. We were meant to take it slow, let him down gently.”
“If not now, it would’ve been next week, or next year,” she said. “It would never have been gentle.”
“I have to see you, I can be there in ten minutes.”
“No, Sam. If he comes back and finds you here, it’ll make things worse. I need time to sort myself out. I’ll call you later, all right?”
She ended the call and sat with the phone limp in her hands. Well, it was done. Her safe little world staved in, just like that. She couldn’t leap out of the wreckage and into Sam’s arms; it wasn’t possible. Physically and emotionally, she couldn’t. It had all happened too soon. Perhaps for him, too.
As she reached Oakholme an hour later, she looked past the house to the hill beyond. Sam was up there at Stonegate, desperate to see her. A pang caught in her chest, but she must put her family first. The day was chilly and full of mist. The Gates were up there, open a mere sliver, issuing a faint draft from the underworld… Her head swam and the world turned strange; a sudden waking vision that the Otherworld was lost, and where it had been was only the absolute zero of the Abyss leaking slowly into the surface world—she shook off the darkness, but it took a long time to settle inside her and let her go.
She found Matthew, Faith and Heather in the dining room, lingering over a late breakfast, a cameo of family bliss. Matthew looked up from his newspaper. He wore reading glasses and it suddenly struck Rosie that he and Faith wore glasses as if taking on human imperfections, stacking mortal props around themselves to ward off the Aetheric world. They looked like a pair of teachers, perfectly matched.
“Hi,” she said in answer to their surprised greetings. “Have you seen Alastair?”
“Not today,” said Matthew. “Hasn’t he got rugby practice?”
She shook her head. “Mum and Dad not here?”
“Gone to Leicester for the day. Shopping, cinema, dinner.” He tapped his watch. “You missed them by about ten minutes. So, how have you managed to mislay your husband?”
Rosie pulled out a chair and sat down. “There’s no easy way to tell you this. We’ve split up.”
His reaction was an explosive reflex. “Don’t be ridiculous! How? You were perfectly fine yesterday, until you…” He slowed down, nodding. “Oh, I get it.”
“Do you?” Rosie tensed, startled.
“I put him straight about Sam, so you’ve had an argument about it. For heaven’s sake, Rosie, it seems to be your mission in life to help the socially challenged, but Sam Wilder? Have you lost your mind? No way on this planet is he suitable to work for us. You must see that. Alastair and I are trying to protect you, that’s all. You don’t split up over one little argument.”
Rosie chewed her lip. She caught Faith’s eye. “It’s a bit worse than that.”
As she explained, Matt’s face was a diagram of disbelief and outrage. He threw his glasses on the table. “You and Sam? That’s impossible.”
“Perfectly possible, as it turns out.”
“Why him? What were you thinking?” To her shock, he turned on Faith. “Did you know about this?”
“Of course she didn’t!” Rosie exclaimed. Faith sat pale and frozen, gathering Heather on her knee as Matthew went predictably ballistic.
His tone was controlled but loaded with disappointment, like an exasperated schoolmaster. Sam was a criminal lunatic. His brother was a junkie, his father insane. Rosie must be possessed by demons. And so on. She listened wearily, wishing herself anywhere but here. What a glorious way to spend the weekend.
“Do you imagine you’re going to discard Alastair for that jerk?” Matt continued, when he’d drawn breath. “Just wait until I catch him!”
“No,” Rosie said firmly. “Don’t you dare. It’s not your problem.”
“Oh, yes it is. That’s my best friend you’ve betrayed. Look, Rosie, you’ve done something unbelievably stupid, but Alastair’s daft enough to forgive you. Grovel. Promise you’ll never see that bastard again.”
“No, Matt,” she said with fierce emphasis. “Why were you so keen to marry me to a human in the first place? When I was with Alastair, I couldn’t touch the Dusklands.” Matthew thinned his lips and looked away. “But when I’m with Sam, it comes rushing back and it’s where I belong. I can’t deny what I am. Especially not to suit you.” She was aware of the weight of Faith’s attention as she spoke.
“That’s childish,” he said.
“Is that your best argument? Because you were happy to talk me up to Alastair as some elven princess.”
Matthew said thinly, “No one forced you to marry him, Ro.”
She paused. “That’s true,” she said. “I don’t expect forgiveness or approval, I’m simply being honest, so…” She trailed off. Matthew’s hand, lying on the table, looked weird. Elongated, sheened with slate-grey fur—a paw with thick black claws. She blinked and the hand was normal again. “So that you know the situation.”
Matthew produced a phone from his pocket. “Let’s see what Alastair has to say about it, shall we?”
Sensing the atmosphere, Heather wriggled on Faith’s knee and said, “Mummy, grow your wings. Let’s play water fairies.”
“Not now, dear,” Faith said quickly. “Come on.”
Matthew didn’t look up as she gathered the child and swept her out, didn’t register her pallor and tension. Rosie stood up to follow, glaring at her brother. “Call him, if you must. It won’t make any difference.”
“We’ll see about that,” Matthew said grimly. “Everything I’ve done has been for your own good, Rose. All I wanted was to see you happy and this is how you thank me, just throw it back in my face? I’m not having it.”
“You can’t control me,” she said. “Sam may be everything you’ve said, and worse—but at least he’s truly alive.”
She found Faith in the kitchen, furiously running hot water into the sink. Heather was at the table with crayons and paper, drawing a figure with blue streaks in its hair, green tendrils flowing from its shoulders.
“Are you all right?” Rosie asked, rubbing her friend’s tense, bony shoulder. “Matthew’s too self-absorbed to notice anything a child says.”
“No. He watches like a hawk.” Faith put a hand to her forehead, leaving a blob of bubbles there. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“Fai, he’s all hot air. I’ve just told him the worst thing ever and what can he do, except bluster? You can’t live like this, being scared of him. It’s wrong. Heather will pick it up.”
Faith only sighed. She soaped and rinsed crockery, passing it to Rosie to dry. “You said you’d only been with Sam once.”
“I had, when I told you. Things heated up after that.”
“What are you going to do?”
“No idea,” Rosie said. “I don’t know if Sam and I can last five minutes. I’ve tried unrequited infatuation, settling for a safe bet, and lust. I still don’t know what real love is, or how I’d recognize it if I found it.”
“We’re a mess, aren’t we?” Faith said, with a sideways grin.
Matthew appeared in the doorway, holding out his phone to Rosie, grimly triumphant. “I’ve persuaded him to speak to you.”
Drying her hands on a tea towel, she reluctantly took the phone. “Thanks. Hello?”
“Hi, Rosie, how are you doing?” Alastair sounded subdued.
“Okay. You?”
“Bit of a hangover. Bruised ego. I’m all right.”
“Are you coming home?” she asked.
“Have I got a home? Does that mean you’ve changed your mind?”
Rosie paused, heavyhearted. “No,” she said quietly. “There’s no point in pretending, or dragging things out. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“Have you seen him?”
“If you mean Sam, no.”
“You’re not seriously going to employ him, are you?” Alastair’s dull tone took an edge. “That’s going to be fun in the office, isn’t it?”
“We’ll sort it out on Monday,” Rosie said wearily.
“Oh, you think it can be sorted, do you? You really hurt me, Rosie.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t think you do know,” he replied in the same soft tone. “I don’t think you’ve got the first clue what you’ve done to me.”
Rosie closed her eyes. He sounded wretched. “I know. It’s raw. There’s nothing I can say to make it better. We’re not the first couple who’ve ever split up.”
“Well, you know, I never thought it would happen to us. I should have remembered; the faerie folk have no hearts, no souls and no morals, do they, Rose?”
She exhaled through her teeth, losing the will to argue. “Come home and we’ll talk it over,” she said. She heard him breathe in and out. Then he hung up.
“I’m going home,” she said, handing the phone back. “To wait for Alastair.”
Matthew gave a broad, menacing smile. “Good girl. Sort it out.”
She took her leave, got into her car and began to drive slowly out of Cloudcroft. She looked up through clouds of bare branches in the direction of Stonegate. Perhaps tomorrow she would see Sam, once Alastair was calmer. God, yes, she had to see him. The idea of making a date with Sam sent sensual thrills of anticipation through her, cutting deliciously through the morass of guilt.
She drove slowly around the bend where the Crone Oak stood. As she passed beneath its bare, spreading branches, she saw the Greenlady—coiling and dipping like a green snake through its limbs. The head lunged suddenly at the passenger-side window, causing her to swerve in shock.
“Blood tastes like iron,” the Greenlady’s hiss followed her. “Now I can never get the taste out of my mouth.”
* * *
Night was closing in when Lucas went in search of Jon. He headed towards the run-down house of Jon’s drug buddy on the far side of Ashvale, walking along a narrow street with houses on his right and a tall hedge screening a park on his left. Streetlights gave the scene a watery amber glow. As he rounded a bend, he saw Jon in a pool of light, talking to a woman whose dark hair cascaded almost to her hips over an elegant fur coat.
Sapphire. Lucas didn’t know whether to interrupt and rescue Jon, or dive into the hedge. In the event he did neither; Jon saw and acknowledged him with a glance that Sapphire didn’t notice. Feeling awkward, Lucas hovered in the shadows a few yards away.
“Finally I can speak to you without the Rottweiler seeing me off,” she was saying.
“Rottweiler?”
“Rosie. She’s a bit of a diva, that one.”
“She was protecting me,” Jon said. “I didn’t want to see you.”
Sapphire appraised him, her head on one side. She raised her manicured hand to stroke his face. “When are you going to end this sulking marathon and come home?”
Jon jerked his head away from her touch. “I’m not sulking! Father’s disowned me. Any claim you had on me is long over. Find some other stupid boy to use.”
“You think I want you back for that?” Sapphire laughed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Thank god.”
“Oh, don’t tell me you got nothing out of it.”
“It’s like eating too much cotton candy, isn’t it?” he said flatly. “Eventually it makes you sick to your stomach.”
Lucas saw anger flare beneath her smooth surface. “I don’t want your scrawny body, dear,” she hissed. “Help me as you agreed, and I’ll make things right between you and Lawrence. I know that’s what you want.”
Jon’s shoulders rose. “I didn’t agree to anything.”
As he turned away, she slipped her gloved hands around his arm and stopped him. “Oh yes, you did. You promised that we’d break through the Gates together.”
“Yeah, well, I would say anything to get you off my back,” Jon answered, his eyes narrow with scorn. “The Gates are sacred! They’re none of your business! Why the hell does it matter to you, anyway?”
Sapphire paused, then spoke so quietly that Lucas strained to hear. “Someone I loved vanished. Aetherials took him, I’m sure. Yes, he may be dead, but if there’s the slightest chance he went into the Spiral, I have to know. I need to know if a human can go through, that’s all I’m asking. Jon, it was my father. I have to know what happened to him!”
She was fervent, but Jon pulled out of her grip, unmoved. “Please tell me that’s not why you married Lawrence.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She gave a honeyed smile, belied by the desperate and ruthless gleam of her eyes. “Come on, who was there for you with your mother gone, your father always absent, your brother in prison? Me. Who else has been kind and loved you like I have?”
“Used me.” Jon folded his arms to make a barrier. “I’m sorry about your father, Sapphire. But I can’t open the Gates for you, and if I could, I wouldn’t.”
“You’re as stubborn as Lawrence,” she snapped. “You know what I think you’re both afraid of? That when you take off your masks, I’ll see that there’s nothing, absolutely nothing underneath.”
Jon’s voice became hoarse with pain. “You’ve no idea what it’s done to us, being forbidden to enter the Gates like normal Aetherials. When I was sixteen, I should have been discovering the Spiral—not trapped on your mattress. Years, you’ve been using me to achieve this quest of yours, and you don’t even know what you’re asking. Not the first clue.”
He strode away, coming towards Lucas. Sapphire let him go. She watched him for a moment, her eyes glistening; then her lips tightened and she walked in the other direction, dwindling until she reached a parked car, got in and drove away.
Jon stared after her. “I suppose you heard all that.”
“Keep away from her,” said Lucas, shaken. “She seems… demented.”
“She’d have to be, to marry my father,” said Jon. “Forget her. I have.”
They began to walk along the dark street. Presently Lucas asked, “Enjoy yourself last night?”
“Can’t remember. I call that a result.”
Lucas sighed. “Are you coming home?”
“Where’s home?”
“Rosie’s.”
“Not if we have to sit through another round of marital bliss, no thanks.” Jon grinned bleakly. “So, Sam finally got what he wanted. I knew he’d never do it without causing complete mayhem. That’s Sam all over, that is.”
“What he wanted?” Luc frowned. “To get her into bed, you mean?”
Jon shrugged. “He’s had a thing about her for years. Didn’t you know?”
“No. One of these days I’ll write a book called ‘What I didn’t know because no one bothered to tell me.’ I don’t want her to get hurt again. She keeps picking the wrong blokes. No offense.”
“Cheers.”
“Anyway, Alastair’s left. It’s peaceful. I don’t like you hanging about in drug dens, Jon. Please come back.” Jon’s demeanor softened.
“Yeah, okay. Since it’s you.” After a moment he added, “Everyone gets Sam wrong. He’ll fight like a dog to protect you. The trouble is, he doesn’t know when to stop.”
“That’s not completely reassuring,” said Lucas. “Look, about the Gates…”
“I know, I need to stop obsessing and do something with my life. Charity work?” Jon said sardonically. “Helping drug addicts? Forget the Gates. There is no Spiral. We’ll all be fully human in no time and won’t even remember being Aetherial, and my father will be stuck in torment forever, but that’s okay, because mundanes like your brother Matthew will be happy.”
Lucas didn’t know what to say. He bit his lip. He had to confess. “No, Jon, listen… About that time at Freya’s Crown, something happened…”
A car swished along the road behind them, drowning his voice. Drawing level, it stopped and the window slid down. “Lucas!” called the driver.
It was Alastair.
“Oh—er—hi,” said Luc, startled. “Where are you off to?”
“I’m on my way home. Do you want a lift?”
Jon and Lucas looked at each other. “No, we’re fine, thanks. We’ll walk.”
“No, come on. It’s a good twenty minutes for you and it’s starting to rain. Hop in.”
He looked his usual self. Slightly flushed and sweaty, but no worse than after playing rugby. “Okay,” said Lucas, but Jon hung back.
“No thanks. Don’t want an encore.”
“Rosie and I are fine,” Alastair said emphatically. “No more words, I promise. Come on. She wants you home.” He leaned over to open the passenger door. “Hop in the front, Lucas. You’ll be all right in the back, won’t you, Jon?”
“Whatever,” Jon said, and climbed in. Lucas settled in the squashy seat and fastened his seat belt. The central locking clunked shut. He felt suddenly claustrophobic. The car moved off and Alastair drove with a ghost smile on his lips, humming to himself as he navigated towards the main road. When he reached it, instead of turning towards the house, he went straight on.
“Where are we going?” Lucas asked. No answer. “Have you seen Rosie today? She was worried.”
“I’ve spoken to her, aye.”
“This is really awkward. I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything, Luc. It will all be evened out, don’t worry.”
Alastair swung off the main road, onto the long switchback lane that ultimately led to Cloudcroft. Darkness rushed past and the car bounced, almost taking off over the high curves.
“Where are we going?” Luc asked again, nervous now.
“Rosie’s at Oakholme,” Alastair said in the same light, slightly manic tone. “She’s waiting for you there.”
“Oh,” said Lucas, puzzled. “I didn’t realize. Could you slow down a bit?”
“Yeah, d’you mind?” said Jon.
“You pair of wimps.” He slowed minimally, beefy hands tight on the wheel.
“Why’s she at Oakholme?” asked Luc. Catching a sour scent on Alastair’s breath, he added, “How much have you had to drink?”
“Not enough.” The car hurtled down a tunnel of trees, gathering speed, headlights making an eerie glow. After a minute or so, Alastair began, “I want to explain to her what she’s done to me. But I can’t put it into words. I want to say to her, ‘If I could only make you understand one second of the pain I’m feeling’—but it’s impossible. Words aren’t adequate. She doesn’t care. What would make her care, eh?”
He swung the car onto the lane that wound into the village. The road was far too narrow for speed. Lucas felt he was suffocating in the closed glass and metal capsule, the thick leathery scent. He felt Jon hanging on to his seat back.
“I swore no woman would ever do this to me again.” Alastair’s voice took on a strangled note. “No woman, human or faerie, has the right to do this to me. The bitch!”
“Hold on,” Lucas interrupted. “You can’t call Rosie that.”
“Calling her as I see her. What else is she? I thought we were solid.” His mouth trembled. “I thought I knew her, but I didn’t. What were our wedding vows to her, a joke, a laundry list, what?”
Trees and a house flashed past. Lucas’s head whipped round. “Alastair, we went straight past Oakholme. Where are we going? Stonegate?”
“You’re after Sam, aren’t you?” said Jon, alarmed. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know, but if I see that bastard, if I catch him—” Alastair’s voice caught with sobs.
“This won’t help anyone!” Lucas exclaimed. “What are you planning? To run him over? Then what?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know!” Alastair braked violently, slewing the car around on the lane in a shower of gravel. Sweat and tears were pouring down his face. “I need to think.”
“Well, can you let us out then,” Jon said shakily, “because this is really wasting gas, and it’s nothing to do with us.” He fumbled with the door handle, but the locks wouldn’t release. Alastair moved off again, bumping the car over grass at the roadside.
“Oh, isn’t it?” He cruised back the way they’d come, passing Oakholme a second time. His driving was erratic but slower now. “Did you know, Lucas, she once told me you were the most precious thing in the world to her? Not me. You.”
“What?” Lucas said faintly.
“I don’t know if she loves Sam, but I know she loves you, and even that birdbrain in the back, more than she ever loved me. I gave her every chance to put things right. How many men would do that? I was ready to forgive her and she throws it back at me—like my forgiveness is worthless. She doesn’t get it—I tore out my heart and my pride and offered them to her on a platter, and she doesn’t even care, she just kicks them into the mud.” His teeth were bared, his eyes glittering with tears. “What would it take to make her feel the pain, eh? Hurt something they love. Destroy some darling fluffy wee thing they love. It’s the only language they understand.”
“Excuse me,” said Jon, “this is kidnap. What are you going to do with us?”
“I don’t know! Shut up!” He pressed the accelerator, veering onto the wrong side of the road. “I don’t want to hurt you. But while I’ve got you, I’ve got the power. Let me think!”
“Yeah, slow down,” said Lucas. “You shouldn’t be driving in this state. Let’s stop and have a talk instead.”
“Don’t patronize me, you wee bastard.” He swung left onto another unlit, winding lane, taking the bends without care as he wavered piteously between tears and rage. “We’ll just drive around awhile, so I can think straight. I trusted your family! How could she, when I trusted her?”
“Look,” said Jon. “I’m getting massively pissed off with this. I know you broke my fucking guitar! I know you hate me, but it is not my fault that Rosie decided to break her heart over me. She’s flaky. She married you on the rebound and probably shagged my brother on the rebound, too. Reality check: She doesn’t love you. Get over it. You want to find Sam, he’s probably at your house doing Rosie right now.”
Alastair turned, even in the gloom, deathly white. He pressed the accelerator. The speed flung them back in their seats.
“There’s a sharp right bend ahead,” gasped Lucas. He saw hedges racing past on either side, the tight bend approaching, the huge oak tree that Rosie loved standing proud, directly in their path. In a panic he unfastened his seat belt, fumbled uselessly with the locked door. Alastair’s eyes were glazed, his mouth an oblong of pain and rage as he thrust his foot to the floor. The engine shrieked. Lucas and Jon were both shouting now. It was like shouting underwater.
Alastair screamed. He wrestled with the steering wheel, trying at the very last second to turn—too late. The Crone Oak came rushing at them. Lucas felt the tires slithering on the asphalt as the car went out of control. He flattened himself against the seat back, held his breath, watched paralyzed as the trunk grew huge in the windshield.
There was a violent shock as the car hit rough grass and became airborne.
Impact. Crunching metal, shattering glass. And Lucas went on flying; falling from the cliff edge, plunging through the Gates, diving into the blackness of the Abyss.