by Rae Else
‘I thought I heard you. And Alex…’ Tia’s eyes gladdened as she clasped his hands. ‘Thank God!’ Without another word, she ripped her hands from his and hurried upstairs.
What the hell? Everyone followed as if they knew what the matter was. El ran after them. A knot tightened in her stomach: someone must be hurt.
Upstairs, El hastened into the bedroom, the one in which she had slept the last time she was here. In the doorway, she halted. It was as if the way was barred: the smell hit her and caused her to stop. The stale aroma of sweat hung heavily in the air, welcome in comparison to the undercurrent of bodily waste and the metallic odour of blood.
The double bed remained in the centre of the wall. All around it, makeshift cots lay occupied. There were eight of them set up in the room. The scent of burnt flesh unnerved her. As she moved towards Tia, a peppermint fragrance wafted from her. Although it gave a momentary relief, it wasn’t strong enough to overpower the scent of the sick room. El’s acute hearing detected the pounding of arete hearts too. Their thunderous rhythm announcing the pain they were struggling against.
A man nearest the door was doubled up in agony. In the cot next to him, a woman had a bandage down the side of her face, neck and torso. Heat emanated from her skin and there was a coagulation of bloody tissue beneath the bandages, the raw flesh giving off a sweet, musky aroma. They must all be Opposition members, wounded in last night’s battle.
Dan and Alex were standing beside the bed in the centre. El could only make out another man sitting on the edge of the mattress, obscuring whoever was lying there. Wide-eyed, El teetered to the foot of the bed.
‘She’s weaker than I would like. There was a lot of blood loss,’ the man said. His gaze radiated a faint warmth like a ray of light. He was a hesperides, a fire nymph.
The covers were pulled up to the waist of the bed’s occupant. El’s eyes roved over the slight curve of her chest, dark glistening skin and short hair. Her eyes were closed. Cam. El shook her head minutely. Cam had said that she wasn’t involved in the Opposition.
The hesperides drew Alex over to the door.
‘I’ll go to Endon,’ Alex said. ‘There’s empousa blood in one of the fridges.’
‘The Order’s already seized control,’ the nymph said. He lowered his voice, ‘We’re almost out of pain meds too.’
‘Bugger!’
El clutched her plait, looking around the room at the injured. She wondered why they hadn’t all come here sooner. Surely Alex could have been useful. Instead they’d been sitting around making escape plans, which had come to nothing. Why hadn’t Janos told them that so many had been injured?
El grimaced as Cam moaned. Her right arm was wrapped in bandages … well … all that was left of her arm. The aroma of burnt flesh came from her. El sensed pain firing through her nerves, ending abruptly at the elbow. She caught the hesperides murmuring, “amputation” and “cauterisation”.
Guilt welled up as she clutched her arms around her, protecting herself from the inhabitants of the room. El hadn’t even considered what had happened to anyone at the Olympia. She’d been too busy chasing after her grandma and grieving over her loss. But others were hurt.
The memory of people blazing like effigies around the stadium crowded her thoughts. Some of those flames had been her own. The fragrance of charred skin mingled with the memory, and a wave of nausea rocked her stomach.
Cam’s moans grew louder. Dan held her down as she tried to tear at her bandages, the hesperides quickly administering a dose of morphine to calm her. As arete, there was no need to worry about infection, but there was still pain and, like every other living thing, there was still the threat of death.
El listened to Cam’s feeble pulse. She still couldn’t believe that there were all these casualties. She thought of the empousa blood that they were given last night: it was all gone. She recalled how her grandma’s eyeballs had grown back with the few vials Luke had fed her. All for nothing. Her grandma hadn’t used her full power on Louisa but had chosen to die instead.
She stepped around to the side of the bed, moving next to Dan. Her heart ached as she looked at Cam’s glistening face. ‘I’m so sorry, Dan. We should have come sooner. If Janos had told us—’
‘Then what?’ He got to his feet.
‘If we got here sooner, perhaps we’d have got more empousa blood from the lab—’
‘You don’t get it, do you?’ Dan scowled.
El frowned. ‘What?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s not about Cam. It’s bigger than her, than me, than you.’ His jaw tightened. ‘You’re straight to blaming someone else. Complaining that Janos could have done more. What about you?’
El stared. ‘What about me?’
‘You left the Olympia last night, while Cam and the rest of us stayed to fight—’
‘Hang on a minute.’ El shook her head. ‘I was there for my grandma. I never said I’d do anything else. I never asked for this—’
‘You think I did?’ He raised his voice and pointed at Cam. ‘Or her?’ His finger moved to another cot. ‘What about him? None of us asked for this … but some of us are willing to fight.’
Tears sprung to El’s eyes. She flushed, feeling ashamed. Perhaps she wasn’t seeing the bigger picture. She wanted to shout at him but couldn’t think of anything to say.
Tia, who had been tending to an arete on a cot in the corner, came over. ‘This isn’t helping, Dan.’ That clean fragrance of peppermint clung to Tia and stung El’s eyes more as her chest tightened.
‘Whatever.’ Dan turned his back as he took a seat beside Cam again.
The emotion sat at the back of El’s throat and behind her eyes. She didn’t want to let it out. She blinked her tears away and hurried out of the room. She stood on the landing for a few seconds, taking deep lungsful of air. What right did her heart have to race like this, as if mimicking the frantic beat of the wounded? She felt as if she might drop to the floor. She had been running on a concoction of shock and adrenaline: perhaps that was leaving her system.
Tia came into the hall. ‘I’m so sorry about your gran.’ She put her arms around her and hugged her close. The gesture brought fresh tears to El’s eyes. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
El shook her head. ‘Is there somewhere I can lie down?’
Away from the makeshift hospital, down the hall, Tia pushed open a door to a bedroom that was high-ceilinged and airy, painted in a mango colour. There was a network of angled shelves, in which various potted plants roosted. A double bed sat between tall, arched windows, its bedspread heavily patterned in orange and gold. Around the room were more covers, blankets and cushions forming other temporary beds.
‘Accommodation’s tight so it’s a dorm kinda thing. I’ll set you up a bed later. Just use ours for now.’ Tia gestured to the double.
‘Thanks.’
Tia hugged her again. ‘Get some rest.’
The big bed did look inviting. El sat on the edge, her senses wandering. She could hear the murmurs and workings of the other arete in the household, the treatment continuing in the hospital, as well as the dull background hum of voices downstairs. The room was situated at the side of the house, and only the walls of next door were visible through the window.
She drew the curtains shut, cursing the sunlight that leaked in. She didn’t want to think about the injured arete or what Dan had said. She found herself thinking about practicalities, avoiding her guilt. She wondered if the estate manager was at the manor yet. Alex had scheduled the repairs for the house over the phone. She thought ashamedly of how he was doctoring, using the limited supplies he had to try to work a miracle on those poor arete.
Lying down, El imagined the builders going into the manor. She could picture the giant wooden door that would take a team of humans to heave back onto its hinges. The plaster of the walls in the living room would be knocked out, their charcoal-like substance stripped away. The sweet musky fragrance sprang to mind again and the black walls
that the workmen hacked at seemed to consist of charred flesh. She massaged her closed eyelids, thinking that her mind would never still. But despite the violent thoughts, her exhausted mind sank down into the black surface.
- Chapter Three -
Wanted
El awoke and glanced at her phone: 17:00. She’d slept most of the day. She stared at the angled shelves, the fronds of plants casting shadows up the walls in the evening light. She didn’t shift for an hour at least, the lethargy of sleep lying heavily upon her. She willed it back, wishing for its calm forgetfulness but the more she tried, the more it fled. A pang of hunger twisted her stomach and she knew, as much as she didn’t want to, she was going to have to go downstairs.
In the corridor, she spied Dan in the hospital through the open door, still sitting beside Cam’s bed. She retreated to the stairs, resolving to raid the fridge and then go back to bed. When she got to the bottom of the stairs however, the sound of the TV caused her to halt, the even tones of the broadcaster reaching her ear.
‘The Metropolitan Police have issued a statement for the arrest of Helena Devereux and cautioned that the suspect should not be approached. Helena Devereux is the daughter and heiress of Anna Devereux, CEO of the cosmetics giant, Endon. She is suspected of being the instigator of the recent terrorist plot in London.
Last week’s attack in Clerkenwell caused the deaths of three people, one of the victims being Anna Devereux. Police say another attack was planned to take place yesterday in London’s financial district, near Liverpool Street. The plot was successfully foiled in the early hours of this morning.’
The name Helena Devereux made El think of her grandma, not her. Her mind was still foggy from sleep and it took El a few seconds to digest that the reporter was using her full name. The only time she’d ever seen it was on her birth certificate and driver’s license. She couldn’t recall anyone ever having called her by it.
The human media had been manipulated to report that the events outside of the catacombs and the attack on Olympia were terrorist attacks. El tottered through the door, ignoring the other arete on the cushions and chairs watching the TV. She registered that neither Luke nor Alex were amidst them. There was an image of El on the screen: she recognised the recent photo of her, in which she stood outside the manor.
The commentator continued, ‘The British Government has seized Endon’s assets, as well as the family home in Essex, which was left abandoned. Intelligence officers believe that evidence found at the company offices or the family home could lead to Devereux’s capture.’
Clips were shown of the manor and Alex’s lab being swept by armed police.
‘Once again, the public are cautioned not to approach the suspect or her co-conspirators, but to inform police of any sightings or information immediately on the emergency number shown on the screen.’
Photos of Dan, Luke and Alex flashed up on the monitor too. It dawned on her that catching a flight from a public airport with all this attention on them would have been suicidal, and that’s why Janos had refused to take them to Southend Airport.
El stared as she listened to the man reading out the number. The reporter began to interview the chief of police, but the voices were interrupted by one of the arete watching.
‘Horseshit! Using andreko against us!’ It was the typhon who’d restrained Luke earlier.
El knew where she’d seen this typhon before. The word “andreko”, a derogatory term for humans, raised the hairs on the back of her neck. She’d heard a serpent use it while toying with a human. The other arete he’d been with had manipulated the human to shred his own hand. This typhon had made the human slap himself repeatedly across the face, revelling in his victim’s distress.
The confrontational ladon was sitting next to him. She wasn’t wearing her green leather jacket or boots anymore, but El noticed that her top and even her socks were green too, and decided to christen her Robin Hood.
‘Hey! Sleeping Beauty!’ Adam called, rising from his seat and bringing El back from her musings. With a few strides, he had her in a bear hug.
She returned his embrace, but her gaze quickly flew back to the TV.
‘Not the nicest wake-up call,’ he said.
That was an understatement. She continued to stare. They’d been on the run from the Order before but now the human populace of London was looking for them too. The broadcast switched to a report about climate change protestors, staging a rally outside the Houses of Parliament due to the Dover earthquake. For El, the images of herself and the others continued to flicker in front of her as if burned into her retinas.
Adam steered her over to the kitchen. ‘Hey, it’s not as bad as it looks. You’re safe here. It’s just a bunch o’ noise – the Order trying to get humans to do the hard work for ’em.’
She nodded, allowing Adam’s steady arms to guide her to a bar stool.
‘We didn’t want to wake you, so the rest of the troops have eaten.’
El’s stomach turned when he lifted the lid from a pot on the Aga. It looked like minced meat in tomato. ‘I’m sorry, Adam, but I can’t eat meat anymore.’
She hadn’t eaten anything since the Olympia but she was certain that she’d be sick if she tried to eat meat. She eyed the food mistrustfully, already imagining the rich aroma and the taste of its fat and juices.
Adam grinned. ‘Me neither. It’s Quorn. You’ve come to the right place – veggies and vegans far outnumber the carnivores in north London.’
Opening the sliding door at the back of the kitchen, Adam showed her out into the garden. There was a seating area on a narrow patio, no more than six metres across. Judging by the dense wall of shrubs and trees, the garden ran much further back. Most of the foliage was unfamiliar and exotic.
She took a seat at the rustic table, fashioned from a tree trunk. An awning above was crafted from a mesh of branches, all grown so closely together that they stitched a lattice over the table. The patio area was so enclosed it felt like another room. Fairy lights hung from the canopy but weren’t on. The daylight lingered late in the summer evening.
El’s plate of food was accompanied by a large side of chatter from Adam. He pointed out the plants that he’d grown this morning for the dish she ate: celery, chillies, peppers, tomatoes, coriander. El asked him how he could use his powers when the rest of them needed graeae blood to stay hidden. He explained that nymphs were so prolific that the Order couldn’t possibly screen all the flares of power across London. Besides, a nymph’s power was relatively weak, visible for a few seconds and gone the next.
The man who had been helping in the hospital earlier joined them. Now that Alex had taken over, he’d come down for a break. Adam introduced the hesperides, Ryan, as he took a seat. El soon caught up on what she’d missed throughout the day.
The third bedroom in the house was now doubled up as a lab and another growing space. They had set to cultivating a number of plants with medicinal properties. Among them were poppies, which Ryan expected to yield a healthy supply of opiates. Luke had been a handy assistant in the process so far, which is what he was currently tending to. Unfortunately, Cam still wasn’t doing as well as they would like.
There were other safe houses where the injured were being treated. One was based in Wood Green and another in Kew. El’s half-hearted attention soon waned and her eyes drifted to the thick wall of shrubs, lining each side of the garden.
As dinner wound on, the haze El was in thickened. Even though her appetite had returned after finding out the meal was vegetarian, she felt full after only a few mouthfuls. She must have been running on empty for too long.
When Adam cleared up and Ryan left the table for the hospital again, El remained sitting. Inside, the TV had been switched to a different channel and a dance programme hummed in the background. The wash of arete chatter was audible. The temperature had dropped and a breeze was picking up, but feeling unfit for company El zipped up her hoody and stayed outside.
When the door opened she
sighed but was relieved to see it was only Alex.
He got out a packet of cigarettes. ‘You got a light?’
She tossed the camping lighter to him.
‘I haven’t smoked in years. Your mum hated it.’
El didn’t like the smell of tobacco smoke either, sickly sweet, unlike the comforting aroma of a log fire, but she didn’t say anything. Alex deserved some form of relief.
He took a few deep draws and his expression grew sombre. ‘You saw the news.’
‘Yeah.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘They kept calling me Helena. That’s my grandma’s name … not mine.’
Alex’s brow gathered as he stared down the garden. ‘When I delivered you, before your granddad came to collect you, your mum had already named you. Your birth was registered, documents signed – a done deal. She meant your name to be an homage to your grandma. An apology of sorts, I think, for running away.
‘It was a few years later that she pieced together your grandma’s lineage – with rumours about the hydra with the full power, who blinded herself. Then she learnt too of the commonality of the name, Helena, in the Carras line.’ He looked at her. ‘There’s a tradition to name the firstborn girl in each generation, Helena.
‘Your mum understood then why your grandma wanted to leave that name behind. You see, from the off, all the photos she sent of you, and the drawings you did, were only ever signed El.’
She smiled at this new piece of history. It must have been when she was about seven or eight and asked her grandparents lots of questions about her mum, that she’d first seen her own birth certificate. That’s when she’d become aware of her full name. Even then, she’d never owned it. In fact, neither her grandma nor granddad had ever called her by it. Her granddad used to call her Melita instead, from “meli”, Latin that meant “honey”.