Ofelia (The Book of Davoth 1)

by Martyn Stanley

  He smiled at Ofelia, then scurried off into the next bay.

  As Dr. Sterling watched him leave, she took the ear thermometer and unceremoniously poked it into Ofelia’s ear, pressing the button to make it beep. The result was the same. Lowering the thermometer, Dr. Sterling looked Ofelia in the eye. ‘I heard you talking to your social worker. What happens when you’re in sunlight?’

  ‘Nothing. But if I stand in direct sunlight without protection, my skin bubbles and flakes off and my eyes burn. I sometimes try to sleep during the day, it’s easier. Maybe your antibiotic changes something? If it doesn’t though, as I suspect it won’t - I want to go.’

  Dr. Sterling gave a deep sigh and swirled the syringe of blood, staring at it. ‘Alright, I can’t force you to stay admitted. I just wish I could-’

  ‘You can’t. Keep my blood, keep looking at it. Maybe you find something about the strange cells in there and find me?’

  ‘Okay. Thanks. I’ll leave you to finish your breakfast.’

  Disheartened and confused, Dr. Julia Sterling turned her back on the raven-haired orphan and walked away. Ofelia picked up her plate again and ate her last, half-eaten piece of toast. It had gone cold, as had her coffee, but she finished them all the same. Had she done enough? She’d tried to keep it vague and sold herself as knowing as little as possible. If they tried to corroborate her story with Stonehenge, they’d at least learn that she was there with Stefan. Part of her wondered whether she’d have been better off trying to convince them she was Romanian. The trails of paperwork and officialdom were probably less complex and rigid in Romania. She could have gotten sent back and slipped through a crack in the system much more easily. The trouble was, wherever the blood stone was, it was likely to be in England. Besides which, obtaining a page from the Book of Davoth had been expensive and difficult. Acquiring another might not be possible; she certainly doubted it would be easy. The biggest inconvenience was the prospect of school and life in a children’s home. Both of these realities threatened to curb her freedom to pursue the ritual. There was nothing she could do about it now. She’d have to take the next few days as they came. At least she’d soon have some clothes to change into.

  Chapter 5 - Harper House

  Rita returned at around lunchtime. Ofelia had endured a tedious morning, lying around watching medical staff take her temperature and shake their heads at regular intervals. Whether it would still be the case if Rita knew the truth, she couldn’t say, but for now at least - Rita appeared to be on her side. When she heard heels clicking on the hard floor, she looked up to see Rita’s dark brown suit loom into view. She strode up to the bed - smiling. ‘Ofelia, here: I’ve brought you some clothes. I didn’t get much. Once you’re settled in at ‘Harper House’ I can take you out and you can choose your own.’

  Ofelia took the bag being offered and peered inside. It contained a smart pair of navy blue jeans, a black V-neck top and a lightweight, red fleece. She lifted the clothes out to reveal a pair of white-soled, black Converse pumps, a tube of factor 50 and a pair of dark glasses. Dropping the clothes onto the end of the bed, she pushed the covers back. Dr. Sterling glanced up and walked over. ‘Ofelia, I’m not ready to dis-’

  Ofelia glared at her. ‘I want to go. Your drugs don’t work. You can’t keep me here.’

  Rita turned to Dr. Sterling now and sided with Ofelia. ‘Look, she seems fine. She’s finding it stressful being in here - I can see that without a medical degree. I insist you discharge her at once.’

  Dr. Sterling wavered, her eyes darting from Ofelia to Rita. Then she shrugged. ‘Fine. Her body temperature is still dangerously low though. If she shows any signs of-’

  ‘We’ll bring her straight in.’ Rita interrupted, chancing a brief smile at Ofelia.

  Ofelia slipped her feet out of bed and dropped onto the rubbery hospital floor. When she landed, Dr. Sterling noticed her bare ankles and gasped, ‘how did you do that?!’

  Ofelia frowned. ‘Do what?’

  ‘When you were brought in your foot was black, we thought you’d broken it! Now there’s no-’

  ‘I am fast healer. Maybe it wasn’t so bad as you thought?’ Ofelia suggested.

  Dr. Sterling did not look convinced. All of a sudden she started to feel like she wanted this bizarre girl out of her department. She couldn’t explain why, but being in the presence of Ofelia was starting to make her decidedly uncomfortable. ‘Sit down a minute then. I’ll take your cannula out.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Rita stood by and watched Dr. Sterling carefully remove the cannula from Ofelia’s arm. A tiny spot of blood appeared on the now slightly bruised-looking vein. When Ofelia saw it she spat on her left thumb and rubbed the wound. As she wiped the speck of blood off, the hole was sealed. ‘Can I have some privacy?’

  ‘Of Course,’ muttered Dr. Sterling and Rita as they left the bay and pulled the curtain shut. Ofelia reached around her back and fumbled untying the tassels, which held her patient’s gown closed. It took a few attempts, but soon she was free of it and getting dressed into ‘normal’ clothes again. It felt good. Next she plastered her face arms and hands in factor 50. Finally she slipped her feet into the new pumps and laced them up tight. She whipped the curtain back, now fully dressed and looking impatient. ‘Dr. Sterling, I had two bags: a brown shoulder bag and a big brown holdall. Where are they?’

  ‘I’m sorry I don’t know. They weren’t brought in with you.’

  ‘Fine,’ snapped Ofelia, ‘I want to see my brother then.’

  ‘You can’t I’m afraid. He’s still-’

  ‘Whatever. Thank you Julia. I’m sorry if I seem ungrateful. I don’t mean to.’

  At this Dr. Sterling relaxed a little and smiled. ‘It’s okay. I know it’s been a stressful time. I’m just glad you’re not more seriously injured.’

  Ofelia forced a smile too now. ‘I know. Goodbye.’

  Rita took Ofelia’s hand at this point. ‘Come on; let’s get you settled in. Thank you doctor.’

  Ofelia looked up at the confident social worker, leading her through the crisp, white corridors of the hospital, blissfully unaware of what Ofelia was. As they got further and further from the Accident & Emergency Department, artificial lights gave way to full-length windows, forcing Ofelia to don her new dark glasses. Could she trust Rita? She doubted it. She wasn’t sure how, but the first thing she needed to do was get her page back. The question was where was it, and who had taken it?

  Rita led her out to the car park and opened the back door of a black Audi A3, gesturing for Ofelia to enter. She climbed in and watched Rita close the door, then walk around the car. It was her chance to make a break for it. As Rita passed the far side, Ofelia yanked on the door opener and pushed hard on the handle. Nothing happened. She yanked the handle back and forth, grunting with frustration. The driver’s door slammed shut and Rita was looking over her shoulder at her. ‘Everything alright?’

  ‘No! I want to go!’ Ofelia yelled, glaring at her, frustrated by the car’s child-locks.

  Rita tried to smile sympathetically. ‘You can’t. I know this is a difficult time for you, but you just need to trust me. If you had run off the police would’ve picked you up. You don’t want to be turning up at your new home in a police car do you? I know you’re nervous, but you need to trust me and trust the court.’

  Ofelia folded her arms sulkily. ‘What? They handcuff me and put me in a cell just for not wanting to-’

  ‘Ofelia, in the UK we simply won’t allow an unaccompanied eleven-year-old to wander the streets. I don’t know how things work in Romania, but here - that simply will not be allowed to happen. Don’t worry. Whatever the court decides - you’ll be looked after.’

  ‘What if I don’t want to be looked after?’

  ‘You’re eleven years old. You need to be looked after. Try to accept that. It’ll be a lot easier for you if you do. The more you give us your trust and show willing - the more we’ll trust you. Now are you going to be good?’


  This was infuriating. Stefan would never have dared talk to her like this. It was so condescending. For a split second, she almost unleashed a torrent of abuse at the unsuspecting social worker. Then she thought better of it. She had no choice but to accept this abject humiliation and hold her tongue - at least for now.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m just scared.’

  Rita smiled. ‘I know. There’s no need to be though. Everything will be okay; I promise.’

  Ofelia sat back in her seat and fastened her seatbelt. Rita started the engine and slipped the car into gear. Soon they were on the road. Leaving the hospital felt like being released from prison - even though she’d only been there overnight. Now however, she felt like she was being driven to a new prison. Again, the urge to reach forward and quickly snap Rita’s neck surfaced. The trouble was, the car would crash, and she could end up trapped again. It was perfectly conceivable that she’d end up back at the same hospital, under the same doctor with a lot of explaining to do. Besides which, she’d decided she liked Rita. She seemed kind and prepared to stick up for her. It seemed all she could do for now, was maintain the facade and accept the humiliation.

  ***

  Eventually the car passed a sign announcing the town they were entering as ‘Chipping Brasford’. The truth was, Ofelia had no clue where they were. She wasn’t sure where the hospital had been and knew she could well be at the opposite end of the country to Stonehenge. The town was a far cry from her village in Romania. Rows of grand, old houses lined the banks of the valley. As they approached the town centre, the grandness gave way to drab, pebble dashed terraces. The home she was being taken to turned out to be on the fringes of the better part of Chipping Brasford.

  In time, the car pulled into a small car park in front of a grand old double-fronted, three-story, Queen Anne style house with a central porch. There were similar houses on the same stretch of road, but none quite so big. It would have been an impressive property in its day, but now it bore the scars of institutionalization. In place of a lawn, the front of the house was a flat bed of dull, grey tarmac. A white plaque with a smiling face next to the lettering announced the name of the property, ‘Harper House’.

  After parking the car, Rita got out and walked around to open the door for Ofelia. Climbing out, Ofelia glanced at Rita’s feet. She was wearing four-inch stilettos. Not good for running, if she-

  Ofelia shuddered. Yes, she could outrun Rita, but what would be the point? She’d only get picked up somewhere and possibly end up being sent somewhere more secure. Rita held out her hand. ‘Come on.’

  Gingerly, Ofelia stood and took it. Rita slammed the door shut and locked her car. Then she led Ofelia up the steep stone steps at the front of the grand house and when she heard a high-pitched beep - pushed the door open.

  The entrance hall led into a narrow corridor, dominated by a forest of coats and hooks on both sides. The bases of both walls beneath the coats were lined with neatly placed pairs of shoes and boots of assorted sizes. Ofelia turned as the door clicked shut to see an electronic lock. Rita must have rung ahead to let them know they were coming and somebody saw them approaching on a CCTV camera. She glanced up and spotted what looked like the offending camera pointed at the car park. It didn’t look like this was a house she would just be able to walk out of any time she felt like it.

  A stocky, balding man with thick-rimmed glasses, opened the inner door and ushered them in. ‘Hi, you must be Ofelia. My name’s Gavin. I’m the Senior Manager at this home. Shall we go through to the living room?’

  Ofelia followed Gavin with Rita in tow. She was led into a large room with patio doors to a lawned garden. It had a large three-seater sofa along one wall, with two smaller two-seaters and two armchairs as well. A modern flat-screen television sat on a plinth in the corner and a low coffee table sat between the three-seater and one of the smaller sofas. Gavin gestured to the coffee table. ‘Please. Take a seat.’

  Ofelia obeyed, eyeing Gavin with intense suspicion. He was carrying a cardboard wallet and as she sat, he began leafing through papers and laying them out on the table. He handed her a form to fill in. Then he asked if she needed language assistance and talked her through the rules of the house. The house operated a nine-fifteen curfew. But when Gavin recited this, Rita, sitting alongside Ofelia coughed and raised an eyebrow. ‘Ahem, Gavin. You should know Ofelia did make a short-lived attempt to run off as we got in the car. I would say she’s at high risk of absconding.’

  Gavin nodded solemnly. He looked Ofelia in the eye and put on an obviously faux ‘warm smile’, ‘Ofelia, that being the case. Just for now, I don’t want you going out unsupervised. Especially while your status is still uncertain. Okay?’

  She rolled her eyes, ‘Doesn’t look like I have choice.’

  ‘I’m not saying forever. You’ll be okay here. Just give it a bit of time to settle in. Miss Patel here tells me she thinks the court will rule you’re British. If that’s the case, we can start looking at finding you some foster care soon. You’re lucky we had a place. We had someone leave just two days ago. I’m afraid the others have been arguing over the best room for weeks and it’s gone now.’

  ‘Others?’ Ofelia asked suspiciously.

  ‘Yes. We’ve got Kerry and Lucy, they’re about your age and an older lad, Tony. There’s no need to be nervous. They’re all nice. Now where are your things?’

  Ofelia smirked at this. ‘Things? I’m wearing them! I did have some stuff in the car, but it seems to have vanished. I need to get my bag. There’s important-’

  ‘Ofelia,’ Rita interrupted, ‘I can try to contact the police and ask them what happened to the car if you like.’

  ‘Yes.’ she turned to Gavin, ‘These others, where are they?’

  ‘They’ll be at school right now. Speaking of which, I need to contact the school and sort you out a place.’

  ‘You expect me to go to school?!’ Ofelia gasped, not even trying to hide her indignation.

  ‘Yes. In the UK all children have to attend school.’ Rita explained.

  Ofelia felt the walls closing around her. The sense of being caught in a trap was growing stronger with every step she took down this strange rabbit-hole.

  ‘It’s nothing to worry about. Why don’t I take you to your room and show you around for now?’ Gavin offered.

  Rita stood first. ‘Do you mind if I make myself a cuppa while I wait Gavin? I want to take her out to get some more clothes this afternoon.’

  ‘Sure. Help yourself.’

  Ofelia rose and followed Gavin through the house while he pointed out the kitchen, the office - which was out of bounds to the children, and the dining room. The first floor and the second floor contained the bedrooms, all of which were en-suite. Each door had a name on a little card announcing the occupier - except for one, which Gavin explained was for the sleep-in carer. The room he eventually led her to was probably the most miserable bedroom in the property. It was a tiny box room at the back of the house on the top floor, overlooking the dank alley at the side - littered with rubbish bins and recycling tubs. The furniture was sparse and Spartan: a single bed, a bedside table, a chest of drawers - which doubled as a dressing table and a cheap, pine wardrobe. Gavin explained the house had a rota for cleaning the communal areas - the kitchen, dining room and lounge. Then he went on to inform her that no pins were allowed in the walls, any posters were only to be affixed with bluetac and she wasn’t allowed to paint the room or damage any of the furniture. This talk reinforced her already growing suspicion that the home was more like a prison than a true home. Her biggest fears were losing her freedom, being unable to locate the missing page or the blood stone and the authorities somehow learning the truth about what she was. Was time on her side? It was hard to say. Any correct theories about what she was, would be dismissed as fanciful, but then Dr. Sterling had a sample of her blood and there was clearly something physical and identifiable within it that could... She was being ridiculous.

  After the tour Gavin
took her back downstairs. Rita was sitting at the kitchen table nursing a cup of tea and reading through some papers. She looked up and smiled when Ofelia entered. ‘Ready? Shall we go then?’

  Ofelia nodded and followed Rita out the front door. Gavin held the door for them. ‘Have a good time. I’ll see you later.’

  Finding herself in this situation was surreal. Being treated with a confining, condescending kindness and being addressed as a child wasn’t something she was used to. She’d spent too long wiling away her days in Dealul Negru for the last two decades. The world had changed, and if she was going to succeed and lift her curse - she had to adapt.

  Chapter 6 - The Others

  Ofelia enjoyed her afternoon shopping with Rita, despite her initial apprehension. It transpired that eleven to fifteen-year-olds were entitled to a one-off allowance of around two hundred and sixty pounds for clothes. Even after deducting the cost of the clothes Rita had purchased for her whilst she was in hospital there was enough left for several outfits. She also got a one-off luggage allowance of thirty-five pounds. Given her plans to abscond to look for the Blood Stone and her missing page - this was useful. Rita also told her she’d receive a weekly pocket money and mobile allowance, plus money for school uniform - which they’d sort out the next day. It sounded like she’d be far from destitute, and might even save some money up given time. That would make life easier. She abhorred the idea of begging, though she felt a subtle pang of guilt that this was effectively what she was doing. Theoretically, an eleven-year-old growing up in care would need money. But what about a five hundred year-old immortal, that happened to have the appearance of an eleven-year-old? It occurred to her while they browsed the local shopping centre, that she could not allow herself to get too comfortable. At some point, somebody would realise she was not ageing. Questions would be asked. Could they force her to undergo more medical tests? She doubted it, but she couldn’t completely rule out the possibility.