by S E Holmes
Anathema?”
“It is a guess, but I believe Hugo attempted to insert himself between you and Seth. Although I won’t rule out punishment for not informing us of what he was up to.”
Gratitude washed over me. After all Hugo had said about the tragic loss of his sister, Latoya, there was simply no way he’d stoop so low as to help those mongrels. He’d sworn allegiance to us, and I had never for a second lost trust in him.
“We still have some protections, don’t we?” I would not move house again, even if Finesse and her slavering minions fell upon us in droves.
“We are far from defenceless. However, it is very late, Winsome. Explanations can wait until first thing tomorrow. We must get you cleaned up. You are a wreck and frankly, barbequed rat is not my favourite scent.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “Not to mention, I have never envisaged a day where motorbike leathers constitute acceptable attire.” She gestured towards my room. “Mrs Paget has laid out fresh clothes for you.” My face fell, I did not fancy a morning conference in the kitchen dressed in hotpants and a boob tube.
“Never fear. Jerome and I have readjusted Mrs Paget’s view on particular matters. She will refrain from outfitting you like a playboy’s mistress and let nature take its course.” Did my aunt have ESP? What did nature have to do with anything? “You are not an incubator,” Bea muttered to herself, frowning.
“Thank you,” I said dubiously. I had the vaguest impression that Mrs Paget was trying to prevent Raphaela’s future from becoming my own, but could not quite articulate how.
“My pleasure. A couple of other issues. First, I suspect you must be famished. Would you like Fortescue to order a pizza on his return?”
Somehow, it just didn’t appeal. “Do we have any veggie soup?”
Bea smiled approvingly. “Of course. And we’ve made a bed up in your room for Vegas. We’d prefer you not sleep alone for the time being. Do you have any objections to sharing? I know how you value your privacy.”
She raised an eyebrow. I cleared my throat and tried to look thoughtful. “I guess it’s for the best. Besides, you’ve never worried about my privacy before, why start now?”
Bea was not fooled. “Hmm,” she managed. “I cannot tell you how relieved and overjoyed I am to have you back. Fetch me when you are dressed. There is a task you must complete before you go to bed.”
As I turned for my room, it was impossible not to see how much she’d aged. Yes, that was the correct word. Aunt Bea’s hair had turned white at the roots and her skin clung to the jutting bones of her cheek, long creases tunnelling from her hooded eyes and the corners of her puckered mouth. Her clothes sagged on her emaciated frame.
My minders weren’t sick; they grew older with each frail pull of breath. Raphaela’s authority declined, and with it any hope of thwarting my guardians’ advancing decay. The Keeper’s inheritance demanded I claim the wicked Stone and assert my influence, ahead of its rightful owner. Swift self-sacrifice was the only way to save them. But the Delta gate was blocked. How?
Singly, they stand afore the onslaught… At my bedroom door, I called across the gallery on the verge of tears. “Aunt Bea!”
She popped her head around the kitchen doorframe, face anxious, a tea canister in her hand. “Yes, Winnie? What is the matter?”
“Tell me five things about yourself that I don’t know.”
She blinked in confusion. “Five things?”
“Please!”
“Let me see. Five things,” she mused, stepping out onto the wraparound mezzanine. “I play the cello. I am a chocolatier and a master fencer. I was born in Marseilles, France. Before you came along, I filled the tedium of my endless days by embroidering masterpieces. After the death of my adored husband, Vincent, my life was a desert. Until you, Winsome. I will not leave you, unless forced. I believe those facts overstep your quota.” Her expression was kind. “Now, I insist you shower and change. Preferably before Grace arrives home and is compelled to bring out her homemade perfume. It gives me intolerable hayfever.”
“Thank you.” Her imminent departure from my life may be beyond her control. This knowledge simmered between us, neither of us willing to render it real by giving it words. “Aunt Bea?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you make me some chocolates one day?”
She smiled. “I would do anything at all for you, Winnie. I promise. Even risk diabetes through sugar and couverture overload.”
I quietly closed my door. If Bea and Mrs Paget and Fortescue lived, they would insist on staying with me. As the Keeper, I became responsible for anything bad that happened to them. The toll was too high, the ‘ifs’ multiplying beyond what was acceptable. My resentment towards Raphaela diminished. I understood her lapse, why she’d done what she had and risked us all to stave off loneliness.
A Keeper protected those she loved by standing alone. Bea’s saying ‘three can keep a secret if two of them are dead’ proved very accurate in our context.
I dragged myself into the bathroom. After scrubbing myself raw and shampooing twice to remove the scum of fried rat, I regrettably inspected the floor-to-ceiling mirror while towelling dry. My body was a patchwork of bruises, long scabs forming up both arms where I’d taken to myself with the glass razor and another deep gash crusting one shin. But it was my dazed air of hopelessness that was most obvious in the reflection.
On my bed, Mrs Paget had left cropped cotton pyjama pants in dainty floral with contrasting ribbon and a matching sunny yellow, lace-trimmed singlet. I tied up my damp hair out of the way in a scarf. The pretty brightness made no dent in my depression. Nor did the dismal schlep for the kitchen, minus an attentive butler. Smithy and the others had been gone too long, amping my worry and emphasising my looming sense of isolation.
“You look lovely, Winnie. That is far more like it.” Bea gestured from the railing down the stairs at the rickety elevator. “You must complete the initiation alone. I know you do not relish enclosed spaces, so the cats will accompany you to the basement.”
“Do I have to?”
She nodded wearily. “You need not be afraid. I am hoping this exercise will help bring you closer to the Keeper’s power and help fend off Seth. There is only one rule. Do not deviate. Once you have finished the obvious, retrace your steps and come back here immediately. I have not forgotten your disobedience by breaking curfew to have dinner with Vegas, Winsome,” she said sternly. “I mean it this time, return without delay.”
“Alright, Aunt Bea, I promise.”
I made for the lift to the lower levels. Vovo and Cherish materialised next to me, sauntering inside the tiny, cramped box with soothing purrs. Sweat dampened my forehead as soon as I stepped inside and prodded the down button. The walls pressed in and I toiled to keep my breathing even. Wooden panelling replaced the obligatory mirrored wall, sparing me evidence of my cowardice. I examined the intricately carved and polished interior.
This distraction turned out to be a bad choice, as every section was filled with the same grotesque demons as the Keeper’s diary. Only these were larger and in convincing bas-relief. They writhed and leered, poised for me to lose my nerve and trip up, so they could pounce and tear me limb from limb. I closed my eyes and waited for the telltale dip in my abdomen signalling the ride’s interminable end. The doors finally trundled apart. All my fears evaporated the minute I caught sight of the astonishing vista before me.
Twenty-Six
I faced a long, wide hallway, well lit by sweet-smelling lanterns that gave off a buttercup glow. Their perfume was instantly recognisable from Raphaela’s sacrificial ceremony in the study of her Louisiana mansion. A floor of highly lacquered wood revealed an intricate jigsaw of symbols from the border of the Delta triangles. Black volcanic glass walls polished to a mirror finish created the illusion of empty space and were supported by sculpted bronze and gilt columns spaced evenly along its length. The high, curved roof was spectacularly frescoed like the Sistine Chapel, but the subject matter was more akin to the fiendish dep
ths of hell.
On my left-hand side were many carved doors. On the opposite side, prominent midway down, was a huge swinging double door with split halves of a golden Delta forming a handle in the centre. Without realising I’d even left the lift, I found myself standing in front of this entrance. The cats paced behind, coming to sit, one at each of the broad pillars that framed the doors. This place had the feel of consecrated ground.
I wavered, conscious that some kind of enduring commitment lay over the precipice. It was the difference between watching the rollercoaster and hearing the screams, or being the one strapped in and screaming. Well, fear of speed had never been a problem for me. I reached out and pushed the golden triangle ajar.
The corridor resonated with the whispers of past Keepers, four women’s voices united as one: an outpouring of love and friendship as they welcomed me home. The triangle separated from apex to base when the doors swung and I made my way into a large round room with a domed ceiling. Lanterns hanging overhead flared into life, negating the need for my eyes to adjust to the dimness.
This room was inconceivably ancient and unadorned in comparison to the hallway, yet beautiful in its earthy simplicity. Rough-hewn bricks of phosphorescent rock sparkled like crystal, rainbow specks of reflected light dancing in the lamp flames. Embedded in the floor, which