Grey October (East Hollow Chronicles)

by Charlotte Munro

  ‘How little you know of her, really.’

  ‘I know everything about her. Elli is spineless. She is a coward. She cannot do anything.’

  ‘You’re only saying that because you are here and she is not.’ I add, only to pour salt into her blistering wounds with more poisonous words, being delivered with a devious smirk.

  ‘She is stronger than you give her credit for.’

  ‘Don’t you dare. I see what you’re going to do. Don’t you dare. She doesn’t deserve that!’ she claws at the floor, pulling and snatching at the shackles and throwing herself into the back cell bars and the worn ground, over and over, repeating herself until finally she gives up and meets my gaze with a feverish, quite frighteningly strong hold.

  ‘She will never open her heart to you. No one has ever got to see that side of her. She’s too locked away, too timid, too cowardly to open up to anyone. You will never destroy her like you want.’

  ‘Who said anything about me wanting her heart?’ I pause, ‘it’s her soul I’m after.’

  ‘Because when guys see her, they see an innocent, naïve girl. They want to take advantage of her. I won’t let you. Not you. Not some disgusting snake like you!’

  ‘My, you have changed. You play the sisterly act so well, only to betray your innocent sister with a turn of your head. Tell me, Madison, if you could, would you take her place on Earth? Would you exchanged places with her?’

  ‘Of course I would. I’d give anything to do that.’

  ‘Your sister’s life?’

  ‘I’ve already bargained her life before, I can easily do it again.’

  ‘Shame. Because she would give anything just to see you again.’ my smirk broadens, seeing her eyes widen, trying to calculate it all in her head. With a click of the key, I am out of her cell and closing the door once more, locking it in place, Madison rises to her feet, thrashing at the shackles, the metal boring into her ankles, tearing away at her skin, she screeches at me.

  ‘Then swap us. We look the same. No one would know!’

  ‘Humans can be so cruel.’ I turn my back, walking away, hearing her screams pierce though even the blood-curdling chill of those being tortured. My shadow looms at the end of the aisle, and as I reach the main door, pressing my hand against the worn, sweaty surface of the wood, I lean into it, eyes closing.

  ‘And they think we are cruel?’ I laugh, but my laughter dies out as I step out of the Torture pits, hearing now the echoes of pain carry out around me, filling the atmosphere with a sickening pulse. It grates at me again, suffocating me, this place, this heat, this life.

  In my mind, I focus on my necklace, I focus on the spell I had placed upon the wearer and through my mind’s eye, I see her, just like I had before, when I saw the leech lay his hands upon her pretty little neck. This time, I see her sleeping, so peaceful, so elegant. I watch her, eyes closed, I stand motionless and tense, feeling the quake of the wind rush by. I clench my fingers, mumble another spell, a few Latin words and I see her shift, her toes curling beneath the covers, her fingers gripping the sheets, she moves from side to side, perhaps not so much a nightmare as it is a dream.

  ‘Alis volat propris.’ She flies on her own wings, not her sisters, not her parents, her own. A slight smile rests upon my lips as I make my way back to the castle, my mind imagining her hair in my fingers, her heartbeats pounding against my chest as she rests against me, her lips inches from mine. Torture, to want a life you cannot have.

  For a Demon Prince, can never love a human; they can play with their emotions, lure them into bed, manipulate and agonise them, but they cannot love them. I think this is the harshest rule of all, because seeing that girl, feeling her emotions, so raw, so strong, I want to wrap my arms around her and tell her it will be all fine.

  But then I see another life; the looming castle, the golden windows and bubble of nobility, and I think that this girl I want so much to embrace, this girl I long to whisper sweet words to in her ear, is the only thing stopping me from becoming a King. Stopping me from moving on in my life.

  But in turn, it places me, as a new image, in her world.

  Can a man really live two lives? I am sure a human poet asked that once, before selling his soul for a few heart-felt poems. Perhaps I can try. Because, this life down here is boring, the excitement that fills my veins when up in East Hollow, the want and desire that pulses through me when I look at the one that made me fail a year ago. I think that maybe, just maybe I can try and live two lives.

  Ellison –

  The covers move, feeling like silk running across my skin; I am in the state of half dreaming and reality, the hazy images of my dream world feel almost real. The smells, the touch. I smell burning. Rich, deep scents of wood and rust, of coal and flame. I breathe it in, wrapping my arms around the shadowy stranger, his touch is so gentle, so welcoming, he pulls me to him, touching his forehead to mine, I see the sparkle in his eyes, gemstone blue, and twinkling like Charlie had polished the gems in the jewellery. I gasp, a breath forbidden to slip from my lips, forced back inside of me by the touch of his lips, bruising mine. Fingertips trail my back, running soft lines, sending shivers along my skin. My fingers curl into his hair, feeling like dark spun silk, threading through my fingertips.

  ‘Evan.’ I breathe, a breathy sigh, only to be woken with a start, throwing myself upward in the bed, hands trembling, wrapped tightly around the duvet covers. The sheets are coiled in my legs and arms, where I have been thrashing, or dancing, dreaming some sort of fantasy. My fingers lift to my face, running along my lips, I still feel the bruise from his kiss, the soft touch almost featherlike, trailing along my back.

  ‘It’s a dream.’ I sigh, blinking furiously, realising just how silly I feel, draped in a mismatch of duvet and sitting up like some love struck idiot. I flop back into the pillows, the cushions blocking out the fuzz in my ears. I turn over, away from the window and the sunlight that streams in through the curtains; adorning the chair and desk in a golden glow, bright and luminous. It feels like I haven’t seen the sun in a very long time and the warmth seems to fill my bedroom with a soft familiar feeling, one that I had felt in my dream, one that I feel, as flashes of memory pass through my mind.

  ‘You’re not the only one who feels like you are missing a part of you.’

  His words rattle in my head, his lips parting, such bittersweet words; I feel the pull again, like an invisible thread wrapping around my wrist, tugging me to him, the thread ensnaring my throat, causing me to choke over words, tightening around my chest so all I feel is the thud, thud in my chest, squashing tighter and tighter until it explodes.

  ‘Just a dream.’ I roll myself over, facing the streaming window; the morning light breaking through the rain splattered glass, making patterns on the ceiling, on the wall opposite. I watch, drawing lines, connecting the black shadows, the bright rays, anything to distract me from the thoughts of Evan, his mysteriously loving touch, his soft murmured words, hushed in my ear. I still do not know what he said, but it was the way he said them that is making me all tingly.

  ‘It’s only a dream.’ I keep saying, over and over, even as I step out of bed, opening my wardrobe and pulling out clothes for the day, I keep repeating. It’s only a dream, a dream brought on by the strange occurrences. Random occurrences like that bring strange thoughts, random thoughts. It’s only natural.

  I open a drawer and pull out a pair of jeans; black, well fitted and comfortable. Flicking through the hangers in my wardrobe I decide on one of the blouses that I had found in Beaumont Antiques. A sheer like black material with a white slip beneath, the attraction of the blouse is the diamond buttons on the cuffs and the neckline, it accentuates the soft silk like quality of the blouse, picks out the contrast between the black and white well. I slip into it, tread out of my bedroom and into the hall, closing the door behind, I stretch my arms above my head, peering around the hall; hearing a bubble of chatter in the kitchen I make my way to the bathroom, just about catching the conver
sation about a few College guys that wanted to go out tonight and whether or not they should join them.

  Hair done and morning essentials complete, I venture into the kitchen to find Liv has already made a plate of warm croissants; gooey in the centre with melted chocolate and sprinkled on top with icing sugar. She, like always, is the breakfast queen.

  ‘Well you’re looking pretty radiant.’ Jade says with a pink glossed smile, picking at the corner of her jam toast before popping a crust in her mouth.

  ‘You’re hoping to see the Prince, aren’t you?’ Liv laughs, a giggle, teetering on the edge of her tongue as she sips her black coffee, one hand flicking through one of her college books whilst glancing up to me, focusing on her once over look of me. Daunting, like mutton dressed as lamb. I look more than what I feel, just like that night in Avalon.

  ‘I just thought to look nice is all.’ I slide into the chair, picking a croissant up by the corner and dropping it on my plate; still hot, I blow on my fingers, looking up to see twin stares from both of my friends and a broadening smile on their lips.

  ‘Well, if you do somehow bump into him – seeing as how that has happened recently.’ Liv starts, yet Jade continues, as if on some mutual mind wavelength.

  ‘We’re going to Avalon tonight with a few College guys, see if he and his friends want to join.’

  ‘But make sure he doesn’t try and bring his harem. That is slightly off-putting, especially to potential consorts.’ Liv laughs so much that the vibrations from her chest go down her arm and to her fingers, where her grip on her coffee cup falters and waves, dropping spots of dark coffee onto the table.

  ‘He will probably have somewhere to be, plus, I won’t probably see him at all today.’ Consciously my hand trails to my neck, playing with the golden chain in my fingers, whilst trailing off in my thoughts. What if he did want the necklace back at some point? That would mean he would have to see me… or perhaps he has many, like all those others in the Mall that night, they must be easy to come by. He probably has a drawer with hundreds of necklaces, of rings and jewellery replete.

  ‘You like him, don’t you?’ Jade accuses, over tearing another corner of her toast, her green eyes watching me, all rimmed with gold eyeliner and lashed with flicks of mascara, they watch me with an intensity as bright as her smile.

  ‘I don’t even know him.’

  ‘You don’t have to know someone to like them. It’s not like you’ve fallen in love at first sight; that sort of stuff only happens in sappy romance novels and movies.’ Liv flicks through a few more pages of her book, sighs and closes it, placing her coffee cup on the table and leaning forward, closer, her red lips dazzling me with a smile, so large it almost looks sinister.

  ‘Plus, it’s proven. Love at first sight in relationships are only doomed to fail. Grow to love all the way.’ She thumps the edge of the table with her palm and leans over to the warm croissants and nabs one for her plate.

  ‘If you do see him again, ask him if he wants to go out for a drink, it’s harmless.’ Jade brings the conversation back to a slightly less nerving topic, but still one I am fumbling over my croissants with.

  ‘Maybe.’ I shrug, getting a strong glare settling upon me from Liv, who leans back into her chair, giggling with a fervour that no one should have this early in the morning; her black hair bobs at the top of her head as she laughs, a jangle of her bracelets match as she rocks them against the table, meeting my gaze with a wink and a grin, a grin that I have seen when she is after something, or someone.

  ‘Make sure he brings those other two. The dark haired one’s quite cute.’

  ***

  Ding. Ding.

  ‘Elli, do you think you can get that?’

  I look up from the back of the store, behind a desk piled with books from all Eras; I glance up from the velvet volume of one of them, to see Charlie still in the inside of a Grandfather Clock, his rear end sticking out and the occasional bob of his grey head still indicating he is in there and hasn’t fallen into some time warp. I place down the velvet backed novel; reading the occasional page brings my imagination to the fore front of my mind, and I can’t help but stifle a laugh as I get up, imagining what a Clock world might just look like. Like the melted clocks in the painting of Salvador Dali, perhaps like a clockwork world of moving instruments all run on gears and wheels.

  Ding. Ding.

  The front of the door goes again, perhaps they’ve decided to leave, having taken a little while to navigate through the boxes and boxes of antiques, I sidle over Charlie and out of the door from the back of the shop, only to see that they are still here, and hovering by the door, opening and closing it once more.

  Ding. Ding.

  ‘You’ll wear the hinges out like that.’ I say, slipping behind the counter and brushing off a stray film of dust from my hands onto my jeans – those books were so old, that the dust was starting to build a colony of book mites, nothing that a wipe over couldn’t fix. I push back a few stray locks from my face, pushing them behind my ear and look up to see the customer turning around, a chuckle making his body sway almost, as he steps closer, his hood hides his face and I feel a few heartbeats quicken. East Hollow isn’t a bad town, but it has its fair share of hooligans; my fingers carefully brush the worn wooden cricket bat, complete with names from a few of the players from the olden days; a gift for Charlie’s father, but he had decided to keep it under the counter, for, just in case moments.

  ‘Are you looking for anything in particular?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice from sounding suspicious, or wary, but my fingers brush the tip of the bat, only to immediately shoot back to the desk when he turns around, a twist of a smile playing upon his lips, as he pushes back his hood,

  ‘I’m looking for something to replace an old piece of jewellery. Something gold, with a red stone. Rubies, Carnelians, maybe.’ His voice sounds like gentle rain upon a window, welcoming and tranquil, but his bright blue eyes sparkle with a defiance that doesn’t seem to leave. Causing the gentle patter of rain to turn to hail, urging me to seek shelter behind the desk. But I don’t, I match his gaze with my own.

  ‘Would you like this back then?’ My fingers make a conscious movement to the necklace underneath my blouse, I feel it start to warm up again, feel the electric pulse match my beating heart, I place my palm over it, over the sheer of my blouse, but even then I am sure Evan can see it. With a slightly lifted brow he turns around to face the glass box cabinet, where Charlie keeps all of the jewellery that is worth a little more than mere scrap value. He trails a pale finger over the glass, eyes narrowing, thinking, the way he bites his lip, it makes me mirror him, and a flood of my dream returns to me, so much so I brace myself against the counter and knock my knee on one of the half open drawers.

  ‘I said you could keep it; much more deserving than me.’ he doesn’t turn to me, but stays attuned upon a few pieces in the glass box, glancing over a few of the religious pieces; a diamond encrusted cross, complete with intricate designed thorns on the edging. But his attention is caught mainly by the a few rings – he must favour rings, for quite a few of his fingers are already adorned with knots of gold and silver, with little details of snakes and serpents, of skulls and bone.

  ‘Is there anything that takes your fancy?’

  ‘In the box or in the store?’ This time he raises his eyes, one flickers in a slight wink before he lazily turns back around to me and gestures with a hand to the box, ‘What would you recommend?’

  ‘Well, is there anything else in the store that you’d like?’ I dive my hand into the drawer, fiddling around for the small silver thimble that holds the delicate key to the old-fashioned glass box. I keep my eyes upon him and once I’ve fished out the key, I sidle out from behind the desk, moving over towards him with a slight wary head, keeping my eyes upon the clear glass, eyes filled with gemstones of all kinds, of platinum, gold and silver, of pewter and bronze.

  ‘Maybe there is something I want, but I suppose I’ll just settle with that
.’ His eyebrows knit close to his eyes, the fine threaded lines of his eyebrows bringing out the brightness of his eyes and his suggestion – I overlook it, I already have to deal with too many innuendos from Liv, so I can see what he means, but I don’t rise, instead I fumble with the key and open the glass. Watching him point to one of the rings; a pewter band knotted intricately on the sides, to bear a few spirals and symbols; worn with age, but still very noticeable. Set in the heart of the ring is a triangle of red stone, looking closer at it in my hand, I see that it looks more like a pentagram, with a thick iron binding around the edge. I stay silent, feeling his eyes move, burning into my hand, my palm. This piece has intrigued him, I can feel him loom, his breath pooling against the back of my neck. I turn around, without meeting his face I hand him the ring.

  ‘Try it on.’ I say, adding for good measure and a slight ease of the tension, ‘but if it gets stuck, you’re paying.’

  ‘This is a special ring.’ He muses, plucking the ring from my palm, with expert precision he holds it up, his own ringed fingers twirling it around and around, eyes so intent, as though the ring is all he sees.

  ‘The carvings on the side,’ his fingers brush the worn detailing, with such meticulous tenderness, as though the ring is worth much more than what Charlie has put a tag on it for. ‘They are magic symbols.’

  I say nothing, trying to keep from chuckling, surely he is not serious; but his face, the intent, the scrutiny his eyes roam the piece with, no one who looks like that can possibly joke. So I keep quiet, letting him talk and him pull the ring upon his thumb, with one other. As soon as the pewter ring slides on his finger, it seems to slot into the other one on his thumb – A pewter knotted band with similar carvings but instead of a pentagram in ruby stone, it is a the Sigil of Baphomet, the goats head, with glowing sapphire eyes. I find myself drawn in, the brightness of the sapphires match his eyes perfectly, but I cannot help a shiver of goose bumps trail my arms. I’ve seen those sort of symbols before, but the way the two slot together, it’s as though they are meant to be.