Grey October (East Hollow Chronicles)

by Charlotte Munro

  ‘The ruby is meant to signify the tears of blood.’ He muses again, staring down at his hand and moving his thumb around, drawing a few lines with his forefinger over it, tracing the neat symbols. It’s on the tip of my tongue, something to say, something to draw myself away from the staring eyes of Baphomet and the thread that pulls me towards Evan, so I turn, so quickly I practically knock the glass, closing it and locking it tight, I scuttle to the desk, my cheeks feel like they’re flushing and the necklace I’m wearing feels just as hot and throbbing.

  ‘You like your jewellery then.’ Banter. Something not so ominous, something not so demonic. I cannot shake off the foreboding feeling that suddenly drapes me beneath a blanket of shadows. All I see is the cemetery where my sister is buried, the weeping Angels of alabaster stone, the Crosses that signify hope and sacrifice.

  ‘Something with meaning.’ He chuckles and follows me, his shadow seems to chase me, his eyes burning. I find the counter with ease and rest my hands atop the desk, trying desperately to stop them from visibly shaking. I don’t know why, but I feel light-headed, his words have thrown me completely off kilter.

  ‘Do you want it?’ I stare up, meeting his eyes, reminding me so much of his ring, I tear them away just as quickly and hover my hand over the cash register. ‘I mean, do you want it, to buy it? The ring… I mean.’

  ‘You get tongue-tied easily, don’t you?’ his chuckle breaks the tense air, but his sigh and his hand movement, resting his ringed hand, complete with the fitting rings, flash in front of me, fills me with more of a menacing prophecy.

  ‘I didn’t sleep too well.’ I answer, still my eyes refusing to meet his, still my hand hovering idle over the buttons on the machine.

  ‘I bet.’ His lips twist, a contorting smirk that looks more of a grin, cock-eyed and errant, it makes me think more to what he means, but he adds, ‘With what happened yesterday and everything. Rats running around at night, scaring helpless girls.’

  ‘So, Evander, do you want the ring, or did you just come by to annoy me?’

  ‘Oh, I want the ring.’ Pause, a broadening of his smile, ‘And I came by to see if you were free.’

  ‘If I’m free?’ I echo, the words resound in my head, bouncing off the walls and ringing in my ears – how did he know I was here? I had mentioned Charlie, but never his surname, and never where I worked…

  ‘Ellison, it’s your lunch break shortly, why don’t you head out for a bit?’

  I crane my neck, turning back to the back room, to see Charlie’s head bob on the side of the doorway; fine beads of sweat matting the faint trail of grey hair at his temples. His smile is always so warm, so genuine, it is the kind of smile, and fatherly glint in his eye that compels me to turn back to Evan and murmur into the back of my hand,

  ‘Looks like I’m free for my lunch break.’

  Evan dives his hand into his back jean pocket, pulling out several crisp, clean notes and handing them over, still the glint of his sapphire eyed ring causes my stomach to churn, but I smile, politely, shoving away all the ills that rise inside of me, running up the cash register and slipping the money inside.

  ‘So how did you know where I worked?’ I throw the question out there, pushing closed the register and leaning back, the heel of my palms resting on the edge of the counter, peering up through the falling veil of hair at Evan, who stands on the other side of the desk, still quietly admiring his new ring and quirking an eyebrow.

  ‘I’ll tell you over Lunch.’

  ‘Where were you thinking?’ I still find it hard to believe that this guy, this wannabe, might-be Prince, has set foot into the store I work in, bought a ring and is wanting to see if I am free. Out of sight I run my fingernails over my arm, pinching myself to see if I am still dreaming, but the pinch leaves a mark and I feel it dig into my skin. No, no dream, this is very much real, just, I’m left wondering… why?

  ‘I saw a little place just opposite that metal sculpture… art…’ he words the latter with a quirk of his mouth, pulling up slightly into half a grin, but his eyes twinkle underneath the dusty bulb, lighting his pale face with a haunting glow, so much so that I am left staring aimlessly at him, until finally I can succumb to a few words.

  ‘Alright…’ I pause, twirling around on my heel and heading back to the back room, to retrieve my bag, stepping over Charlie’s legs I crouch down beside him, grabbing at my bag hanging on the hook and whispering low, almost hiss like, but chuckling slightly.

  ‘You could have said I was working.’

  ‘Come on Elli, you need a little bit of fun. You’ve worked solidly now for nearly a year, with very few days off. Have an extra hour on your break and I’ll see you when you get back.’ The greying old man smiles, so big and so warming, that I cannot help but melt into my feet and shake my head, stepping away from him and back to the door.

  ‘If I didn’t know any better you were conspiring with Jade and Liv.’

  ‘Well, they did tell me if I saw any good looking gentleman to try and push you gently.’ He laughs and then pushes the small round glasses up his nose, ‘Did I do right? Is he a good looking gentleman?’

  I leave him without an answer and find Evan standing admiring another few pieces, one in particular an old painting, one of the Last Supper. He tilts his head ever so slightly to the side, a wry smirk on his lips.

  ‘They look like vultures, hanging around a soon to be corpse, feasting on all the last bits of glory, before they all run and turn their backs on him.’

  ‘You have a… unusual view on a legendary piece.’

  ‘Maybe I have the right view, and everyone else is wrong.’ This time he doesn’t chuckle, just meets my eyes with an intense stare, only the corners of his mouth tilt upward, and not in the mischievous, sly smirk as it was minutes ago.

  There is something different about this guy, something strangely enthralling, and I am not sure if it’s that invisible thread I feel pulling me toward him, or something else.

  Evander –

  I don’t quite understand Human views on Art. The metal sculptures in the shape of cows grazing, in all different bent and bowed shapes and tarnished coloured, it doesn’t even remotely look like an animal, or anything for that matter. What happened to paintings? Sculptures where you can identify with who or what it is? Or perhaps it is me, being far from Human, being lavished far too much by real Art lining the walls in the castle, onyx sculptures of past events, which seems like real Art to me. Not these weird, pointless shapes. I can’t help but notice her fascination with them though; her eyes are trained upon them, with a slight glazed faraway look, I see her profile as I walk beside her. Either she is thoroughly engrossed in the concept, or whatever concept the Artist had when he made that thing, or she is deliberately trying to avoid me.

  Well, maybe this will be harder than I thought.

  I’m so used to girls, being drawn in, easily plucking them out of their groups and enticing them with just one look, just one desire, one wish; but this one, Ellison. Elli. She seems tougher to break, and I do believe, that her only desire is to see her sister again, or to exchange places with her – either one of them I cannot do. Not until I have her sign something, anything. Oh, she’s a tough one.

  Her eyes wander over the tiled floor, her shoe kicking at a plastic wrapping, she bends down and picks it up. I do not falter in my stride, simply watching her as she squashes it in her hand and throws it in the passing bin. An eyebrow tilts up into my brow, but I say nothing. She must realise because she brushes her hands on her jeans and fumbles with a few words.

  ‘I think the early morning cleaner might not be coming in anymore.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve got that right; he’s not coming back at all…’ I whisper, and she stares up at me, wondering. My words were quiet enough for her not to hear but loud enough for her to be enamoured in curiosity.

  We continue to walk the stretch of Mall in silence, her eyes drawing up to the sign just above our destination, she pulls to a stop and just stares, t
he sign or the window, I’m not sure what catches her attention first.

  ‘Why did you choose this place?’ she asks, her eyes wandering over the restaurant’s namesake; slightly worn, red aged effect letters reading Devil’s Delight. A slight smirk touches my lips but does not last too long, glancing up at the small image of a demon holding a chocolate muffin,

  ‘Well, it looks interesting; why, have you been here before? Is it not to your tastes?’

  ‘Er.’ She dawdles over her words, her eyes drawing down from the sign to look into the glass window, into the myriad of bright pastries and cakes and pies and other sinfully delicious baked goods. It reminds me of the sweet smells of Dagon’s bakery at home, but less salt and more sugar.

  ‘If you don’t want to go here, we could go someone else?’ I gesture with a hand to the vastness of the Mall, ‘there must be somewhere else, in this place.’

  ‘No, it’s fine.’ She draws her gaze back up to the demon image above, before stepping forward; each step she looks as though she is holding in a breath, her body rigid and her cheeks drawn in, sucking a breath that longs to fall from her lips. Do I repulse her that much? Do I scare her? If I scare her in this form, I’d hate to think what she’d be like in my actual form – most demons prefer their humanoid appearance, it makes them feel more… alive. I’m one of them, the sight of my monstrous face, it isn’t pretty. And I quite like being a handsome specimen.

  I catch the door in one hand and draw it open; I had overheard that greying man in the antique store, saying something about Gentlemen. If I was going to have any luck with this girl, then I should try a little harder; something I am not used to. She thanks me, so quietly, if I had turned away, I would have missed it, but I follow her in, closely at first but drawing back when I feel her tense, smell the mixture of fear lacing her sweet vanilla and peach fragrance.

  ‘It smells like my flat in the morning.’ She says, the lightness in her voice almost a quiver, but her eyes are drawn to the glass display cabinet, with rows and rows of decadent baked goods. Layers of fresh cream, fresh fruit. No wonder the tables are heaving with customers, all piling their plates with cupcakes and muffins, with doughnuts and custard crowns. I sidle up behind her, drawing an invisible line between myself and the glass, ringed forefinger dragging down the air before pointing to one of the strawberry and chocolate mosaic like pastries,

  ‘Well that looks sinful.’ My chuckle breaks her concentration and she turns to face me, looking up with big chocolate eyes that rival even the silkiness of the liquid chocolate. I brush a hand over her shoulder, enticing her to move forward, bridging the large gap that has been made in the queue, in the time she has been staring up at my smirking lips. My smirk grows more twisted and broad at that thought.

  ‘Do you bake?’ I ask, trying to keep light; light things lead the conversations along at a better pace than plunging into deepest and darkest desires; I didn’t want her running out of here, not yet.

  ‘No, my friend, Olivia. She wants to be a chef, well, actually a baker.’ She laughs, breaking my gaze by looking back over to the pastries. ‘She’ll have my head, she calls herself a culinary queen in the making, a patisserie goddess. I’m inclined to think she is right.’

  ‘Oh, we can’t have her taking off such a pretty head.’ I am smooth, almost as smooth as the dripping icing that one of the experts are draping over a custard crown as we speak.

  ‘So you should be an expert taster when it comes to this sort of thing?’ I ask, keeping my eyes upon her, whilst she takes in the smells with an intake of breath. I guide her on once more, sliding my hand from the base of her neck to in-between her shoulder blades, gently pushing her on to the checkout.

  ‘I wouldn’t want to be too glutinous. I don’t eat all of what she bakes.’

  ‘Gluttony?’ I raise an eyebrow, drawing her attention to my word, ‘I cannot think of one sin I couldn’t be without. To deprive yourself of all of these… delights. Now that is a sin.’

  ‘I’ve never heard anyone say that before, especially a guy.’

  ‘I’m not like other guys, Elli.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’ Her chocolate eyes melt, a mirror image of the chocolate crowns and whipped pastries reflecting behind the counter. She pulls her eyes from me, too quickly to make it look discreet but slow enough for me to catch a slight smile meet her lips. She orders, picking a slice of double baked pie. Oozing with strawberries and cream and chunks of chocolate. She asks also for a chocolate croissant, to be bagged as her friend would love to try one. So innocent, so sweet. I feel heady, too much sugar and light, too much sweetness and innocence. And it isn’t all of the sugar laden goods.

  I slip a hand into my back pocket, readying to pull out some money but she hands it over and takes her order: one cappuccino in one hand, the pie in the other and she steps out of the way so that I can order. I eye her up, raising an eyebrow discreetly beneath a flop of black hair. How am I supposed to be a gentleman if she pays for her own? I roll my shoulders and order, following her through the crowded tables to a small two seater at the very back, hidden in the corner, just where I was intending.

  ‘You have a kind heart.’ I remark, whilst sliding into the chair, with my back to the crowd. Placing the white plate, that has been dusted with chocolate powder in swirls and a devil’s fork, on the table, I take the fork and start at one of the corners of the chocolate and strawberry mosaic.

  ‘What do you mean?’ sipping at her cappuccino she looks up from the steam, meeting me with curious eyes and a slight foam touching her lips.

  ‘Getting your friend that. You have a kind heart, always thinking of someone else.’

  ‘Oh.’ She places her cup down on the saucer and takes her fork to her cake, forking up a strawberry and a chunk of double baked chocolate, it hovers by her mouth for a moment and say says something before tasting it.

  ‘My sister was like that.’

  ‘Was like you?’ No, no she isn’t. She is nothing like you.

  ‘She always thought of others first, and then herself. If I can be anything like her, I’ll be happy.’ Her fork scrapes at the plate, and I’m sure she does it on purpose, to try and distract herself from welling tears, because even through her veil of hair, I can see her eyes start to gleam.

  ‘No, you shouldn’t be like her.’ I say, getting her attention almost immediately. A forkful of pie hovering by her lips.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You should be yourself. You must have your own desires, your own dreams. You cannot share everything with your sibling.’

  ‘I can’t share anything with her… she’s dead.’ Her tone is bitter, dark and cold. I think that this is the barrier, the line I should not cross – but if people just stayed around the barriers of others, only lingered and did not attempt to see what was beyond them, then no one would know anyone.

  ‘Then all the more to be your own person.’ I stab a strawberry and deliberate bringing it to my lips, but her eyes, glittering with tears, hardens upon me, putting me off the delicate red fruit.

  ‘Did my friends put you up to this?’

  ‘Put me up to what?’

  ‘Coming to the store, taking me here. Did they put you up to this?’ I find that when she is thinking, when she is nervous, her fingers must do something, anything. And this time around, they trace the rim of the cup, trailing her fingernail along the handle and then the saucer.

  ‘No.’ I push my plate aside, complete with the strawberries dissected from the cake, and mostly on the side. I place both elbows on the table and lean closer to her, shaking my head and chuckling slightly. She really is a little innocent, naïve girl.

  ‘I don’t do that. I do things my way.’

  ‘How did you know where I worked?’ her voice is calm, but her eyes glitter with suspicion, thankfully the tears are drying up.

  ‘A little perseverance. Like I said. I do things my way.’

  ‘You don’t get your servants to hunt people down then?’

  ‘No. t
hey just clean, run around to my beckoning and jump to command on occasions.’ I trail my fingers over a few of my rings, looking down at them before meeting her once more, only to see a quirked eyebrows and a cockeyed smile.

  ‘So you are some Prince?’

  ‘Not some Prince, a Great Prince.’ I lean back into the chair, lifting my chin ever so slightly.

  ‘Then why come here, to East Hollow?’

  ‘I told you before. East Hollow is an open invitation. It is quiet; a perfect place for nobility to hide out.’

  ‘Hide out. Well you weren’t exactly hiding out the other night.’ She brings the cup to her face and hides her expression, but I am sure by the slight sparkle in her eye, she is amused.

  ‘Avalon? You cannot deny a guy a good time.’ I prop my chin on laced hands and look across at Elli, noting all the little details on her face, from the single beauty mark just beneath her left eye to the shades of pink in her cheeks, which grow brighter and brighter the longer I stare.

  ‘Do you go out, often? Pick up strange girls for your good times?’ somehow I find this a challenge, and I accept. Her words are delving deeper, starting her own ascend of my barrier. Two can play this game.

  ‘Did you see us leave with any of them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then you have your answer.’ I deliver a crooked smile and she laughs, an airy and exuberant laugh – when the lines form at the corners of her mouth, a real laugh, a real show of amusement, you do not think that this girl has lost an important part of her life, and I am glad, because someone so sweet, so innocent as Ellison should not have to hide out in her delightful sister’s shadow, even in death.

  ‘You do this all the time though.’ She remarks, her words make me chuckle, fill me with my own amusement – oh how humans presume so very much!

  ‘Do I now?’

  ‘Well sure. Handsome Prince, painting the town with the colours of every other girl’s lipsticks. I wouldn’t be surprised if you have another one waiting around the corner, and when I leave you’ll just beckon her over.’