Elfland

by Freda Warrington

  “Yes,” Rosie said coolly. “No thanks to you he’s still alive.”

  “I’ve got to see him. Please.”

  Sighing, she stepped back and let him in. She watched numbly from the doorway as Jon stumbled to the sofa and flung himself down beside Luc. “I got a taxi. Phoned your mum for the address. I guessed you’d be here. If in doubt, run to Rosie’s.”

  “You useless bastard,” Lucas grumbled under his breath.

  “Me?” said Jon. “You’re the one who ran away!”

  “D’you blame me? Not enough to poison me, you nearly get us killed.”

  “Are you really mad with me?” Jon looked ashen.

  “Fucking fuming,” said Lucas. “No, I’m just glad you’re okay. I thought Lawrence was going to kill us both.”

  “Me too.” They embraced like shipwreck survivors. Then Jon pulled his feet up and sat cross-legged, oblivious of his dirty boots on the seat cushions. “He’s thrown me out. My father’s thrown me out!” He put his head in his hands.

  Rosie stood with folded arms. She wanted to yell like an outraged parent, but didn’t. They were both in such a state, there seemed nothing more to say.

  “I’ll make some lunch,” she said. “You both look starving.”

  “Thanks, and can I ask a favor, Ro?” said Lucas. “Can we stay for a bit? I can’t face Mum fussing.” He and Jon looked expectantly at her.

  “You can, Luc,” she answered quietly. “I don’t want Jon here.”

  “But he’s got nowhere to go. Please.”

  She felt suddenly cast in the role of carer to two delinquents. Still, it was preferable to them ending up in more trouble. “All right,” she said, relenting. “Only for a day or two. Then he has to go. And no drugs in my house.”

  Jon began earnestly, “No, you don’t get it, it’s not recreational—” but Lucas gripped his arm and said, “Shut up. Of course we won’t, Ro. It goes without saying.”

  Rosie withdrew to the kitchen and tried, as countless generations both human and Aetherial had always done, to heal things with food. She was shaken, but what was the point of anger? Lucas needed a safe haven, not a lecturing parent. As she buttered bread, she heard the front door opening. There was a pause, then Alastair came into the kitchen, dropped his sports bag and stood there. Rosie felt a sense of dislocation, as if she’d forgotten he existed.

  “What the hell’s going on?” he asked at last. He looked irritated, verging on livid.

  She decided to simplify. “Lawrence caught Jon and Lucas smoking pot, and threw them out.”

  “Good grief! This is our home, not a doss house for druggies!”

  “That’s my brother you’re talking about. Where can he go, if not here?”

  “Er—his own home?” Alastair said with sarcasm. Solid in a red rugby shirt, he looked the opposite of Lucas and Jon. They were skinny, scruffy students, wild spirits out of the Dusklands. Alastair seemed by contrast heavy and prosaic, a bit baffled, set in his ways, so ordinary you could sell him by the pound.

  “Mum will fuss, if she finds out,” said Rosie, grating cheese. “He knows he won’t get hassled here.”

  “Right, but they’re not kids. They can look after themselves. I want them gone.” One thing she’d leaned about Alastair since marriage was that he hated his routine being upset.

  “And they will go,” she answered reasonably, “as soon as Lawrence calms down. We’ve got spare bedrooms. What’s the problem?”

  “One spare room! You needn’t think they’re taking over my study! Look, I know you care about Lucas—”

  “Yes, I do,” she said pointedly.

  “But that thing you had about Jon is no big secret.”

  She grated a fingernail, and winced in pain. “Oh, come on, that was a million years ago. They know they’ve been idiots. They need to sort themselves out.”

  “Have you still got feelings for him?”

  “Don’t be daft.” His sudden, needling questions made her uncomfortable. His eyes looked bloodshot. “Alastair, have you been drinking?”

  He didn’t answer. “It was supposed to be just you and me, Rosie,” he said. “You think I want some guy around that you used to drool over? This is the sort of thing she would do.” He meant the ex-girlfriend, she who made his eyes go blank with hurt anger.

  “I’m not her.”

  “Letting dodgy friends stay, up all night snorting coke like it was perfectly normal and there was something wrong with me for objecting.” A heavy pause. “All of them laughing at me, the idiot who didn’t realize she was sleeping with most of them.”

  Coldness flashed over her. Alastair’s expression was wild, disturbing. “This is totally different. I’m not about to do any of that, especially not with my brother.”

  “How about your old flame?”

  Rosie laughed. “Have you seen the state of him? I think he’d break if I jumped on him.” She meant it lightheartedly but Alastair’s expression only turned madder. He couldn’t suspect about Sam, could he? She asked in shock, “Is that what you think of me?”

  “Fucking hell, Rosie, I don’t know what to think!” Suddenly he flung open the kitchen door and stomped out into the garden. She heard a strangled growl, then the dull thunk of something breaking. Tense, Rosie continued preparing food. A few minutes later, Alastair came back in, his face flushed, expression sheepish, his big shoulders hunched with contrition.

  “I’m sorry, Rosie,” he said quietly. “I kicked a plant pot. I’ve calmed down now.”

  “Not my little bay tree?”

  “Sorry. I’ll help you repot it.”

  “God, Alastair!” she cried, furiously cutting up sandwiches. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “It’s not you. I’ve been dropped from the team for the next game. Apparently I’m not fit enough. I was bloody fuming at the coach so yes, I went for a pint. Then I come home to find this! Sorry, sorry, I lost it for a moment. I know it’s your brother, but we really don’t need the lazy pair of them lying around messing up the house. That’s all. The stuff I said, I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

  He put his arms around her, so apologetic that she softened, and kissed his warm cheek. “Hey, you’ll get back in. I know it’s disappointing, but Ashvale Tigers will soon realize they’re useless without you. And I’m sorry, too, about the invasion, but you have no reason to be jealous.”

  “I can see that,” he said, his brawny arms tightening possessively. A smile entered his voice. “If you seriously had the hots for that scarecrow in there—well, everyone’s allowed a wee lapse of taste, but thank goodness you got over it, eh?”

  “Yeah,” she breathed, untangling herself from him and piling food onto plates. “I know it’s a nuisance, but they’ll only be here for a day or two. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” said Alastair, clearly not happy but at pains to be obliging and tolerant. “Whatever you need to do.”

  “Thank you,” she said crisply, heading for the door with a loaded tray. Once she’d thrust food and drink at the strays, she left them to it and dealt with the tension of the house in the best way she knew. She escaped outside and attacked the front garden.

  “Hey, sweetie.”

  Rosie was on instant alert at the familiarity of the voice. For twenty minutes she’d been so absorbed in digging a flower bed that she hadn’t noticed his noiseless approach. She sat back on her heels and saw Sam a few yards away on the footpath that bordered her front lawn. He was very still, as if he’d been watching her for a few minutes.

  In a split second, every part of her mind and body swirled into chaos; stomach thrilling with anxiety, heart leaping, warmth rushing up her spine and blood rioting though her. An instant replay of erotic ghost sensations mingled with general embarrassment, panic, guilt, and a truly disturbing flash of excitement . . . She’d always wondered how it would be when they met again, as they were bound to; what on earth she’d say or do. She’d decided on a stance of cool, detached politeness
. She’d even rehearsed it in her head but now, faced with reality, she was hopelessly flustered and drowning—just as she’d always known, wretchedly, that she would be.

  All of that flared through her and was smoothed over in the second it took her to stand up. “Hi, Sam.”

  He was observing her, head tilted a little to the side, gauging her demeanor. He was dressed simply: black jeans, blue T-shirt, black leather jacket, a steel and leather cord around his neck. His clothes hung neatly and beautifully on him. Worrying, that he looked better every time she saw him; lean and compact, with light shining through the ends of his hair, making an aura around him so that he seemed dark yet gilded at the same time.

  Rosie didn’t know what she felt, but it wasn’t angry or defensive. They’d both behaved badly but it was over; the playing field was level. So her greeting came out with a slight smile. He gave a very tentative smile in return. Oh, he was wary, all right. Holding back, so as not to give her reason to lash out at him. She thought, Perhaps he’s put it all behind him and moved on; which was only what I wanted . . .

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “I’m great,” she said. “How about you?”

  “Couldn’t be better. So this is it, chez Rosie.” He glanced over the house. “Nice.”

  “Thank you. Well, thanks to my dad, really.”

  “All settled in?”

  Again heat prickled her skin like warm fur. “Yes, lots to do of course, and, er . . . why are you here?”

  “Don’t worry, love, I’m not stalking you.” One eyebrow arched suggestively. “Much as I’d like to. I’m looking for Jon. Did you hear, he had a huge fight with Lawrence, and got the boot?”

  “Yes.” Removing her gardening gloves, she walked closer so they could speak quietly. “He’s here.”

  “I guessed as much.” Sam nodded, looked down at his feet. “Where else would the beggars go to ground, when they’re in trouble? I need to speak to him. Is that all right?”

  “As long as he wants to see you.” She folded her arms, shook her hair back over her shoulders. “Did Lawrence send you, and are you going to give him a hard time?”

  “No to the first question, and to the second, probably. All I want is to know what the hell’s going on. Come on, I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

  “Mind you, Jon deserves a hard time,” she said. “Okay, but no fighting or yelling in my house.”

  “There won’t be.” Sam remained at the edge of the lawn, a half-smile on his lips. “Aren’t you going to invite me over the threshold?”

  “Why do you need inviting? Have you turned into a vampire?”

  “Not a vampire. I’m just trying to work out how mad you are with me.”

  “I’m not mad with you, Sam.”

  “Really? You were well and truly seething, last time I saw you.”

  “And that was two months ago. I can’t seethe for that long. Anyway, there’s nothing to be mad about, is there?”

  “Oh, right,” he said, nodding. “Because nothing happened.”

  “Exactly. Nothing happened,” she repeated firmly, then spoiled it by holding his gaze a bit too long. Coloring, she turned towards the front door. “Come on.”

  “By the way, you look amazing,” he said over her shoulder. “I prefer it to the wedding dress. I always knew how hot you’d look, slaving over the soil.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Just making an observation, sweetheart.”

  She stopped at the corner of the porch and faced him. “And please don’t call me sweetheart in front of Jon and Lucas and Alastair.”

  “Alastair’s here?” Sam blanched.

  “Well, yes. He happens to live here.”

  “Of course he does. And hey, he’s in. Great.”

  “What difference does it make?” They were close together, whispering. The more Rosie looked at Sam’s face, the more unstable the earth felt beneath her feet. “You’re here for your brother, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right. All I’m interested in is Jon. Honestly, Rosie, I’m not going to embarrass you. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

  “I know you’re not an idiot, Sam. I don’t trust you, that’s all.”

  “Thanks. That’s bloody charming, that is.”

  “Don’t be disingenuous. You’ve always liked making mischief. I’m simply asking you, please don’t. Don’t even think about it.”

  “What? You think I’m going to make a pass at you in front of Alastair, or ask him if he’s ever had you up against a tree so we can compare notes?”

  Rosie gasped. She stood speechless.

  “Give me some flaming credit,” Sam went on. “Do you think I’ve spent the last few weeks pining for you? I’ve got other fish to fry. I’ve been good, I’ve stayed away from you like you wanted, and I’m only here now for Jon. I’m not going to drop you in it. What more can I do?”

  She found her breath again. “I knew this would happen. Only together five minutes, and we’re scrapping like a pair of hamsters.”

  “This is not a fight.” Sam moved imperceptibly away from her, his tone cooling. “I’m trying to say that you’re right, it would never have worked between us. The little taste I had of you was an eye-opener, and very nice, thank you, but it’s over. You’re safe. Stop worrying.”

  She stood glaring at him. “Is that all it was? All the faked emotion and tears, just to prove you could have me? One shag and you’ve won the game? Just walk off smiling with the cup, Sam one, Rosie nil? I might have known.”

  “Since we’re not arguing, and since I’m a gentleman, I really shouldn’t point out that you kissed me first. But what the hell? You kissed me.”

  “All right, we were as bad as each other. That’s why I’m not angry, or only with myself. But—no, we can’t talk about this now. Or ever. It didn’t happen.”

  “Whatever. Can I see my brother now?” he said, looking pointedly at the front door.

  “What fish?” said Rosie.

  “Pardon?” His gaze came back to her face. Although she could see through his bravado, she didn’t actually trust her own eyes. She couldn’t cut straight to the truth, like Mel could.

  “You said other fish to fry. Are you seeing someone?”

  “Bit too late to be jealous, love.”

  “I’m not. I only wondered what you’ve been doing.”

  “Every woman in the county, young and old alike,” he said thinly, “trying to get over you.”

  Rosie felt as if someone had flung a heavy ball into her stomach. Of course he’d been sleeping around with one female after another; what else would he do after three years in jail? Worse, she could picture it vividly. This was horrible, miserable. Meeting Sam again was a thousand times worse than she’d ever dreamed it could be.

  “Is it working?” she asked as she opened the door for him, her voice cold and thin.

  He looked at her. The look seemed to go on forever. At last, as he stepped lightly inside, he said, “No.”

  “You plank,” said Sam, sitting on the edge of an armchair facing Jon. He sounded more exasperated than angry, Rosie thought, hovering in the doorway. It was weird to see Sam in her living room; unnatural to the point of alarming. Jon sat glowering back at him, shamefaced but defiant. He’d lit a thin roll-up, filling her pristine room with smoke. Lucas stared at the carpet.

  “Great, this is all I need,” said Jon.

  “So, are you going to take him home, or what?” Alastair said, over Rosie’s shoulder.

  Sam turned to Alastair with the most sublime look of contempt and loathing Rosie had ever seen. “I would if I could,” he said, his conversational tone bearing no relation to his expression, “but Dad’s thrown him out and I don’t know how long he’ll take to relent.”

  “Why are you here, then?” Jon asked sullenly.

  “To make sure you’re all right, knob-head,” said Sam. His face changed completely when he looked at his brother. “I don’t know what to say. I warned you, over and over. You can’t claim this is
any big surprise, can you? If anything, you’ve got off lightly.”

  Narrow-eyed, Jon sucked on the roll-up. “I suppose. I’m just pissed off. Not with you—well, a bit with you, Sam. With everyone for not seeing that we’re doing something important, absolutely vital, and if Dad can’t hack it anymore he should think about retiring.”

  “What the hell’s he talking about?” Alastair said, genuinely puzzled. No one answered him.

  “Instead we get treated like a pair of kids,” Jon went on. “Like idiots. I’m not an idiot, Sam.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s a matter for debate. By the way, Sapphire wants to see you.”

  At that, Jon virtually levitated, dropping ash everywhere. Lucas’s head jerked up and he looked at Jon, half-frowning. “No! No, Sam, no way can I see her. Make her stay away.”

  Sam shrugged. “My feelings too. What are you going to do now? Hole up here while you think up a different way to save the world?”

  Jon shook his head, lips thin. “All I want is to be left alone.”

  “Might be an idea to talk to Dad, once he’s calmed down.”

  The head-shaking became more emphatic. “I can’t. It’s too late.”

  “I want to see him,” Lucas said out of nowhere. He sat forward, all nervous energy. “I really need to talk to him.”

  Everyone looked at Lucas in surprise. “And say what?” Jon exclaimed.

  “I don’t know.” Lucas looked sideways at Jon. “Nothing about . . . anything. I just need to tell him . . . that we’re sorry.”

  “I thought Lawrence scared you out of your wits,” Sam said dryly.

  “I’m not scared. D’you think he’ll see me, Sam? Will you give me a lift over there?”

  Rosie wouldn’t let Lucas go alone, so she had the uneasy experience of sitting beside Sam in a metallic blue cabriolet—Sapphire’s, apparently—with Lucas silent in the backseat as Sam drove through the twisting lanes towards Cloudcroft. She wished she’d taken her own car. Too late now.

  As soon as Sam let them in through Stonegate’s imposing oak doors, Sapphire appeared. She wasn’t her normal glowing self, Rosie observed; she looked tired and harassed, and had applied too much makeup to compensate. She spoke to Sam only to ask about Jon; then focused her attention on Lucas, ignoring Rosie completely.