by Robin Thorn
I looked at her and then dark corridor beyond my room. “Just come in,” I said, stepping aside for her. My heart was still racing.
“What is going on, Stef?” she asked in a hoarse voice. “You’ve been acting weird all day. Now, this.” She waved her hands. “If you are worried about something then tell me. That’s what I’m here for.”
I sat on the chair beside my desk, dropping my head into my hands. “Phoebe, I think I’m losing my mind. I’m…” I let out a ragged breath. “Since last night I have seen things. A girl.”
To my surprise, she didn’t snort out a laugh or make some sarcastic comment about Will. She just calmly said, “You’re tired. It’s been a long, crazy day—”
“No,” I cut her off. “I don’t think that’s it. It felt real. I’m seeing her everywhere. Outside on the street, at Java, and even in here.” I gestured to the corner of my small room, where the girl had occupied my nightmare.
Phoebe stared back at me. “You have to give me a little more than this, Stef,” she said. “Who are you seeing?”
“That’s just it,” I exclaimed, “I don’t know! I dreamed about her last night… or, at least, I thought it was a dream until I saw the same girl standing outside Java this morning, and then again just now outside my window.”
Again, Phoebe glanced at the window, our reflections mirrored off the pane.
“She’s gone,” I said. “She disappeared. She was there, and then she was gone.”
Phoebe groped for words. “Maybe you’re overtired, stressed, worried about classes and—”
“No.” I pressed my knuckles to my mouth. “Phoebe, you have to believe me.”
“I do, Stef,” she murmured. “I do.” She blew out a breath. “Your dream. What happened?”
“She appeared in my room,” I recounted. “Right there in that corner. She was all scratched up and muddy.” Phoebe’s eyes followed my finger to the corner of the room, where the paint was peeling from the plasterboard. “Then she walked towards me,” I went on, swallowing, “and I just lay in bed. I couldn’t move.”
Phoebe held her breath.
“And she kissed me,” I said. “That’s all I remember. Well, that, and the pain. It felt like I was dying, really dying, like my insides slipped out of me. Even when I woke up, that feeling was still there, somewhere.” My head hummed at the memory. “Then when we were at Java yesterday, I thought I saw her—”
“And that’s why you ran outside,” Phoebe supplied.
“Yes. But she wasn’t there.”
“So, you think she came back again tonight?”
“Someone was throwing something at my window,” I explained. “When I looked it was her. She was just standing there on the pavement. She fucked waved at me, Phoebe!”
Phoebe sat motionless on the bed, her face pinched.
“You think I’m making this up, don’t you?” I asked, not ready for the answer. “You think I’m losing my shit. I probably am.”
“No,” she half-laughed. “You’re not losing your shit. It’s just…a lot to take in.” She stood up and trotted to the window. I turned my head away from the burst of night air, as the window swung open. Goosebumps prickled over my bare arms.
“Well,” Phoebe said finally, pulling the window shut. “If Mystery Girl was there, she’s certainly not anymore. It’s dead out there.” I winced at her word choice. “You need to get some sleep,” she concluded. “And if she does come back. She will have me to answer to.”
I’d seen the shadows lurking around Dorm Block D, and it didn’t take long to figure out that they were demonic. The stench alone was enough to leave a mark. It was a little tricky distinguishing exactly which demon force had decided to settle here. Judging by Jeanie’s account of her final moments, and now Stef’s mystery girl, my money was on an Incubus—or the feminine form, Succubus. It’s the only demonic being that has the power to spread so much lust.
In my eighteen years, my run-ins with the Incubus breed were relatively few and far between. But, damn, the encounter I’d had was enough to chew me up, spit me out, put me in a blender and leave me for kibble—emotionally, at least. Physically I’d managed to come out unscathed. Which was more than I could say for most people who encountered an Incubus.
It had happened a little after my fifteenth birthday, I was a Junior in high school at the time, and my parents had only recently let out on the field alone. I’d been training as a Guardians for as long as I could remember. Mum and Dad were a little more cautious that their only child—a flimsy waif of a daughter— was going out on demon hunts alone. So by fifteen, I toughened up enough to earn my stripes.
I was patrolling the Briarwood cemetery one Saturday night when I met my first distraction. I’d been sitting on one of the headstones outside the mausoleum, just waiting for something to go down. It was a full moon, a beacon in the otherwise black and hazy sky, so I was hoping for some action. Anything. A vampire resurrection, or a nice werewolf turn, something easy for an autumn weekend. But other than a couple of translucent spirits weaving through the plots, it was dead.
Then he showed up.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” That’s what he’d said to me.
I turned on my headstone seat and arched an eyebrow at the boy approaching in the darkness. He wasn’t a vampire or a werewolf; he was just a boy. Perhaps a little older than me, brown hair and pale golden eyes.
“What are you doing out here, anyway?” He walked right up to me, giving me this look. This infuriating, you’re just a girl, kind of look.
I tapped the wooden stake that was wedged into my back pocket, feeling the smooth elm point. “I’m just enjoying the night,” I said, “looking for something to kill.” I met his gaze. “Problem?”
He smirked. “No. Not really. I was trying to do you a favour, that’s all.” He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sure there are a few other creatures out here looking for something to kill, too.” His head titled. “You look like a nice something to kill.”
“Thank you,” I said.
He almost laughed. “Oh no, thank you, fresh meat.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You have such a way with words.”
He grinned, looking particularly boyish and handsome. “I’m glad you noticed.”
I bet you are, I thought, assessing him with my steady gaze.
“So, you’re one of them?” he asked.
“One of who?”
“The do-gooders,” he elaborated, smirking. “The Guardians.” His tone was unbearably mocking. These types always mocked us—until they ended up as bones and dust.
“Yes,” I replied coolly. “And I presume you are one of them,” I returned. “The do-baders. The ones whom innocents must be Guarded against?”
“Is that even a word?” He mimed tipping a proverbial hat. His leaned against a tombstone, regarding me carefully. “So, now what?” he asked.
“I kill you, or you kill me, whichever comes first.” But I didn’t move. He smiled, so I smiled back. God-only-knows why we were laughing. We were supposed to be killing.
“What’s your name, Guardian?” he asked.
“Phoebe.”
He extended his hand to me, and I accepted it. Our skin fused together, ice-cold and red-hot all at the same time. His fingers tightened around me, not in a threatening way, just in a…way.
“I’m Sam,” he said.
And that was how it started.
Phoebe’s family were the eccentric type. They believed in spirits, and ‘The wisdom of the Tarot’, as Phoebe put it. They lived on the outskirts of Briarwood, about fifteen miles from campus. I enjoyed our visits to see them, even if Pheobe didn’t. She would always try and persuade me that we didn’t need to visit.
I always got my own way. Especially if I used the ‘I haven’t seen my mum for a long time, and I miss her,” look.
We pulled up outside their gated manor in Phoebe’s old Chevy truck.
“Home swe
et home,” she said with a faint smile.
Before us, black iron gates had rusted, and moss had spread over the surface. The crumbling walls beside them had seen better days. Every time we visited it seemed another brick was missing.
Once Phoebe killed the engine we climbed out of the truck. I went first, pushing the gate open with a shoulder. The merciless groan as it swung wide was unpleasant.
We trudged along the driveway, through the flanking front lawn which was rich with dewy grass and a myriad of tropical flowers and horticulture. Holy had grown from the bushes beside us, flexing the silver snowed ground with balls of red.
I stayed behind Phoebe as we ascended the porch steps leading up to a looming grey manor house, with old stone columns rising tall into the misted sky. The house was straight out of a Charles Dickens novel. From the outside, it was depressing and dull. But I knew not to judge its exterior on the inside was a different matter.
This wasn’t my first visit to Phoebe’s family home. My first time here had been…interesting. I’d spent most of the time coughing into my sleeve on the thick fumes of burning incense and hanging spices, and when Phoebe’s mum, May, had offered me a drink, I’d ended up with a glass of water sprinkled with sage and rose petals. But by the time I’d left after that first visit, I’d fallen in love with the rabbit warren of rooms, each one alive with a unique colour and scents.
Today’s visit was May’s idea. According to Phoebe, her mum requested we visit immediately. And judging by the unease in Phoebe’s tone when she’d mentioned it, I was starting to guess that being summoned wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
I waited on the front porch while Phoebe dug out her old brass skull key from her shoulder bag. I stared down at a pot of nettles that May used for brewing teas, taking a deep breath of the scents of lavender and spice from the many potted plants. Honestly, I was struggling to focus on anything but the pounding pressure building inside my head and the pangs of hunger in my stomach that I still couldn’t seem to satisfy.
The front door swung open before Phoebe had managed to jam her key into the lock.
May stood in the doorway, wild silver hair fastened at the crown of her head. “This saddens me,” she murmured huskily. “Get inside before the cold kills you first.”
Phoebe followed her mother into the house, and I trailed behind. My headache gave another agonising thud as I stepped beneath the white sage garland suspended above the door frame.
“Interesting,” May muttered, glancing over her shoulder at me as she led us into the long, plum-coloured corridor. “Very interesting indeed.”
I tried not to frown back at her. Interesting? What was interesting? Had she meant me? Suddenly I felt incredibly conspicuous.
We carried on along the corridor. Ornate oil painting depicting generations of Phoebe’s family members hung from the walls, scattered between sconce candles and string beads. Our trio of footsteps fell in sync as we moved deeper along the flagstone floor.
Suddenly I felt as though I were underwater, hearing only muted echoes, buried with the shipwrecked gates and drowning somewhere beneath the surface.
May came to a stop before an oak door and gestured into the room. “Take a seat in the drawing room,” she said in her raspy accent. “I’ll get you some chew bark for that headache.”
I raised my eyebrows at Phoebe as May left us alone in the drawing room.
“How did she know about my headache?” I mouthed.
Phoebe flipped her palms. “She knows everything. And you are holding your head like it's about to explode.”
We took our seats on the crushed velvet wingchairs and stared into the crackling log fire. The heat pulsing from the flames began to warm my cold skin. I rubbed my hands together.
“So,” I said, returning my gaze to Phoebe, “are you ever going to tell me?”
She sat upright, rigid in her seat. “Tell you what?”
“Whatever it is that you’re not telling me.”
She pressed her lips together.
“Does your mum know about my dream?” I asked. “I am guessing you told her.” I winced as the pain crashed a little louder inside my skull.
Phoebe stared down at her fingernails for a second. “I didn’t need to tell her,” she said. “Didn’t you hear me before? She already knows. She knows everything.”
I scoffed out a laugh.
“Everything,” Phoebe repeated meaningfully.
I arched an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”
Phoebe sighed. “What can I say, mumma May’s mind works in mysterious ways.”
The sound of the drawing room door opening made us both jump. Phoebe’s father, Michael, stepped into the room and smiled broadly at us. He loped across the room, his willowy frame casting a long shadow in the firelight. His grey hair pulled into a high bun. He wore a frayed cardigan with a pair of glasses hanging over his chest on a silver chain.
“Dad,” Phoebe greeted him as he planted a kiss on her forehead.
“Hey, kiddo,” he replied warmly. He turned to me and extended his hand. “Good to see you again, Stef. How are classes going?”
“Okay,” I said, returning his smile. “Bio Chem is pretty intense, but Phoebe’s a good lab partner.”
She grinned. “The best lab partner,” she corrected raising an index finger.
Michael chuckled. “And your mum?” he asked, his eyes still on me. “I hear she’s in Greece?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Mum’s planning on moving out there with her new girlfriend.”
“Ah, well, it’s a beautiful country,” Michael said. “I hardly blame her.” He cleared his throat. “And how about your father, Stef? Where is he?”
Phoebe grimaced. “Dad!”
Michael blinked back at her. “What? It’s a simple question, Phoebe.”
“Dad, you're being rude,” she said through clenched teeth.
I lifted my palm in peace. “No, it’s fine,” I told Michael. “Unfortunately, I don’t know where my father is. I’ve never met the guy.” I felt my cheeks burn as I said the words aloud. It was a painful thing to admit. I had to admit; it was an odd question. In all the times I had seen Phoebe’s parents, my father had never been brought up in conversation.
“Oh.” Michael rubbed his jawline, his fingers moving over the white stubble on his chin. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’m over it.” I had to be over it. I had no other choice. Anyway, as nice as it was to chat with Phoebe’s parents, I got the feeling that I wasn’t summoned here for small talk.
On cue, May walked into the room, carrying a brass tea tray. “Drink up,” she said, placing the cups on the coffee table between us as Michael took a seat by the fire. “And here,” she said, handing me a small strip of what looked like tree bark. “It’s willow bark. Chew on it, and it will help ease the pain.” She simpered and placed her index finger on my temple. “For now, anyway.”
Warily I took the bark and placed it between my lips. I bit down on it, and to my surprise, the pain receded a fraction.
“So,” May began as she sank into the remaining chair around the fireplace. “How are classes going?”
“Mum,” Phoebe said with a groan. “Can we just get to the point already?”
May inhaled. “Right,” she said, pursing her lips. “Well, Stef, I think you know why you’re here.”
Between the pain in my head, and the insatiable hunger and the bark now balanced between my teeth, my patience for guessing games was a little lacking. I pulled the bark out of my mouth. “I don’t mean to be forward, May, but I’d rather you just tell me why I’m here.”
She smiled back at me. “I must say, I admire your directness, my dear. I can only respect you with the same address.” She leaned back in her seat, glancing between Michael and Phoebe before her azure eyes returned to me. “I must tell you, Stef; the stones have been pointing to a change for you. Do you have an idea what that might be?”
All three of t
hem stared at me now, an intense and nervous stare that made the hairs on the back of my neck bristle. “I…I don’t know.”
“Anything unusual?” Michael asked.
I sat stiffly, unsure of how to broach my worries about the phantom girl. It wasn’t that I thought they would judge me—of anyone, they seemed open to believing anything out of the ordinary. It was more than I was unsure of what exactly I was supposed to say.
Fortunately, Phoebe answered for me. “Oh come on!” she urged her parents. “You called us over here. What do you know? What can you tell Stef?”
What can they tell me? That seemed like odd wording, even for Phoebe.
I expected May and Michael to give some mystical answer. But they didn’t. May briefly looked at her husband and turned to me with an eerie smile.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “The signs are showing me hints, but… Anyway, I’m sure you’ll find your answers soon.”
Phoebe dropped her head in her hands and laughed, but it was a cold and bitter sound.
“Is that it, then?” Phoebe asked, standing abruptly. “Are we done? We came over for that!”
“For now,” May said. “Phoebe maybe you should take Stef back to campus to sleep off that headache.”
I stood up, and May embraced me in a hug. When she broke away, she met my eyes, holding my stare. “I hope you feel better soon.”
“Uh, yeah,” I said. “Thanks. I guess I’ll see you next week for the holidays.”
May’s face pinched slightly; as if my comment saddened her.
“Ah, yes,” Michael agreed as he rose to his feet too. “Phoebe mentioned that you’d be staying here during school break.”
“Wonderful,” said May as she ushered me back towards the corridor. “Phoebe,” she called suddenly. “May I speak with you alone for a moment.”
Phoebe threw me an apologetic glance as we hovered in a drawing-room off the corridor. Leaving me alone.
“I’ll wait by the car.” I cooed.
I didn’t waste any time in putting distance between myself and the house. I let myself out through the front door and paced quickly along the path towards the iron gates. When I turned back, I could see their silhouettes in the huge bay window. Phoebe and May were standing face to face with each other. I couldn’t hear the words from out here, but whatever they were talking about seemed animated. Hands and arms were waving then Phoebe tipped her head back. I’d never seen her this angry. They didn’t look my way until Phoebe walked off and May called for her, this time her voice echoing in the quiet street.