Solace & Grief

by Foz Meadows

  Beside her, the green-numbered digits of the microwave clock read 22:54, glowing with dim, familiar symmetry. Despite being a slightly older model, it looked brand new, hardly out of place against the spotless benches and swept floors. Upstairs was no different: prior to their occupancy, the beds had been impeccably made – or so said Jess and Electra, who were the only ones in a position to have noticed. In the lounge, too, the furniture seemed freshly upholstered: not even the cushions were worn. A family of pedantic neat-freaks would have left more signs of habitation, Solace thought – which was odd. Suddenly curious, she checked the fridge, which none of them had thought to do earlier: despite the length of time since their last proper meal, exhaustion had taken precedence over hunger. Its shelves were stocked with fresh groceries, everything from meat and eggs to chilled wine and fruit. Further inspection revealed that the cupboards, too, were full, positively brimming with rice, tinned corn, biscuits, flour – everything a house should have. By contrast, however, the kitchen bin was not only empty, but clean, bereft of the usual smears or stains. All the crockery and glassware was immaculate, the knives and forks laid out carefully in the top drawer. There was a dishwasher under the bench, but it, too, was empty, as if it had never been used.

  Puzzled now, Solace padded out through the lounge and into the hall. A coat-rack hung on the wall, but the pegs were bare. Several colourful umbrellas stood in a ceramic urn, all furled with such precision that it was doubtful they'd ever been opened. A suspicious thought nagged at her, persistent and sharp. Nearby, the polished dining-room table gleamed dully in the small amount of moonlight, seemingly bereft of scratch or stain; the only disturbance was the missing chair Paige had carried into the lounge. Solace walked purposefully towards the bathroom. Stepping inside, she shut the door behind her and turned on the light.

  As in the kitchen, the bench was made of marble. She was surprised by how large a room it was: she'd seen pictures before of bathrooms with two sinks, but three, no matter how tasteful, seemed needlessly extravagant. A large, flat mirror took up most of the rear wall, stopping above the toilet to make room for a medicine cabinet, while to the right, a long, deep bath under a shower head lay along almost a whole wall, leaving just enough room for a short, multi-tiered shelf brimming with soft, white towels. Turning, she saw several fluffy bathrobes hanging on the back of the door, not one of which looked like it had ever been used.

  Quietly, she stepped up to the middle sink. Three cups in a row bristled with a total of eight assorted toothbrushes and three pristine tubes of toothpaste; all the soap was untouched, while in the shower, several different bottles of shampoo and conditioner rested in a convenient wall-rack. Redundantly, Solace checked: they were all full, all unopened, all brand new.

  A strange sense of disquiet settled over her. The number of beds was one thing, but this went beyond coincidence and into the realm of deliberate, thoughtful planning. Which, even more unsettlingly, suggested that not only had Duchess brought them to this house for a reason, but that it had been made ready for their arrival. Given that Duchess herself lacked opposable thumbs and the ability to go shopping, everything pointed to an accomplice – someone who knew there were eight of them, who'd set the house in order with them in mind.

  Solace froze. Should she wake the others? Should they run? Run where? the Vampire Cynic pointed out. And why? Because the terry towelling looks sinister? Get a grip!

  Her mouth quirked into a smile. Not long ago, she'd watch Mikhail Savarin slice open his own arm so that Sanguisidera could tempt her with his blood. Not long ago, five of her friends had been chained in a dungeon at the mercy of violent enemies. Not long ago, the warehouse had burned. Dangerous things were happening, but she'd been cheerfully acclimatising to the apparent weirdness of the world well before any of that – and she was worried by the unexpected niceness of a house?

  She laughed, listening to the rich echoes as they bounced off the bathroom walls. True, she didn't know who or what Duchess actually was, let alone what she might want, but the fact remained that the little cat had not only saved them all at cost to herself, but given them sanctuary. Under the circumstances, it would have been utter foolishness not to take advantage of what was on offer, and until their tiny benefactor woke and was in a communicative mood, what else could they really do? Solace still felt too wide-eyed for sleep, but a shower sounded like heaven.

  Locking the bathroom door, she eased out of her clothes, setting each item carefully aside. The next room along was, she thought, a laundry; gods alone knew what she must smell like. There'd been a bathroom at the warehouse, but the shower hadn't worked properly, only ever emitting a bare trickle of tepid water that was hardly worth the effort and which had smelled strongly of salt, as if it had been pumped from the harbour. Stepping carefully into the bath, she reached out and gently turned the taps, sighing with pleasure at the touch of warm water.

  ‘Bliss,’ she murmured happily.

  Luxuriating in the heat, Solace washed her hair and brushed her teeth. After finding a proper razor, she even shaved her legs and underarms, something she hadn't bothered to do since arriving in the city. The hot water supply was seemingly without end, a novelty she tried not to abuse but which, ultimately, proved too enjoyable for restraint. As weeks of stress and grime washed away, she closed her eyes and sighed with contentment.

  By the time she judged herself to be properly cleansed, the room had filled with steam, smudging the mirror into a sheet of foggy silver. Putting aside her towel, Solace slid into one of the bathrobes. Soft, warm and more comfortable than she'd been in weeks, she investigated the cupboard, searching for and finally finding a hairbrush. Wiping the steam from the glass, she came face to face with her reflection. Puzzled, she stopped and stared.

  Since leaving the group home, Solace hadn't really seen her own face. The sight came as somewhat of a shock – the harder she looked, the less she recognised the person looking back. It was a strange feeling. Receiving her mother's book in the dream-that-wasn't, she'd seen her parents for the first time, but it wasn't until she blinked, tilting her head to one side, that she realised how strongly she resembled Morgause, her mother. Sleeked to her neck with water, her black hair glistened darkly, pulled back from jaw and forehead to accentuate her strong, curved cheeks. Squinting, she tried to see her features as a stranger would, focusing on the changes until her whole countenance seemed alien: the small, straight nose, the expressive mouth, the lean round of her chin. Her skin seemed paler even than usual, freshly washed of dirt and glowing softly under the fluorescent lights, accentuating the darkness of her hair and eyes. But that wasn't new.

  What had changed? She struggled with the question. Her cheeks were perhaps a tad thinner, but that seemed too inconsequential. Not so much time had passed that she could reasonably term herself older – she blinked, frowning. Not physically older, no. Mentally, though? Emotionally? Leaning closer still, she focused on her eyes. That was it; a subtle difference around the edges, but a significant one. Laughing softly to herself, she let her irises change from black to green, amazed at this new talent. The colour altered her appearance, but the newness, whatever it was, remained.

  ‘Growing up at last,’ she mused, letting her eyes slip back to their usual shade.

  Silently, she combed out her hair, returned the brush to the cabinet, hung up her used towel and stepped out of the bathroom, pensive. Flicking off the light, she found herself once more in the unfamiliar dark. Softly, her stomach growled; she smiled and made her way to the kitchen – in all the bounty of the fridge, surely there was something she could eat. Solace had never really learned how to cook, and in any case didn't want to make too much noise, but held out hope for something cold that wouldn't result in another, considerably less pleasant trip to the bathroom.

  Luck was with her: hidden behind a range of condiments was a plate laden with eight cold sausages. Greedily, she took the whole lot, carrying them over to the bench. For a short while, hunger overwhelmed her:
the taste was delicious, the soft, textured beef balanced against a subtle spice and the cool of refrigeration. Solace closed her eyes in enjoyment – had there ever been a time when she'd been able to simply eat her fill of food that didn't make her sick? Mrs Plumber and Miss Daisy had done as best they could with what they had, but the plain fact of the matter was that Solace could eat so little, but was so often hungry for so much, that it felt as if she'd spent most of her life starving. Before she knew it, the plate was empty. Ducking back to the fridge, she found a loaf of bread and tore into it ravenously.

  The bread vanished all too quickly, and was followed by an entire bag of marshmallows, three bananas (being one of the few fruits Solace could actually eat), several boxes of biscuits and, finally, a handful of raw spaghetti. Only once she caught herself grabbing at the pasta did she stop, ashamed and still feeling empty. As suddenly as it had come, the terrible hunger vanished, leaving her once more slumped at the bench, her head in her hands. What was wrong with her?

  You crave what you cannot have>

  She jumped. Turning, she saw that Duchess was awake, sitting calmly on the kitchen tiles. The glow from the microwave clock gave her pale green eyes a weird luminescence.

  ‘What –’ Solace began, but the little cat cut her off, blinking as she spoke.

  You know what, human. Blood>

  Guiltily, Solace gulped. ‘Why now, though? Eating's never taken me over like that before.’

  Duchess made an odd sound somewhere between purring and choking; a moment passed before Solace thought to interpret the sound – correctly – as laughter.

  Silly human. You have never drunk from one of your kind before. It is the after-effect. Your body wants more. Your head does not. And so, uselessly, you hunger> She yawned. You would be better off with prey. A swan, perhaps?>

  As with the laughter, there was a moment of dislocation before Solace realised that Duchess was being wry. Apart from the oddity of not being able to use facial expressions as a key to interpreting sentiment, the way in which the words simply appeared in her head left her uncertain of their intended intonation. There was a particular flavour to speaking with Duchess, or perhaps timbre was a better word, that read cat, or at least, not human. Sighing, Solace tilted her head and studied her strange saviour.

  ‘Back at the group home, just before I left… it was you, wasn't it? The cat in the alley? You scared the faceless man away. You cut Miss Daisy's shirt.’

  You did not belong>

  ‘And in my dream, with the riddle-song.’ She gulped. ‘I know now it was Grief. But who are you?’

  I am myself. As you are. As is everyone>

  Solace opened her mouth to speak, but found herself forestalled.

  I know what you meant, human. My true name is not for casual use> Her whiskers twitched, almost imperceptibly. Still. I do not object to Duchess>

  ‘Are you a cat? I mean,’ Solace rushed on, sensing rather than seeing that she'd caused offence, ‘obviously, you are a cat. But were you always?’

  Were you always seventeen?> Maddeningly, the cat held out one lily-white paw and proceeded to wash it clean: once, twice, three times. When she lowered it to the ground without adding anything more, Solace all but shouted in frustration. Angrily, she leaned forward, trying – and only just succeeding – to keep her voice down.

  ‘Why did you bring us here? Where is here? Who prepared the house? How did you know we were coming? And –’ She paused, stunned. Why hadn't she noticed before? Idiot! ‘Why did you lead us into danger with those Bloodkin? You knew they were in the house!’ Her eyes widened as the full implication hit her. ‘I could have killed Harper! You –’

  Silence>

  The word sounded as heavily in her mind as if it had been spoken aloud, the resonance hanging between them like a shared sin. Duchess didn't move, but somehow seemed to grow, her presence expanding to fill the whole room. Where earlier the clock had lit her eyes, they now seemed to burn from within, smouldering and darkening like twin witch lights. Dark blue light glittered in her grey fur like the underbelly of a distant storm, while her white markings seemed to glow. Solace felt pinned in place, immobile. It wasn't terror, but the presence of something older, bigger and immeasurably stronger than she was; as if she were standing on the brink of Niagara Falls, hearing the raw power of so much water thundering into turmoil, only the barest spray on her cheek. Then, abruptly, the sensation vanished, and Duchess was once more a tiny blue-cream cat barely larger than a kitten, staring at her with eyes the colour of algae.

  You ask more than what is provided for you to know. Had I my way, human, I would tell you nothing for your insolence. As things stand, however, I lack that choice. So> She blinked once, slowly. You were put in the path of the Bloodkin because it was necessary. No human fights who does not comprehend why, or against what. This place was made ready for you by the Lord and Lady of Starveldt. I was instructed to lead you here, when the time came. And now I have. I've been watching you>

  ‘But…’ Solace felt drained of words; somehow, she forced them out. ‘Everything here is new. The food is fresh, the beds are made. You must have known there'd be eight of us, but my parents couldn't have. Could they?’

  Your friend is not the only seer ever born. Some things, like your number, were known. Others, like the manner of my finding you, were not. I was to stay away until you had come of age, make this place ready, then test you and bring you here. But you, and only you, were to know my purpose. To all else, I am – and must remain – a mystery>

  ‘I don't want to keep any more secrets.’

  That choice is not yours to make>

  A part of Solace wanted to walk out, turning her back on the conversation and all its implications. Another part, smaller and wiser, made her stay. There were still things she needed to know, questions to ask, and who knew when Duchess would next indulge her curiosity? For a moment, she hesitated, uncertain of how to continue.

  ‘How –’ She stopped, frustrated. Calm down. Think slowly. ‘When I was… when my parents gave me up. They had no choice?’

  You already know the answer to that. You saw their shells>

  ‘Yes. But that's not what I meant.’ She dropped her eyes. ‘I mean, did I have to go into care? Wasn't there anyone else to look after me? A friend of theirs? Someone? Why did they leave me with strangers?’ Her voice cracked on the last word, and for the first time – not just since running away, but ever – Solace realised how much that stung; how much it had always stung. As though a dam had burst, she found her thoughts running away from her, felt the heat of unshed tears behind her eyes and in her throat. She choked them back.

  ‘I was always alone. Normally, if you show up as a baby, they give you a house, but not me. The foster parents all backed out. I stayed with the carers. When you turn five or six, regardless of where you live, they send you to school. Not me. I had a tutor.’ She felt tears on her cheeks and swiped them away, angry at her lapse. ‘Not even high school. Only me and a bunch of problem cases, kids who couldn't think or spell, who started fights or couldn't learn, who set fires and shot up. I just… slipped under the radar. For seventeen years. I was different, but couldn't tell anyone – even if I'd wanted to, there was no one to tell. Even the rejects thought I was weird.’ She looked up, glaring at Duchess, her eyes bright with fury. ‘But you knew that, didn't you? And they must have known, too. My parents. But they still left me there. Left me to rot.’ Her words trailed into a whisper.

  For a moment, silence filled the room. Solace stared furiously downwards, waiting for the backlash.

  Something rubbed against her ankles.

  Startled, she turned just in time to see Duchess jump into her lap, vibrating with a purr. Shaking just a little, Solace reached out and patted her, smoothing her palms along the blue-grey coat, noting for the first time the miniscule spray of white fur between the shoulder blades, admiring the serpentine flick of the tail. Simply, as though hers was a normal life, she closed her eyes and stroked the
cat, and for several minutes, that was all Duchess was: no more, no less. Finally, as if at some unspoken signal, their eyes met. Without jumping down, Duchess pulled back slightly, balancing on her haunches.

  It was due to the Bloody Star. You had to be kept safe. Had the Rare raised you, she would have known. Her spies were too many, her reach too great. Only among humankind was she blind enough for safety, but now, even that is changing>

  ‘But the separation? I couldn't even go to school?’

  I am… sorry. But if you had moved around, what then? What if you were discovered? I could not reveal myself before it was time; I could offer no warning. We could protect one dwelling only. The fewer people you knew, the less you moved, the safer your secret was. In a human household, with friends and family, too many questions would have been asked> She paused, and her voice softened. You ran because you feared discovery; because Grief was finally catching up. How much sooner might that have happened otherwise?>

  Solace felt her heart sink. Duchess was right, no matter how much she wanted to believe differently. The ache didn't lessen, but she managed to nod. The exchange had drained her beyond curiosity, but there was one more thing to ask.

  ‘Was it… was it my parents’ idea that I be tested? Shown to the Bloodkin?’