by Foz Meadows
Arms crossed over her knees, Electra was sitting with her back to the side wall, watching the laden clothesline drift heavily around in the breeze, while Paige lay full stretch on the grass, eyes closed. Overhead, the drying clothes moved gently on the line. Solace recognised her own black shirt between Jess's blue singlet and Laine's corset.
‘Morning!’ Electra called, without turning around. Paige raised her head, waved, and lay back down again. Both girls wore their robes with a lack of self-consciousness that Solace envied.
Still wary of the hour, she stepped gingerly onto the grass. It was surprisingly green, dotted with grey-beige paving stones that formed a broken, rambling footpath towards the back fence. Underfoot, it felt cool and dewy.
‘Thanks for doing the laundry.’
‘Don't mention it.’ Electra smiled.
All too clearly, Solace remembered her friend's trembling exhaustion of the night before. Guilt churned within her, but only briefly: Electra's grey eyes were clear, her skin bright, her hair washed clean of smoke and sweat. There was more to the transformation than hot water and a good night's sleep could account for. Electra's expression was serene, reflecting a quietude that bordered on spiritual.
Surprise must have shown in Solace's face, because the blonde girl tilted her head. ‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ Solace shook her head and grinned. ‘I mean, you just look very calm today, that's all, and last night was… I'm trying to think of a better description than “Book of Revelations meets magic cat”, but it's just not coming to me.’
Electra snorted.
Paige, who was still lying down, laughed with enough force that her mid-section contracted uncomfortably, prompting her to turn and prop herself up on an elbow. ‘Breakfast nearly ready?’ she asked, rubbing her ribs.
‘Just about.’
‘Come on, then.’ With a pleasant sigh, Electra stood up and flexed her fingers. She nodded to the clothesline. ‘These are nearly dry, anyway.’
They stepped back inside, shutting the door behind them. Paige headed straight to the kitchen but Electra paused and turned to Solace. ‘Quick change of subject. Am I going nuts, or has this house been made for us? I mean, exactly the right number of beds, toothbrushes, towels, a certain absence of anyone else…?’
‘You're not going nuts,’ Solace promised. ‘Although the universe might be.’ She paused, before steering back towards safer territory. ‘Speaking of which, didn't you promise Duchess another swan? She's still asleep now, but when she wakes up –’
Electra grimaced. ‘Ye gods. Don't remind me.’
‘Remind you of what?’ said Jess, startling them both. Newly emerged from the bathroom and dressed in yet another robe, the seer waved a cheerful good-morning with one hand while wringing out the tail of her still-wet hair with the other.
‘Swans,’ said Electra.
Jess made a face. ‘Gotcha.’
‘Breakfast!’ called Manx. ‘Just ready. Anyone want to call Laine?’
‘No need.’ From her spot by the counter, Paige pointed: the Goth girl was already making her way downstairs.
After that, there wasn't much more to say. They ate in silence, or rather, the closest approximation to silence that involves chewing, condiment-clinking, the scraping of knives and other such interruptions. The only conversation consisted of requests to pass the jam, toast, steak, bacon, onions, sauce, sausages, fruit, juice, cereal, bread, milk or eggs, although Solace declined these last two on the grounds of allergy. It was a hearty feast, and Solace wasn't alone in being ravenous.
Eventually, the meal was gone: crusts chewed, yolk mopped, bacon rind scavenged and bowls emptied. Stuffed to the gills they all sat back, savoured satiety, and enjoyed a moment of peace.
Then Laine spoke, glancing with amusement at the three boys. ‘So. You guys cooked all that?’
Guardedly, Evan raised his head. ‘What of it?’
‘Nothing.’ She stretched. ‘I'm just amazed you didn't burn the house down. And that it was good.’
From where he sat, Harper managed a gracious half-bow. Manx feigned wounded indignity. Solace laughed.
‘It's like a Christmas miracle,’ Evan quipped, blushing slightly at the backhanded praise.
Together, they all rose and began to clean up, stacking so much into the dishwasher that it almost wouldn't close, while Electra fielded queries as to the readiness of their clothes.
‘God, yes,’ articulated Jess, with profound enthusiasm. ‘Don't get me wrong – I love the robes – but a houseful of semi-naked people isn't nearly as much fun as reality TV shows make out.’
‘Volunteers to change that state of affairs?’ Evan winked. ‘I think there's some whipped cream in the fridge.’
Jess groaned. ‘Older sister standing right here!’
‘Clothes,’ said Electra firmly, before Evan could respond. Nonetheless, her mouth twitched at the corner. ‘Come on. They should be pretty much dry by now.’
With the exception of Harper's shirt, several thick pairs of socks, and – regrettably – Evan's jeans, this turned out to be an accurate assessment. While her brother lounged by the clothesline, Jess went back to the bathroom, leaving everyone else to find their own changing space. Pulling on fresh clothes made Solace realise how genuinely filthy they'd been before. She winced. Never again will I take hot water for granted. The simple luxury of it made her feel more human than she had in weeks. Well, amended the Vampire Cynic wryly, for a given value of human.
Once dressed, however, their energy dissipated. No matter how calm they all appeared, Solace knew no one had forgotten the dungeon. They moved like ants disoriented by a broken food-trail, milling and directionless.
Solace glanced around for her leather jacket, the one article of her clothing Electra hadn't been able to wash – she wasn't cold, but the coat was comfortable. She found it folded in a corner of the dining-room. As she pulled it on, something crackled in the left-hand pocket. Her hand touched paper.
Sharpsoft. My mother's book.
How could she have forgotten? Mentally cursing herself, Solace pulled the pages free and walked back to her friends, who'd been watching her.
‘We need to look at these,’ she said firmly. Her heart was racing.
‘Right,’ said Harper. ‘Let's –’ He stopped, distracted by something in the lounge.
‘What?’ Solace asked, then followed his gaze. The others caught on one after the other, until eight pairs of eyes were fixed on the big sofa.
Tiny, blue and graceful, Duchess elegantly stretched her slender white forepaws. Yawning sweetly, she sat on her haunches and blinked her pale green eyes, glancing aside before fixing her sights firmly on Electra.
Good morning, human. Where is my swan?>
There was a moment's pause. Electra turned apprehensively to Solace.
‘Did she just say –’
Solace grinned, unable to stop herself. ‘She wants her swan.’
‘Dammit.’ Electra sighed, glancing at Duchess. ‘Just… hang on a minute, will you? I'm going to put some clothes in the dryer.’
As long as my swan is forthcoming, I do not mind>
Dutifully, Solace relayed the message, feeling her cheeks ache with the strain of not laughing.
Shoulders slumped, Electra trudged outside, grabbed the remaining wet clothes from the line and hauled them into the laundry. A minute later, she reappeared as the whirring, thumping sound of an older-model dryer filtered into the background. Helplessly, Electra looked to each of them in turn, but Duchess's will was immutable. Jess, at least, had the grace to look somewhat abashed, but when faced with her friend's pleading eyes, she made an Evanesque bow and waved her into the kitchen. ‘Tiles, I think,’ she added over the top of Electra's resigned exhalation. ‘The last one bled a bit.’
As Duchess leapt neatly down from the lounge and padded into the kitchen, Paige stood on tiptoe and leant over the counter-top, peering downwards with undisguised fascination. ‘Speaking of which, what happened to
the carcass?’ She flicked her eyes to Jess. ‘Did she, I mean, eat all of it? Like, even the beak?’
Jess made a face. ‘You'll see.’
Evan edged nearer the stove, one arm wrapped around his naked torso, having taken off his apron when the others changed. ‘All right, just to be clear? This is utterly sick. We're utterly sick. And I cannot for the life of me look away.’
‘Thanks for that,’ said Solace.
‘Hoo, boy,’ murmured Electra, closing her eyes. There was a pause. Duchess flicked the tip of her tail.
A pale gold glow suffused the kitchen, growing in intensity until, for a single instant, it was bright to the point of blinding. Electra let out her breath. The light died. Everyone craned forward, staring at the far corner of the kitchen floor.
Flapping its clipped wings and hissing in wild agitation, a large white swan arched its neck at Duchess, tilting its head to watch her from the corner of one small and frightened eye.
Hello, swan-lunch>
In an instant, Duchess pounced, launching herself forwards and grappling the startled bird mongoose-style, closing her jaws around the back of its head. Digging her fore claws sharply into its breastbone, she bit down, hard – harder than she should have been able to. With a sickening crack, the swan's neck broke. Honking and hissing, it began to spasm, blood marring its white feathers in ever-thickening rivulets as Duchess snaked her head around to finish it off at the throat. With a final, piercing shriek, the swan died, collapsing into a heap of defeated bird flesh, extremities twitching in the aftershock of pain.
Small and exultant, Duchess began to eat.
It wasn't until a bloody pinion landed near Solace's foot that she managed to tear her eyes away, uttering a small cry.
Electra, who was closest, made an ungainly jump over both cat and prey, rushing to put distance between her and the macabre spectacle.
Even Jess, who had managed to joke about the first swan, looked pale. ‘She… she'll vanish the bones and… leftovers, when she's done.’ She gulped, running a hand over her eyes. ‘We must really have been on another plane last night.’
‘And you've just now figured that out?’ Paige's voice shook with a mixture of horror and self-disgust. ‘Remind me to hit you later.’
As Duchess cracked what sounded like a particularly sturdy bone, Jess blanched. ‘I'm not going to argue.’
‘Grim,’ commented Harper, his face discernibly pale.
‘So,’ said Evan, into the resultant silence. ‘Where were we?’
‘Pages,’ said Solace faintly. ‘Sharpsoft's pages. Unless anyone else has a better idea?’
Delicious>
Automatically and with no small amount of trepidation, Manx and Solace turned to see Duchess poking her head around the corner of the bench, her normally white-and-blue features streaked with red.
Thank the human> Purring, she licked her lips and vanished back into the kitchen.
‘Duchess says thanks,’ Solace said, wincing a little as she spoke. ‘At least one of us is happy.’
Electra shuddered. ‘Let's make a pact, all right? This is not to be mentioned ever again, on pain of disembowelment. Ever.’ When nobody objected, she let out a sigh and gestured to the sofas. ‘Right. So let's see what Sharpsoft has to say. Or at least, what Sharpsoft thinks we should know.’
Nodding, Solace smoothed out the pages, walked over to the armchair Laine and Evan had shared the previous evening and sat down, trying not to tremble. What did they say about her? For a moment, her throat was too tight to speak. Then she glanced across to where Jess and Electra were recovering via the time-honoured practice of mocking Evan, and felt her spirits recover. Whatever Sharpsoft had brought them, she could bear it.
‘My mother's book,’ she said, by way of introduction. The others looked up. Solace took a deep breath and smoothed out a final crease. Tantalisingly, the first sentence started halfway through – had Sharpsoft been too hurried to notice, or was it a deliberate omission? And, come to that, had Sanguisidera noticed the pages were gone, or had they been stolen before she saw the book? Putting these thoughts aside, she began to read aloud:
‘… prophecy is, although quite beautiful, damnably vague. Such is always the way with seers, and in any case some warning of the future, no matter how cryptic, is infinitely preferable to no warning at all. As I have become the chronicler of these events, Aaron takes care to warn me of the trouble in punctuating prophecy when we do not know where the correct emphasis should lie, and so I have endeavoured to be careful. Here, then, are the words we were given:
‘In a place of nameless speakin
bloody-eyed a star is seeking
memories undone
come will eight of rarest making
in their echoes power waking
in their selves and selves forsaking
darkness overrun.
‘At the doom of Starkine's crossing
Trueheart grieved in turmoil tossing
Watcher's secrets all unsaid
Daughter chained and hope unlocking
where the fates are cruel and mocking
and where worlds are interlocking
Bright One, listen to the dead.
‘Warden under midnight learning
Shadowfriend in silence burning
Quickling's prison fades
heavy with remembered yearning
fight the wheel within its turning
all go forth and two returning
worldly renegades.
‘We do not know the whole meaning, but this much is plain: our child – the Daughter – will have seven companions in the fight against Sanguisidera. Or so I hope. Some parts of the prophecy suggest treachery – forsaken selves and unshared secrets are not happy futures, and yet there is one called Trueheart, and woken power. Luck and the universe willing, these words will mean more to my daughter than to me, as it is for her sake they are written.
‘The Daughter. I had not known I will bear a girl.
‘She will read this, Aaron says. We will leave her my book. And suddenly I feel the pressure of years upon me: not age, but my daughter's life. Most women fear to die in childbirth, a primordial clutching as they ebb and bleed. I had not thought to feel it when I bore Sanguisidera's Grief – my life was already forfeit – but at the last, I did not want to die. A century has passed since then, one hundred years in which I have fought and loved, and lived, and lost. More span of time than most mortal men are given; but I am older still. And yet, I fear to die. I want to know my daughter.
‘I won't. But Liluye will.
‘The Rookery lives at the Sign of the Singing Hawk. My daughter, if you read this, seek Liluye there. She can be trusted. Mayhap she knows more of the prophecy. At the very least, she can guide you – not only to Sanguisidera, but within yourself.’
Staring at the final line, Solace stopped.
‘That's… that's quite a prophecy,’ Manx said, at last. ‘So much so, in fact that, I didn't understand a word of it.’
‘You and me both,’ Solace muttered, genuinely piqued. She'd hoped for at least some answers, but instead had found a bittersweet commingling of the cryptic and the personal, neither of which was particularly illuminating.
At her expression, Jess laughed and held out a hand. ‘Perhaps if we all had a look?’
With strange reluctance, Solace handed over the pages. After some initial tugging, the others settled on crowding around and reading over Jess's shoulder. Paige in particular made a show of scrutiny, but it was Laine who lingered longest in study, eyes flicking back and forth over the three prophetic stanzas before handing them back to Solace. Then came discussion: a long, speculative, argumentative ramble during which everyone tried to make sense of what they'd read. The simplest agreement was on the notion that all of them were mentioned: certainly, there were eight of them now, and as the house was clearly intended to house eight occupants, it acted as a kind of validation. By itself, that spawned a separate discussion as to who had set up th
e house – Solace argued that it must had been her parents, a point that was accepted with minimal fuss – and how Duchess had known to take them there. This latter was more problematic, but with the swan still bloody on the kitchen floor, the others were mercifully eager to divert back to the prophecy itself, thus allowing Solace to lie by omission rather than outright. Nonetheless, the deception pained her.
Of greater concern were the names they'd been bestowed and what they might mean. Solace, obviously, was the Daughter, but who was Shadowfriend? Quickling? Bright One? Nobody could quite decide, and although Evan theorised that it must have something to do with their respective Tricks, Manx pointed out that none of them had super-speed or were friendly with darkness. The idea that Solace might be chained at some point was cause for disturbance, as was the notion of selves forsaken and listening to the dead. Paige blanched at that particular line, but recovered when Harper squeezed her hand and pointed out that it probably meant heeding the contents of the book, which, what with the deaths of Solace's parents – not to mention their vampirism – had effectively been written by the dead twice over. Jess looked like she wanted to challenge that interpretation, but caught Laine's eye and thought better of it. Evan took that opportunity to exclaim over the age of Solace's parents, and the fact that Grief, her brother, was therefore over a hundred years old. Some small discussion on the notion of ‘worldly renegades’ followed, but by then, they'd pretty well exhausted their very limited stock of knowledge as to what was going on, and fell silent one by one.
As a last-ditch effort, Jess exhaled lengthily and nodded towards Solace's lap, where the fateful pages rested.
‘I wonder what the Sign of the Singing Hawk means,’ she mused. ‘That, at least, sounds like something we could find – if we knew what it was.’
It is a secrecy of birds>
Solace jumped. Manx stared. This time, the others were quick to notice their reaction, turning almost in sync to watch Duchess, now cleansed of blood, pad daintily out of the kitchen and into the lounge.
‘What did she say?’ asked Paige, eyes wide. When Solace told her, she blinked. ‘Oh. That's… kind of pretty, really.’