Spring Showers Box-set

by Avell Kro

  Buffy than boffin; telly had inspired my stereotypes better than Father’s dusty library books.

  Lorenzo’s fingers tightened around his tankard, leaving dents in the metal. ‘I don’t shit – or fuck –

  where I eat, okay?’

  ‘Sure.’ Curiosity won out and I used my training to prod gently at the alien energy that had bound

  my body and soul to the life-spring of Yggdrasil, which houses the Nine Realms of existence in its

  branches. I was the valve, allowing magic to flow across the earth. Time to discover if this invader

  could speak. Why is Lorenzo angry?

  A jumble of whispers filled my head, blasting emotion through my heart and solar plexus. ‘Why are

  you looking so smug, Clemensen?’ Malachi looked as if he were about to spit on the floor.

  ‘Because Lorenzo’s in love.’

  The dented tankard skittered across the round table, spraying dregs of ale over the three of us.

  Lorenzo leaped over me – a mere pebble in his path – and with a guttural hiss, shoved his way

  through the crowd, his stamps unintentionally beating in time with the music. The patrons near

  the door parted for him as he stormed outside the Red Hawk.

  I raised an eyebrow at Malachi. The witch was studying me, so I studied her back, deciding that she

  looked like a curvier and paler Lara Croft. ‘You touched a nerve,’ she smirked.

  Every sensible bone in my body told me to escape these two but my butt stayed stuck to the sofa.

  What were my options? Go home to my condescending father and another smug lecture about

  how he was right to keep me from everyone remotely dangerous? No. Thank. You.

  ‘So, you mentioned a coven? Who are you anyway?’

  ‘Why, do you want to get to know me?’ Her voice kissed my ear with an icy chill. She leaned

  forward. I wondered what her relationship to Malachi was, as they seemed separated by a

  membrane of mutual disdain.

  I shrugged. ‘Seems only fair you tell me your name. You know mine.’

  ‘I only know your surname.’

  Lie. If she were a witch worth her salt, she’d know the whole Clemensen family tree hanging

  blindfolded from the top of Yggdrasil. We had mythic status thanks to the variety in our Pneuma

  DNA. Like royalty, we lived aloof, but always watched. I’m not boasting – it’s merely a fact. She would’ve deduced my identity the moment Malachi had mentioned my surname, if she didn’t know

  already.

  ‘Right,’ I said, ‘and I know nothing about you.’

  She stuck out her chin, not answering. I wasn’t about to engage in a series of empty exchanges.

  ‘Fine, be like that.’ Malachi was giving me the creeps anyway, so I stood and palmed off the fine

  spray of ale on my expensive silk shirt, before scooping the curls from my neck.

  I quickly patted them back into place when Malachi’s broad nose broadened even more, flaring so

  much I half-expected a plume of smoke to come puffing out. ‘I need a drink.’ I said, hoping I hadn’t

  verbalised his thoughts.

  I sequestered another pint before stumbling and spilling half of it at the foot of the small stage, but

  at least I watched the jazz pianist’s vibrant performance. For a while, I swayed with the crowd

  enjoying the music.

  That’s when she arrived. I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she took over the newly vacated stage.

  Her beauty struck me so hard I felt dazed. Yet her presence jarred, as if her dreamy features didn’t

  belong here, in this pub, but somewhere else. I couldn’t breathe. A series of twitches ran up my

  face. Charming.

  Who is she? Such a simple question, but the answer needed to be profound, as resonant as the

  chords she plucked on her guitar, which she strummed with mismatched, painted nails. Introducing

  herself with a fruity, country accent into the microphone as ‘Ava Wallace. Singer. Songwriter,’ she

  had me spellbound.

  All worries of Malachi, and what Lorenzo wanted with Grace, melted away. I heard her voice alone,

  a flood of silken-laced lyrics pouring like hot treacle in the space between us, sweet and burning. I

  wasn’t sure if she could see me, even if a girl like her would look twice in my direction. But the soft

  light caught her hair, dyed into shimmering rainbow colours, mulberry-purple cascading down to

  flame-licked gold tips, echoing the tones of her amber necklace. She sat on that stool, her dress

  flowing over the sides, her feet encased in fur-lined boots with flowers in the stitching. I’d never

  wanted a girl so much, never felt so marooned from everyone else in the world. Because I didn’t

  need to think it, I just knew that if she were mine she would be in mortal danger.

  There was something unusual about her, but my magical radar failed to stir. Ava wasn’t vampire,

  nor witch. I couldn’t sense any Elvish, nor the protean blood of the shapeshifters. But she was

  different. It was in the words she sang:

  When I close my eyes, I see clearly,

  When I close my mind, I think freely,

  The truth evades a reaching grasp,

  When I turn inside, it’s there at last.

  It’s not what you say it’s how you say it, right? Her song sparked a match in the caves below

  thought. A clandestine message hidden in lyrics, meant for me, encoded in déjà vu. Yet, she hadn’t

  once brought her eyes from the stage. Ava was lost inside the melody.

  Ava described me; if you split me open, you’d spill a whole lot of truth – and secrets. I wanted to

  climb into her skin, to hear her thoughts as she raised her head and spotted me ready to fall at her

  feet, each note winding me closer to her. I wanted…

  Time slipped away, then so did she, pausing to thank the crowd and drop in the name of her

  album, What Lies Beneath. She floated off the stage into an applauding audience, her acoustic

  slung over her shoulder. I might never see her again.

  I scoured the bobbing crowd for her rainbow hair as a gust of harrowing wind surged through the

  door. I slung back my ale, not tasting a drop, and charged outside into the pouring rain.

  Where had she gone? Had I imagined her? The street was busy with smokers huddled under the

  nearby bus stop, tipsy sapiens thronging the pavement, spreading out on their journeys home. I

  spent several minutes searching the crowd to no avail, as the swell of revellers increased as the

  pub kicked them out.

  ‘Lorenzo, if you can hear me, I want to talk to you.’ That was a Great Big Fib. What I did want,

  however, was to make sure no pissy vampires intercepted Ava Wallace on her passage home. If

  Lorenzo or Malachi had noticed her, a beautiful, vulnerable, human woman, what was to stop them

  pouncing on her from the rooftops?

  Me.

  I repeated my request while fishing for my keys. The back of my neck tingled as I reached the

  alleyway where I had illegally stashed Father’s Jag. Telling him I’d been clamped was a scarier

  prospect than facing Lorenzo alone out here at night, but no one had touched it. My luck was in –

  almost. I made a strangled sound when Lorenzo appeared, skin translucent as ice, muddy boots

  planted on the hood of the car. So help me, Odin, if he scuffs the paintwork…

  ‘What the fuck do you want?’

  ‘Great. Straight to the point. I admire that.’

  Great, Theo, go with appeasement, that always works out wel . I felt like Chamberlain eyeing up

  Hitler’s military bulk, hoping to avoid battle by compliments. I bit my lip
, trying to think of

  something to say, difficult when Lorenzo was staring down at me, a solid bulk of Pneuma – or

  varmint – powered muscle, blood smeared across the edge of his thumb as if he’d cleaned his

  mouth on it. I checked my Rolex — a birthday present from Uncle Nikolaj who’d obviously felt bad

  about hiding the Gatekeeper secret. Enough time had passed for Grace to end her shift and meet

  up with her date. Lorenzo had bitten someone. Where was Grace now?

  ‘Flattery will get you everywhere.’ He landed on the concrete, all feline and scary as shit, smirking

  at me as if I were the dumbest dummy in the Class of Dumb-Dumbs. He picked his nails with his

  fangs, turning his face away from the glow of the streetlamp. We circled each other, the humdrum of voices moving away from the Red Hawk a backdrop to our perfect silence.

  ‘Sorry if I upset you back there,’ I said, jerking my thumb over my shoulder. ‘I know nothing about

  your life or your feelings, and I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in. But I guess I’m not totally

  ignorant.’

  ‘You work that out how?’ For good measure, he added, ‘Warlock,’ and gobbed some red-tinged

  saliva into the alley.

  I edged my way to the car door. ‘Turns out vampires really do have ace hearing.’

  He stalked towards the pavement, but stopped, his profile smiling weakly, shoulders slumped. ‘The

  Lord giveth…’

  And taketh away. Tell me about it.

  My fingers found the door handle. ‘How long have you been a vampire? You seem younger than

  Malachi.’

  ‘There you go making assumptions about me again.’

  ‘Am I wrong?’

  He didn’t answer. The door clicked open, and before I could blink, Lorenzo was breathing down my

  neck, his hands hovering over my arms. I should’ve flung him into the wall, blasting him with a

  summoned burst of wind, but no, I froze. I wasn’t chicken, just recalling generic Discovery Channel

  advice about not moving if you spot a bear.

  ‘I’m old enough to rip out your jugular with my bare teeth for even saying my name.’

  ‘That’s the longest sentence you’ve said to me all night.’ I gathered the keys so they jutted out

  through my knuckles. ‘How much did you say to Grace before you ripped hers out?’

  His roar rang in my eardrums. I twisted under his sudden grasp and slammed my hands against his

  chest, forcing him to the ground. I dumped a boulder of pent up energy onto his torso, pinning him

  within his own invisible Faraday cage. That gave me an idea. I focused on drawing the storm’s

  centre closer, reeling it in with magnetic tugs until it loomed in a dense cusp overhead, waiting to

  pour down its wrath. ‘Back off, vampire. Do you understand? There’s a lightning bolt up there with

  your name on it.’ The air crackled.

  Lorenzo staggered to his feet before collapsing again. ‘You… control… weather?’ he spluttered.

  ‘I’m a Clemensen remember? We’re of Norwegian descent. Let’s just say we still worship the old

  gods. Me, I have a close relationship with Thor.’

  I pushed a pile of mental rocks upon him.

  He gasped, and with supreme effort, held up his palms.

  ‘Wise move.’ I released my hold, feeling cocky. Despite the fact I almost got fanged on my first outing since oh, the rise of the apes, the freedom to use the potent lava bubbling away beneath my

  skin felt flipping fantastic. Father wasn’t here to judge me. Or stop me.

  Lorenzo made a cautious effort to back away, squeezing up against the brick wall. First

  impressions are shallow. It takes a serious jolt to reassess someone, change your mind about

  them. Lorenzo’s keen glance worked up my legs and meandered over my body, ending with a

  shocked stare. I’d morphed from annoying busybody into serious threat. ‘I guess there are more

  things on heaven and Earth than I dreamt of in my philosophy.’

  ‘You’re remarkably well read considering how stupid you are to cross me.’ My tart comebacks

  seemed to develop a life of their own – I tended to run with things when I started them – and

  besides which, it was probably wise to act as if I knew what I was doing. Rules of the jungle. I’d

  wasted enough summers as an only child watching the life cycles of insects, bare legs poking out

  from the undergrowth, and submerged with magnifying glass in hand. Pretty soon, I’d figured out

  that appearing a bigger badass than everyone else is more important than actually being one.

  ‘I’m sick of this fucking storm,’ Lorenzo bristled, drawing back into the alley, sheltering under a

  protruding roof. ‘I’m too hungry for a battle of wills. If you want a fight, run along, and play with

  Malachi.’ He nodded behind me, and I glanced back to find that bastard getting into my car and

  feeling up the leather interior. I was simultaneously pissed off that his smug face beamed at me

  out my own windscreen and relieved that it meant he wasn’t chowing down on Miss Wallace. Dear

  gods, I hoped she was a miss.

  ‘You started it!’ Oh great, now I sound like a five-year-old.

  Lorenzo shrugged as if to say, ‘I’m a vampire, what do you expect?’

  He retreated into the shadows but his gravelly voice spat stones towards Malachi as if I weren’t

  even there. ‘You could’ve helped me!’

  ‘You’re a big boy, Lorenzo,’ Malachi retorted. He started the engine – he’d pinched my keys and I

  didn’t even notice, Odin curse vampire speed – and lowered the window, which was totally

  unnecessary; Lorenzo heard him fine without letting the contents of a rain cloud into my car. ‘You

  can take care of yourself.’

  I pul ed open the door and yanked on Malachi’s arm. ‘Get out of my Jag! You’re getting the seats

  wet! My father will strap you to a post in the Sahara Desert when he finds out!’

  ‘Oooh, I could do with a tan.’ Malachi honked the horn and revved the engine. His chesty laugh built

  to a violent crescendo as I cursed him with every obscenity that came to mind. His deliberate

  irritation made me glad I didn’t have siblings.

  I jutted my hand out to blast him with wind, but he anticipated it and sucker-punched me in the

  abdomen, sending me sprawling onto the concrete. He yawned and rose out of the car, stretching

  like a cat, his taut arms impossibly long, and shifted his weight onto my leg, trapping it under a

  heavy, steel-capped boot. With a bored sigh, he examined me, smirking as I tried to avoid

  eyeballing his crotch. This vampire enjoyed my humiliation.

  ‘Now I’ve ended it. The only person who’s allowed to threaten Lorenzo is me.’ He released my leg,

  and it took some will not to rub the sore spot as I stood, limping to the open car door, and flopping

  inside. The keys were still in the ignition. I watched him slink off to Lorenzo’s side, who to be fair,

  didn’t laugh at me when I was horizontal in a puddle. A small mercy.

  Lorenzo was right, the storm was getting crazy again, and I could barely see through the

  windscreen even with the wipers on ful blast. I switched on the seat-heaters and slammed the

  door.

  I accelerated up Market Road, cursing all the way home, shivering, soaked, and miserable.

  Whenever I thought of Ava Wallace, I lost my breath and felt panicky as if I’d drunk too much

  coffee.

  Somehow, I made it through the ornate iron gates of our driveway and past the ugly gargoyles. The

  circular journey struck me sur
er than any lightning bolt. I’d blasted out of this place, toying with

  not returning, and now I craved the fire in the library, a mug of hot cocoa, and the seclusion of my

  four-poster bed. What sort of man was I? What sort of warlock was I? I was the Gatekeeper and I

  had been temporarily bested.

  I slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the car, the doors flying open with a flick of my finger.

  I shut off my vision and tugged on that magnetic field a second time. Soon, a hole opened in the

  black sky, spurting out the churned intestines of cloud, a funnel of wind sucking away all moisture

  from inside the Jag. When the intensity grew, I channelled it through me, control ing its flow;

  presenting a dry car was nothing if I tore off the steering wheel. Being a cosmic syphon had its

  advantages.

  Gradually, the wind tapered out, and I stood in what seemed like silence. Using my powers had

  tamed the explosion of magic in the atmosphere, and the rain had abated for the moment.

  After parking the car in the garage, I ventured towards the fortress of a front door, and knocked. I

  never had a key. Father’s rule: at least one Clemensen stayed in Hellingstead Hall at any time. We

  had too many valuable books and magical trinkets for them to fall into the hands of varmint or the

  Guardians. To ensure compliance, none of us had a key – that I knew about. Breaking in wouldn’t

  be much of an option, considering Father had the house buttoned down with wards that would

  keep out an alien invasion.

  Uncle Nikolaj answered the door. I was glad to see him. Like an angel, he chucked me a towel and

  promised that hot tea awaited me in the library. ‘Your father wants to talk to you,’ he said.

  ‘By “talk” do you mean cross-examine?’

  Nikolaj cleared his throat in a way that meant, ‘Best not to ask.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll get changed first.’ I made a show of slowly walking upstairs towards the west wing, trying

  to prove I was my own man with my own schedule. But I’d be in the library within half an hour.

  Despite how it annoyed me to be summoned, I’d decided I would be spending a great deal of time there, having a serious browse through all those dusty old books I’d ignored for so long. I had so

  much to learn, so much energy inside that threatened to bubble over and swallow me whole.