Carla glanced around. ‘Where’s Dad?’
‘Gone for a pint with James.’ Dianne was clearly annoyed. ‘He said he fancied a walk and I asked him to go to the shop for tea bags, and now he’s ended up in the pub.’
‘You want me to go and buy the tea?’
Dianne looked up at her oddly, without answering.
Carla winced, slumping down beside Zoe. ‘Sorry – forgot I was grounded.’
‘Clearly.’
‘Sorry.’
Yet Dianne had become restless at the thought of tea, repeatedly glancing at the time on her phone. ‘If he leaves it much longer, he’s going to miss the shop. It’s only open until seven on a Sunday.’ She came to a sudden decision. ‘Can I trust you to babysit Zoe for ten minutes while I nip out?’
Carla said sadly, ‘Of course you can, Mam.’
Dianne hesitated in the doorway to the hall. ‘Please don’t run away.’
‘Mam, I don’t want to run away, and even if I did I wouldn’t leave Zoe by herself. Trust me on that, at least.’
‘Mm … I hear you.’ But after disappearing into the hall, Dianne came back with her car keys in her hand. ‘Stay away from the computer, remember. No Facebook.’
‘I won’t.’
‘I’ll only be ten minutes, if that.’
‘Mam. It’s OK. Please trust me.’
The Toyota pulled away.
Carla sat staring blindly at the Disney Channel. Horrible not to be trusted by her own mother. Another thing to blame Aoife for.
(Or the pooka.)
No.
Aoife couldn’t be a pooka. She just couldn’t. It was too much of a coincidence. The one person in all the town that the pooka had decided to impersonate was Aoife? And she’d been here for three weeks now, without laying a finger on anyone, which surely wasn’t normal pooka behaviour. She was even being nice to Carla again, wanting to go back to being best friends, just like in the good old days.
(‘I love you more than any boy.’
‘Me too.’)
Plus, she was offering to help Carla with Killian, with a special magic that would bind him to her whether he liked it or not. (Which wasn’t very ethical. But oh, the temptation! If she wasn’t babysitting, she would be so inclined to sneak out to that party.)
Zoe snuggled up against her, clutching the charmstone in her hand. ‘Eva likes hers.’
Carla took a second to come back to the present moment. ‘Her what?’
‘Her one of these.’
‘What, the charmstone?’
‘She says Aoife’s stopped trying to rip her head off since she got it. She still thinks Aoife’s a monster, even though you don’t believe her.’ Seeing Carla’s shocked face, Zoe added hastily, ‘I don’t believe her either. I think she’s really silly. She says at night Aoife turns into a huge, hairy monster with horns and bright red eyes …’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Carla texted frantically:
Killian, dis is Carla on Zoe’s fone plz call me
Ugh. It would never work. He would think she was being a needy, clingy ex-girlfriend.
Plz call me its v important
Pointless. Come on, just go for it:
Dis is Carla, pls call me i been stabbed and bleeding to death by de side of road and i dunno where i am so plz call me you hve to help plz call me
A long, terrible silence followed, in which the love of her life (from that first day she’d seen him in junior infants) allowed her to bleed to death by the side of the road.
The phone rang.
‘Carla?’ It was his voice, soft and cool and deeper than three months ago – sending shivers down to her very toes. Oh, Killian.
She gasped, ‘Thank God you called.’
‘Of course I called.’ Still soft. Low music in the background. ‘You told me you were lying by the side of the road bleeding to death.’
‘Oh, right …’
‘Right?’
Hearing his irritated intake of breath, she cried in a rush before he could cut her off, ‘Don’t hang up! Killian, please, if you ever loved me – I’m not being needy, I’m not trying to get you back. Is Aoife there with you? If she is, don’t tell her this is me on the phone, but just leave the house really, really quietly without saying where you’re going and come straight here. It’s only me at home at the moment, apart from Zoe, but be quick because Mam’s going to be back any second. I’ll smuggle you up to my bedroom—’
‘God’s sake, Carla,’ Killian cut in: frustrated, sharp, but with an edge of amusement. ‘Aoife was doing her best to be nice to you today. Inviting you over to my party.’
‘That’s not Aoife, she’s a monster!’ Ugh. Calm. Stay calm. She shouldn’t have come straight out with it like that. ‘Look, please don’t tell Aoife I said that, she might turn ugly if she knows we know … Killian?’ Dead silence on the other end of the phone. ‘Killian?’
‘I’m still here.’
‘Oh, thank God.’
‘And there’s no need for me to tell Aoife what you said – she’s right here, and you’re on loudspeaker. And now I’m passing you over, because she has something to say to you.’
‘Killian, no!’
‘And by the way, my girlfriend doesn’t “turn ugly” – she’s extremely beautiful, which is more than I can say for you.’
‘No! Killian! Don’t go!’
Too late – Aoife’s voice was already on the line. ‘So you think I’m a monster, do you?’ And Killian was laughing casually in the background, and other people – Lois and Sinead! – were laughing as well, and someone had turned the music up again.
Crap, crap – why hadn’t she guessed he had her on loudspeaker? Stupid, stupid …
Aoife’s voice said, ‘Are you still there, Carla?’
Carla croaked, ‘Yes.’
The music and voices grew fainter, as if Aoife – or the demon who was Aoife – had stepped away from the rest of the party, out onto the landing.
‘So, let’s talk,’ said the demon’s voice quietly. ‘What made you realize I was a monster?’
Carla – who was standing in the narrow hallway of her house, next to the coat-stand, where the reception was strongest – gripped the mobile, sweating under her hairline with fear. She had no idea how a pooka might react if unexpectedly outed. Maybe she should pretend innocence. ‘Look, I’m just saying, you’re a boyfriend-stealer, which you are.’
‘Eva guessed the truth after only a few days,’ remarked the demon, still sounding very calm. ‘The little …’
‘But that’s just a game she plays!’ cried Carla hastily.
‘… pest. So, I decided to eat her as soon as I could get her alone. But then she started wearing that stupid stone all the time, and they can cause the most awful indigestion.’
Carla grabbed for the coat-stand to keep her knees from going under her. If it hadn’t been for Ultan, and her grandmother buying those charmstones …
The pooka continued, still coolly: ‘You know, until today I was thinking of staying in Kilduff for a few more years. I do so love being a “precious daughter” – happy and safe and warm. A mother to feed and comfort me, and bring me tasty food and make a clean bed for me. And I’ve been so happy with my darling dark beloved …’
Carla suppressed a groan, cringing at the thought of those photos on the corkboard.
‘In fact,’ continued ‘Aoife’ calmly, ‘I’ve been so happy in Kilduff, I almost forgot why I was here in the first place – until today when I smelled you in the church!’
Flinching from the sudden screech in her ear, Carla cried wildly, ‘Why are you so angry with me because of the way I smell?’
‘Because you’re a monster!’
‘I don’t understand!’
The voice grew heavy with bitterness and grief. ‘Don’t lie to me, you cold-blooded killer. You murdered my darling mother in the most horrible way a pooka can be murdered. You threw her into water, to dissolve alive. You made her poor little girl into an o
rphan who had to fend for herself without anyone to help her, and always with the memory of that dreadful, stomach-turning scent in her nose. The sick, cruel scent of her mother’s murderer.’
A dreadful image surfaced in Carla’s mind – the pooka in the cavern, screaming in agony, its thick black hair peeling off in handfuls, clumps of it swirling away on the surface of the water. Herself battering with her oar at the monster’s ghastly face from which the rest of the hair was sliding away, leaving only the bubbling, melting flesh behind. The dying pooka grabbing for the rope trailing from the stern of the boat, missing, and disappearing face down in the water with a despairing cry …
There was no point in pretending any longer not to know what was going on. ‘Look, I’m sorry!’ she cried. ‘But your mother was trying to kill me!’
‘Of course she was!’ screamed the pooka down the phone. ‘That’s what pookas do! Nobody asked you to come into our world!’
‘I was only there by accident! I was trying to help!’
‘And now you’re going to find out what it feels like to have your loved ones murdered, because I’m going to kill everyone in your family! And then you’ll know how much it hurts!’
Carla wept in terror, clinging to the coat-stand. ‘No! No! If you want to kill someone, kill me!’
‘I am going to kill you. And then I’m going to bring Killian down to the fairy world.’
‘No! Don’t! He’ll never survive!’
‘Of course he’ll survive.’ The demon’s voice became suddenly horribly tender. ‘Because I’m going to look after him.’
‘Oh God …’
‘I’m going to feed him to another pooka, so he can be reborn as one of us.’
Carla shrieked in despair, ‘No! You can’t do that! He’s a human, he can’t be reborn!’
But the pooka answered her very gently, ‘Don’t be silly. He can’t be human – he’s my soul mate. And when he’s a pooka, we’ll be married and live together for ever and ever and ever, roaming the tunnels and the stairways, feeding on rats and lost human children.’
‘No! No! No!’
The demon’s voice became even more gentle. ‘Oh, Carla. You love him very much, don’t you?’
In sudden confusion, Carla found herself wondering wildly if this was all a stupid joke. If she really had gone mad and Aoife was just gently teasing her about it …
She sobbed, ‘Aoife?’
‘Poor Carla. Do you still want Killian for yourself?’
Carla, thinking of the promised love potion, whispered, ‘You know I do.’
‘OK then.’
Painful hope. ‘What?’
‘I won’t take all of him – it’s not necessary for rebirth. I’ll take his head and his heart right now, and leave you the rest.’
‘No! No! No! No!’
Aoife’s voice laughed, and the phone went dead.
‘Carla, come back! Where are you going?’
‘Nowhere! Go back in the living room! Stay watching television! Don’t move!’
‘Why are you taking that knife?’
‘No reason!’ But then she turned back from the kitchen door to hug her frightened little sister for a long second. ‘Sweetheart, I’m going to lock the door after me and I’ll be back in just a minute, and Mam will be here really soon anyway. And don’t touch the cooker and don’t leave any taps running. And, Zoe, look at me …’
The little girl’s eyes were spilling over with tears. ‘Y … yes?’
‘Don’t cry, sweetie, I need you to be brave. You’re older than Eva, aren’t you?’
Zoe sniffed, and valiantly scrubbed her nose with her sleeve. ‘Lots older – I was five in January and she’s not five until May and she still can’t read.’
‘Then it’s very important that you take charge. So listen carefully. If – and I mean if – I don’t come back tonight but Aoife is still here tomorrow, then you have to tell everyone that Eva is right. Aoife is a monster.’
The tears came again. ‘No, Aoife’s a fairy, you have to say she’s a beautiful fairy …’
‘No, she’s a monster. I’m sorry. This isn’t a game any more, Zoe. Be brave and grown up. Stay away from Aoife, OK? And wear your crystal at all times, and tell Nan to bring Mam and Dad crystals of their own, and if they won’t wear them, keep screaming the house down until they do.’
‘Carlie, don’t leave me!’
‘I’m locking the door! Just go and watch television until I get back!’
Zoe’s little face pressed tearfully against the glass. ‘Carlie! Don’t leave me by myself!’
‘I promise I’ll be back!’ Carla grabbed her bike from the shed; she threw her leg over the saddle and screeched out of the gate and up the hill, standing on the pedals, the carving knife gripped between her teeth because there was no other way of carrying it …
Another terrible thought was fighting its way into her head, through the swirling fog of panic. If Aoife was a pooka, then where was the real Aoife? Still in the fairy world.
Oh God, Aoife.
Stop. Try not to panic. One thing at a time, or she’d be no good to anyone. Pooka first.
Oh God, Aoife …
Focus. Pooka.
She was nearly past the school gates when headlights stabbed over the top of the hill from the direction of Kilduff. Her mother! With a gasp, Carla swung left, threw down the bike behind the school wall and lay on the wet tarmac. The dark blue Toyota sped past the gates. Now she would have to off-road, because any moment now Dianne would come looking for her.
On her hands and knees, she scuttled along behind the wall then ran crouching towards the bike shed, behind the back of which was a fence and a field of bullocks – her stomach clenched with fear as she raced across it, between the startled, galloping beasts.
I’m such a coward. I wish I was brave, like the real Aoife. Oh, Aoife, where are you when I need you?
On the other side of the field was the high white wall that surrounded Killian’s mansion. Knife between teeth again, Carla grabbed a stout strand of ivy and swarmed up. Over the top! She could do this! For a wild, exhilarating moment she began to feel like she imagined the real Aoife must feel all the time (rather than the real Carla, who was such a long way from being brave or daring, or even slightly athletic).
Dropping down on the other side of the wall, she turned her ankle. In tears of pain, she scrambled up and raced on towards the house.
A small motorbike and a dinky pale blue Fiat were parked outside the house at the foot of the steps. Lois and Sinead were leaning against the car, sharing a rollie. Sinead raised her chin to inhale – and froze at the sight of Carla pounding across the grass towards them. ‘What the—’
‘Where’s Killian?’ screamed Carla, brandishing the knife.
Sinead flattened herself against the side of the Fiat, staring with huge eyes at the gleaming blade. ‘Oh God—’
‘Where is he?’
‘Carla, please don’t do this. Carla, I beg of you, go home and we’ll all try to forget this ever happened …’
But Lois, who had thrown herself down behind the bonnet of the car, squealed from out of sight, ‘He’s upstairs in his room with Aoife!’
Sinead shrieked, ‘Carla, come back!’
Carla raced on towards the house, up the front steps into the hall. Killian’s cousin Darragh was sitting on the bottom step of the sweeping staircase, decanting a naggin of vodka into a Coke can. He looked up in shock as Carla raced towards him: ‘What the—’
She leaped over him and rushed up the white-carpeted stairs, taking them three at a time. Behind her she could hear Sinead howling, ‘Darragh, stop her! She’s gone crazy, she’s got a knife!’
On the next floor, music was blaring from Killian’s games room. Aisling was smooching Lorcan on the landing, eyes closed. Up another flight of stairs, faster than she’d ever run in her life, her heart exploding. Thank God she knew this house so well that she didn’t have to hesitate.
She reached the third fl
oor, with Darragh only half a flight behind her, roaring, ‘Don’t do it! He’s not worth it!’
She spun right – parents’ bedroom, guest room … Killian’s door.
Closed.
Please God, let me not be too late, prayed Carla from the depths of her soul. And then – sick with terror at the thought of finding Killian’s headless body draped limply across his double bed – she wrenched the door open.
Low lighting, and soft music from the computer.
On the bed lay Killian – sprawled on his back, shirt unbuttoned, the pale flesh of his chest exposed, his chin tilted back. Eyes closed. And Aoife was crouching over him, her long red-gold hair dangling down each side of him, her slender thighs in ripped jeans straddling him, her upper body in a fake leather jacket arched over him. And Killian had a slight smile on his beautiful mouth, his lips slightly parted in anticipation …
‘Don’t kiss him!’ shrieked Carla, racing towards the bed with the carving knife raised above her head – and was jerked off her feet as Darragh grabbed the back of her hoodie and threw her to the floor, pinning her down, the knife skittering out of her hand across the carpet.
‘You’ll find love again!’ howled Darragh. ‘You have your whole life ahead of you! My stupid cousin isn’t worth twenty years in prison!’
‘Let me go!’ She struggled and fought, even trying to bite him. Over his shoulder, she could see a hideous sight – the demon’s jeans tearing apart over its massive limbs; its leather jacket bursting open; the sparkly top exploding in a firework of sequins. And now it was lowering its loose black lips to his, as Killian lay with his eyes closed, waiting for that deadly kiss …
In despair, Carla let out a wordless high-pitched scream of fear.
And as if in response, the pooka raised its snout and uttered a mighty, triumphant roar.
‘What the feck?’ Darragh twisted sharply to look: ‘What the— Oh Jesus Christ …’
The Hawthorn Crown Page 8