Wolfsbane: 3 (Rebel Angels)

by Gillian Philip

  The guide’s face was stiff with contempt. ‘I don’t know what you…’

  ‘That blue one. Brilliant!’

  He finally looked where I was pointing, and screamed.

  The horse was blue, sort of, but that could just have been the way its pearly-opal hide caught the light. Not all of it was blue. Its face was black, and so were its mane and tail and powerful feathered legs. It was such a bizarre colour, no wonder I’d thought it was a fake.

  Because it was obvious, now, that it wasn’t. It took a violent leap forward, the bit digging into its foam-flecked mouth as it fought the blond boy on its back, who was clinging on with an air of desperation. Abruptly the brute screamed like a demon, reared, and shot out of the stall.

  I had fifteen-year-old reflexes, so I had enough presence of mind to get out of the way. The formerly catatonic tourists staggered aside, screaming and yelling and shoving each other in a magnificently Darwinian fight for survival. Most of them went sprawling as the horse lunged forward, striking sparks from the cobbles.

  I could only gaze at the chaos in admiration as the horse swerved out of control through the stable archway and into the car park. The guide’s face was the colour of wet cement, but once he got his voice back he hung onto the door jamb and positively screamed at the boy in fury.

  ‘I remember you! I REMEMBER! YOU’VE GONE TOO FAR NOW! You little–! YOU–! I’ll see you PROSECUTED this time, I WILL THIS TIME. You’ve BITTEN OFF MORE THAN YOU CAN CHEW!’

  Yes, I could hear how much he’d bitten off. The car park was a chaos of noise: a ring and clatter of hooves, unearthly howls of rage, the wailing of under-fives and over-seventies. I’ll be honest; it thrilled me to bits, like a tiny lightning bolt throwing switches as it travelled down my vertebrae. Wild excitement sang in my blood and I felt a sudden intense longing. Crazy, really. I never got excited about anything. I prided myself on sheer insolent cool. And yet the funny thing was, I had to see that horse. Now.

  Ignoring the bellowing guide I darted outside, then slid to a halt, staring.

  The boy was clinging on for dear life, his heels clamped so hard on the horse’s flanks I wasn’t surprised it was annoyed. It was just a matter of time before its flailing hooves started doing serious damage to the parked cars, but for now it was thrashing and plunging in the centre of the car park, spinning in a tight circle of fury as it arched its great neck and strained to snap at its rider. The boy’s white-knuckled fingers were wound so tightly in the beast’s mane there was no way he could let himself be thrown off, or he’d be dragged by the fingers along the tarmac. All the same his yells had an edge of excitement, and a big grin was plastered on his face.

  My mouth had hung open too long for dignity, so I clamped it shut. I didn’t take my eyes off the horse, though. Now I didn’t like the look of it so much. Catching sight of me it paused in its crazed plunging, and greenish light sparked in its blank black eye.

  I said, ‘Uh-oh.’

  It sprang for me, head snaking forward, its bared teeth looking very like a grin. I’d have liked to shut my eyes at this point, but as the monster came at me all I could see, between its ears, was the white alarmed face of the boy. I knew instinctively there was no point shutting my eyes. No point moving. Slaver spattered my skin, and I smelt its hot breath, and I saw its teeth open for my face.

  And then someone stepped calmly in front of me. As he held up a hand to catch the horse’s muzzle, it skidded to a clattering halt, confused.

  ‘Your master is hunting for you.’ Thin and tough, the man wore ripped jeans and a scruffy t-shirt, but he had a soft voice, and his hand was light on the horse’s nose. ‘Wait for me, eachuisge.’ He glanced back at me.

  I blinked. A sharp-boned face like a fox, wild black hair and a trimmed beard. Vicious curved scars slashed on each cheek. And a strange silver light in his brown eyes that I did not like at all.

  At last, unhurried, he looked back at the horse. ‘And leave that girl alone. She is not for you.’

  The blue horse gave an eloquent snort of disgust. I watched in disbelief as the scarred man grabbed the blond boy’s wrist and dragged him roughly off it, sending him crashing to the tarmac. That was bad enough, but I gasped in anger when he gave the boy’s ear a hard stinging flick.

  ‘Ow,’ said the boy without rancour, sitting up.

  ‘You little git. How many times you going to do this?’

  Even in trouble the boy was seriously beautiful, with his penitent grey eyes, his sharp-tipped ears and his elfin face. His sun-bleached hair was unruly, curling down past the nape of his neck, and when he blew a lock of it disconsolately off his brow, it fell straight back into his eyes. He didn’t look at the man or the sweating horse, fiddling instead with a circle of silver on his wrist. A little silver charm hung on it, set with a lump of dull green stone.

  ‘Your father will want a word with you, Rory Bhan.’

  The boy raised huge spaniel eyes to the man. ‘Sionnach, give us a break,’ he wheedled.

  I barged forward, incredulous. ‘This guy isn’t even your dad? You could so take legal action.’

  They stared at me in bewilderment before looking back at each other.

  ‘Stay there.’ Sionnach pointed at him as the guide came storming out of the stables towards him. ‘So help me, Rory, don’t you move.’

  ‘Where would I go? Keep your beard on.’

  He’d nearly let his stupid pony run me down, but I still felt sorry for him: lonely and glum, slumped unhappily on the tarmac, waiting for Sionnach to calm the tour guide down. Maybe the boy was traumatised by his domestically-violent carer, but it was a funny kind of nervous tic he had: picking at thin air with his fingers, tugging on nothing.

  Sionnach was busy, mumbling apologetically to the guide and getting an earful of indignant abuse in return. Sighing, I glanced sympathetically at Rory, still wrapping thin air absently round his fingers. He needed support. He needed a friend, preferably a friend with a lawyer. My eyes were so misted over with fellow-feeling, I thought I imagined it when he scuffed backwards on his bum, winked at me, and vanished.

  I started, and blinked in disbelief. He’d tugged aside a curtain and scooted behind it.

  Only we were in a car park, in the breezy open air.

  And there wasn’t a curtain there.

  I slammed the front door and stood in Aunt Sheena’s hall: bare wood and cream sofas and the smell of polish. I had a screaming urge to get right back out of it.

  Truly, a screaming urge. I had to hang onto the hall table to anchor myself.

  Now, it’s absolutely a fact that I had no idea why I stayed. Between Sheena, Groper Marty and Lauren of the Bitten Face, it wasn’t as if I liked the company. But leaving for good – I refused to call it running away – was a decision I wasn’t ready to take. Shop doorways were not my preferred sleeping place. And besides, my mother might get it into her head to come back for me, and then how would she know where I was?

  Unlikely, but possible.

  I was ten when she dropped me off at The Paddocks, and my most abiding memory of that day was her desperation to get back in her boyfriend’s car. She’d checked her watch and fiddled with her jacket and sworn she’d be back, even as I curled on the sofa and pretended I wasn’t crying. I didn’t beg, of course – begging wouldn’t have made any difference at all – but the woman could hardly pretend I was glad to see the back of her. She couldn’t weep and wail that I’d never liked her, so she had a right to Self-Fulfilment and the Pursuit of Love and the Road Less Travelled.

  Well, to hell with her and the boyfriend both; tonight at least I had something more interesting to think about. In fact I was so preoccupied with events at the castle, I had entirely forgotten that Sheena had told me this morning, at about ninety decibels, not to bother coming back.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’

  I halted, foot on the bottom stair. Aunt Sheena stood at the door of her granite kitchen in tracky bottoms and a jogging bra, bared shoulders as lean an
d muscly as her folded arms, glossy caramel hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her hard painted face was bright with distaste, and that expensively buffed aura of hers was not looking good.

  ‘Don’t you go near my daughter again.’

  ‘Nothing could make me happier.’ I smirked.

  ‘I’ve called the police. They’re going to come and talk to you.’

  Shit. Had she? I didn’t fancy getting taken into care. Turning on the stair, I had the satisfaction of seeing Sheena blanch and take a step back. I hovered menacingly for a few seconds, leering towards her, then laughed in her face.

  She flushed angrily. ‘Oh, your father made the right decision. I told him so at the time. It was the least I could do. We were good friends, you know what I mean?’

  ‘What?’ My guts went cold, and my brain swam.

  And then my brain righted itself, and I thought: she’s lying. I don’t know how I could be so sure, but I was; the horror evaporated. I grinned. ‘Would my father not have you?’

  The blood drained out of Sheena’s cheeks. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I accept your apology.’ The grin stayed put on my face. ‘Did he not fancy you? Would he not give you a fu–’

  ‘Get. Out.’ Sheena could barely speak. ‘Before I hit you.’

  ‘In your dreams.’ My face twisted unpleasantly.

  I stalked back out of the front door with an air of world-weariness, refusing to bolt despite the assault on my eardrums. When your cousin comes tomorrow, I made out through the incoherent screaming, when Shania gets back with Darryl, she’ll sort you out. She’ll know what to do about you, you little REJECT. Right: in her dreams and all. Older and even fouler than her little sister, Shania still knew better than to mess with me.

  ‘And you can sleep in the gutter as far as I’m concerned.’ With Sheena’s final flourish, the door slammed behind me, and despite my fury I felt a shiver of unease.

  At least it was summer.

  But it was Scotland. And I hadn’t brought my jacket.

  My immediate future was something I had to think about, so I started to walk. I’d got as far as the corner when Marty’s car turned into his home street. Catching sight of me, he slewed the car up onto the kerb, forcing me to stop.

  ‘Oy! Where you going, Hannah?’

  I folded my arms, glared at him.

  He swung the car door wide, rose from the driving seat, and grinned amicably at my tits. He shifted his stance.

  ‘In trouble again, love?’

  I bit back what I wanted to say. ‘She’s kicked me out.’

  ‘Ahh.’ He slung an arm round my shoulder and I felt his warm murmur in my left ear. ‘Sheena’s upset about Lauren. I know the kid’s annoying but you did overreact there, love.’

  I said nothing. Too busy grinding my teeth.

  ‘I’ll have a word with her, lovey, but I don’t think it’ll help. You know Sheena when she makes up her mind.’ Drawing back, he twinkled at me like a little star.

  ‘Right.’ I hesitated. I wanted to kick him in the bollocks but I needed him, briefly. ‘Can you get me my jacket from the house?’

  He slid a hand round my waist. ‘No need, pet. You’re not sleeping outside. Here. Get in the car.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll let you into the office.’ He jerked his head in the rough direction of town. ‘You can stay there till she calms down. Get in the car.’

  I thought furiously. It seemed like a better deal than the gutter. ‘Thanks, Mart. I can walk. Give us the keys and I’ll let myself in.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. We’ll get a pizza on the way. I mean, I’ll get you a pizza on the way.’

  I didn’t like the way the strong bulk of him was edging me towards the car. He wasn’t fat but he was big and sturdy, and his fingers were tighter on my arm than they’d been a second ago.

  ‘Come on, Hannah love. I’m the only pal you’ve got right now.’

  ‘Except for him.’ I nodded at the nearest lamppost, and when he twitched his head up anxiously I wrenched myself out from under his arm.

  He snatched my sleeve, yanking me back. I slapped at him, then kicked wildly, missing his groin by a mile; but he had to swerve. Once again I tore away, and this time I ran.

  ‘Sleep in the gutter for all I fecking care!’ His echo of Sheena was all I made out as I skidded and almost fell, pelting round the corner and out of his sight.

  I couldn’t go back there or I’d kill him. Sheena too. I’d kill them all, and that would be bad when the police showed up for our chat. I didn’t know what I should do, so I kept walking.

  I say I didn’t know what I should do, but I knew fine what I wanted to do. The Screaming Urge was back, and it wasn’t all to do with extended-family homicide. I came to a halt at the bus stop and stared up at the timetable. Last bus. Nothing coming back at this hour.

  Do it. What’s to lose?

  I had to practically step in front of the bus to make it stop – you’d think my criminal record was common knowledge, the way drivers ignore me – but at the last moment he braked and let me on. He did give me a very funny look as I got off at the Cantray stop. I couldn’t blame him; this was ridiculous. I had no idea what I was thinking. I couldn’t get into the main castle, couldn’t even get a comforting glimpse of my painted psycho. The sky was that heavy pewter colour that isn’t far off night, and though the loch shone silver it only made the clouds seem darker. The light would go off it any minute now. Any minute. It had already slid from the castle walls, leaving them bleaker than winter.

  It still seemed like a better option than The Paddocks.

  Yes. Even the empty coldness, and the mournful quietness when the bus disappeared: even that was better than The Paddocks, and its locks, and its sterile comforts, and its central heating. And Marty. Yes.

  It was better here, despite the whispering summer trees, and the lonely cry of a curlew, and the slow lap of the steely water at the loch fringes. And the rustle of grasses. And the long looming shadow of the castle.

  And the crunch of a footstep RIGHT AT MY BACK.

  I shrieked and stumbled as I turned.

  ‘Oh, there you are. Finally.’

  I glared at the blond boy, who stood there smiling inanely, until my thumping heart calmed down. ‘“Finally”?’

  ‘I had a feeling you’d be back.’ He blew a lock of pale hair out of his eye.

  I shook my head in disgust and strode away towards the castle fence.

  ‘Where you going, Red?’ He jogged to keep up.

  ‘Strawberry blonde.’ I gave him a weary look. ‘Aren’t you in trouble? Shouldn’t you be getting home?’

  ‘I’ll put that off as long as I can, thanks. Where are you going?’

  ‘I suggest you just go and get it over with.’

  ‘Ha. You haven’t met my dad.’

  ‘Indeed, and I’d rather I didn’t. Your dad sounds like he ought to be locked up.’

  He gave a snarky giggle. ‘I’d like to see anybody try.’

  ‘Get your mother to do it.’

  ‘She’s dead. Ages ago and I don’t remember her, so don’t start apologising.’

  ‘Okay.’ I turned with an air of finality towards the castle fence. ‘Mine’s dead to me and all.’

  ‘Really?’ Sympathy started to dawn on his face.

  ‘No. Not really. She ran off with a session musician. Apparently she owed it to herself to find herself, but I expect she’s still looking. She wasn’t that bright.’

  ‘I see.’ He caught up and walked peaceably at my side. I looked at him askance.

  ‘Can I, uh. Help you with something?’

  He stopped, nonplussed. ‘Well. No. Not really.’ Awkwardly he slewed his eyes aside, then he brightened. ‘I’m bored.’

  ‘And I’m not your frigging Xbox. Stop following me.’

  He didn’t go away. The sky was duller, its layer of cloud sheened with dying sunlight, and I wanted to break into the café for a beer and an uncooked panini before I found
a quiet place to sleep. Also, I felt like I wanted to curl up and have a decent cry about various aspects of my life, and I wasn’t going to do that in front of the village idiot.

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ he said.

  I came to a halt and turned on my heel. ‘Listen, where do you stay? Because you should be getting back.’

  ‘So should you.’

  ‘I’m staying here,’ I said.

  ‘You’re not,’ he said, and I didn’t like the confidence in his voice. Actually, quite suddenly, I didn’t like him. I didn’t like his happy smile or his charm or the way his messy hair flopped over his glittering silver eye.

  I took a step back. And funnily enough so did he. His hand clutched the air, tore at nothing, and I was so busy watching that, and fearing for his sanity and my life, I didn’t see his other hand move.

  I didn’t see him lunge for me, because he moved faster than anything I could hope to see. I only felt him seize my wrist and yank me, and I screamed and fell with his arms locked round me, and we hit the cold ground together and the world went dark.

  ‘JESUS,’ I screamed. ‘What did you do THAT FOR?’

  When the world and my vision cleared, I was sitting on top of the blond boy, which made it easy enough to pummel his ribcage with clenched fists. Not since I bit Lauren’s face had I wanted to hurt someone as much, as physically, as I wanted to hurt him then. Clenched fists, in fact, weren’t cutting it; I began to tear at his eyes with my nails. ‘What do you want? Why did you DO THAT?’

  He batted me away, shutting his eyes tight, snatching for my hands.

  ‘Because you WOULDN’T HAVE COME, you silly cow.’

  ‘I’m not GOING ANYWHERE.’

  ‘You already HAVE.’

  In an instant he was limp and unresisting beneath me, blinking up and biting his lip with a sweet uncertainty that looked well-practised.

  I had a horrible feeling, then. I couldn’t go on hitting him when obviously I didn’t have to. ‘What?’

  Once again he moved so fast, I didn’t know what happened. Only that I was the one on the ground, I was the one winded by a knee in the solar plexus, I was the one staring in breathless astonishment at a grey sky as the boy Rory frowned and chewed one fingernail. His other hand gripped my throat in a very un-amateurish way.