by Janene Wood
Was Elizabeth ashamed her children weren’t born Alete? Once upon a time he would never have dreamed of asking such a question, but now, knowing what she had kept from them...?
To cheer her up and ease his guilt over all the things he didn't tell her, he decided to tell her about Kate's “return from the dead”. Elizabeth had known about Kate from the very beginning. His early letters had been full of praise and admiration for this wonderful new doctor who had arrived in Adi Sehul under such extraordinary circumstances and was saving the lives of so many young men. Later on, he announced they had fallen in love and were going to marry. The last ever note he sent before going off the reservation was a brief, one-paragraph missive informing her of Kate’s death. She would want to hear this latest development.
But her reaction, upon hearing his news, wasn't at all what he expected. She leaned forward and grabbed his hands, gripping them so tightly her nails dug crescent shaped grooves into his skin.
“What is it, Mum?” he asked, his pulse rising a notch.
Elizabeth had a faraway look in her eyes. “When you see Kate again, tell her she must prepare herself. The time is nearly upon us.”
The words were uttered so softly Marc had to strain to hear them. Even then he was sure he must have misheard. Staring open-mouthed at her, he finally managed to utter, “What are you talking about, Mother? What does that mean, the time is nearly upon us?”
Elizabeth released Marc's hands and rose without another word, depositing a gentle kiss on his forehead before turning away and gesturing to the guard that she was ready to go back.
“Mum!” he cried, leaping to his feet. “You can't just walk away after saying something like that! Talk to me!”
She turned her gaze back on her son, her eyes lingering on his face as if trying to imprint the memory of it on her heart. She smiled sadly but said nothing more before walking through the door, back to the cells and her other life.
Marc left the prison shortly afterward, a terrible foreboding hanging over him. Several hours of back and forth arguing with himself had largely dulled that feeling – he didn't believe in worrying about things he had no control over – but he was still searching for answers. What did she mean by that final remark, about the time being upon them? And what the hell did it have to do with Kate?
Being Alete, perhaps Elizabeth knew things she couldn't share with her ungifted son. Or perhaps she was just confused and mixing things up in her mind. Whatever it was, he tried his very best to dismiss her parting message from his thoughts and was of two minds whether to say anything to Kate.
Marc returned his attention to Pax, who seemed oblivious to his presence. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Fancy a game of squash, Paxman?” He was hoping an hour of physical exercise would get his endorphins flowing and push him out of the dark mood he’d been in all day, since arguing with Kate that morning.
Pax glanced up from the report he was writing and looked at his friend. “Feel like getting your arse whipped, do you, Strider?” he grinned.
“You're a funny man, Pax; did anyone ever tell you that? How's seven o'clock at the Elysium?”
The Elysium was an exclusive Mayfair fitness club Marc and Pax first joined when they were at school. It was hideously expensive but the facilities and location were second to none. Marc had long since let his membership lapse, but he faithfully renewed Jules' subscription every year for her birthday. He didn’t mind the expense and what else was money for, if not for spoiling the ones you love?
“Seven works,” agreed Pax. “We'll take my car if you like.”
“I'll book a court.”
At 6.30, Marc was standing outside the lift in the Shed's underground parking garage when Pax pulled up behind the wheel of a tiny red MGB Roadster. Marc whistled in admiration. “Nice wheels, man,” he said, climbing in beside his friend, “especially if you're a midget.” It was a squeeze, but he managed to fold his six-foot-three frame into the passenger seat, trusting he'd be able to unfold it again when they reached their destination. Even pushing the seat back as far as it would go, his knees were still pressed up against his chest.
“What possessed you to buy this, of all possible vehicles?” Pax wasn’t as tall as Marc, but it had to be uncomfortable even for him. “Having an early mid-life crisis?”
“It’s Honoria’s,” explained Pax, ignoring the jibe. “She borrowed the Range Rover last weekend and I haven’t seen either one of them since. Sorry, I forgot I still had it when I offered to drive.”
Marc emitted a sound that could have been amusement. “So what's your flaky sister up to these days? Last I heard, she was living in an ashram in Jaipur, refining her yoga technique.”
Pax snorted as he steered the car, tyres squealing, up the spiral ramp toward the exit. “Yeah, that lasted all of five minutes, right until she came down with a dose of Delhi belly. After that, she went to New York and volunteered at a homeless shelter for a while, but the stink of drunken, unwashed bodies was more than she could bear. Now she’s back home and has taken up sculpture of all things. Apparently, she’s going to be the next Constantin Brâncuşi, but all I see when I look at what she calls her ‘art’ is a pile of junk nobody would want in their house, let alone pay good money for.”
“I hope you didn’t tell her that,” laughed Marc.
“I try to be diplomatic, but I won’t lie to her. She knows I think it’s rubbish.” Pax sighed in frustration. “I just wish she’d get her act together and do something constructive with her life. If she actually had to work for a living, she’d have no choice, but as it is…” He shook his head helplessly.
“Could be worse. At least she’s searching for something meaningful, instead of just partying her trust fund away.”
Pax looked skeptical, but nodded in reluctant agreement. “I suppose so. She's had a tough time since Dad died. They were really close. I try to be there for her, but work takes up most of my time and she hates it when I interfere. She’s so much younger than me; it’s hard not to tell her what to do all the time.”
“That’s what older brothers are for, Jimmy. I’m always telling Jules what to do; I can't seem to help it. Honoria’s lucky she’s got someone who cares enough not to lie to her,” commented Marc sagely.
They found a space in the Elysium's underground garage and walked to the lift. After signing in and going upstairs to change, they made their way down again to the long, double row of glass-fronted squash courts on the first floor. It was crowded as usual; early evening was a popular time of day for those members who worked in the city. The constant pounding of tiny rubber balls was deafening as they reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Do you play much these days, Pax?” asked Marc, as he checked the number of the court closest to him. It was occupied by a pair of middle-aged men, one of whom was balding and sporting a toweling headband à la Bjorn Borg. The other had a full head of hair, but was puffing and sweating like a hog on a spit-roast.
“I try to get a game in once a week, but it depends on my workload,” replied Pax. “I usually play with a mate from CID. It’s good exercise and I figure it can't hurt to keep the back channels open.”
Marc was impressed with the subtlety of his friend’s strategy. “That's smart. You’ll be giving Leo a run for his money if he doesn’t watch out. Is management something you’re interested in?”
“Yeah, maybe… Hey, check out blondie there,” said Pax, distracted by an athletic girl in the next court, running her male opponent around like she had him hooked on the end of a string. Not only was she making him run from one side of the court to the other without apparent effort, but her long, lean runner's legs and thick blonde ponytail were an eye-catching sight all on their own.
Marc halted mid-stride, taken aback by the unexpected sight. The girl was laughing now as her opponent scrambled for a low ball and missed completely. The man collapsed against the side wall, panting with exertion, but Marc's eyes were glued to Kate's smiling face. There was no wariness in her
manner, no anger or accusation in her eyes. Unaware of his gaze, she was her normal, uninhibited self, the way she had been this morning – briefly – when she first woke up. When she told him so guilelessly that she had been dreaming of him. Before she came up with that ridiculous, cock-and-bull story that made him so angry. Before she closed down and shut him out completely.
Pax watched Marc with the interested eye of someone who observes people for a living, and wasn’t overly surprised when his friend turned and informed him curtly, “That’s Kate. I’d introduce you, but I'm not sure we're on speaking terms right now. Another time, perhaps.”
Marc took one last look into the court and began walking away. Over his shoulder he called, “For Chrissake, Pax, let’s go hit some bloody balls!”
“That’s nine points to six,” announced Kate, laughing still at Jason’s inelegant swipe at her low spinning ball. “Want to go again?”
Jason didn't seem to hear her. He was spread-eagled against the side wall of the court, looking past Kate at the two men watching them from the other side of the glass. One of them was staring at Kate so intently, he appeared to be in actual physical pain. The second man watched his companion with open curiosity. Both men were fit, physically imposing figures, particularly the taller, dark-haired one scowling so severely. He wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of either one of them.
“Friends of yours?” enquired Jason, motioning toward the glass.
The men were already walking away by the time Kate turned to look, but she caught a glimpse of them before they strode out of view and her heart almost leaped out of her chest. Marc.
It was less a shock than it was a relief to see him again. She had been unconsciously searching for him all day, superimposing his face on every man she saw who even vaguely matched his physique or colouring. She’d half expected to find him around every corner, behind every door, waiting to interrogate her again. After a while, she realised she was disappointed at not seeing him, and found herself wondering where he was and what he was doing. What was going through his mind? How much of what she said this morning did he believe? Did he blame her for what went wrong between them? Did he hate her now?
It was pointless and self-destructive, but she couldn't help it. She should be relieved he was keeping his distance, yet she longed for one more glimpse of him. And now he was here, right in front of her, and it was all she could do to stop herself running after him.
It went against all her instincts, but Kate forced herself to stand her ground. “Just someone I used to know,” she replied tremulously. “No one special.”
Witches for Dinner
After showering and changing, Kate met Jason in the juice bar near the locker rooms to discuss where to go for their usual post-game supper. It was Kate's turn to pick but she was still distracted after seeing Marc and was having trouble focusing. “You choose,” she said eventually, unable to make up her mind.
“Okay,” said Jason, “so long as you understand you don't get any say when it's my turn next week.”
“Yeah, yeah, just pick already,” said Kate irritably. “While you're doing that, I'm going to make a phone call. I'll meet you downstairs.” Turning away before he could reply, she hurried off to find a pay phone.
This would be the tenth time today she had tried to call Ryan, and she was rapidly losing patience. Like before, there was no answer when she dialed his number. Kate slammed the phone down, muttering under her breath. That was the very last time, she told herself, vowing to put him out her head and concentrate on enjoying her evening. If anyone could take her mind off her problems, it was Jason, who was always entertaining company. In fact, Jason was the only man in her life with whom she was not currently pissed off. She owed it to them both to relax and have a good time.
After meeting up in the lobby, they drove to a bistro on Kensington High Street and spent the next hour chatting, laughing, drinking wine and carefully avoiding all mention of Jules or the “someone I used to know” from the Elysium. They had just ordered dessert when two men walked in and were shown to a nearby table. Kate was surprised to see Suri, her tattooed friend from Bella Blue Café. Wearing his customary sleeveless vest to show off his spiders, he was enjoying the stunned looks and muttered comments they elicited. He winked at her, but otherwise didn't acknowledge her.
His companion wore an old-fashioned double-breasted knee-length frock coat, brocade waistcoat, frilly white shirt and a silk cravat. Carrying a top hat under his arm, he looked like he had stepped straight out of a nineteenth century romance novel. Apart from his clothing, there was nothing remarkable about him, though he carried himself like he was God's gift to women and expected everyone to bow down in awe and admiration. Everyone was staring, but mostly in amusement.
Grinning at Jason, Kate asked, “Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?”
His reply went unheard; her attention was suddenly diverted by a familiar tingling sensation and she shifted her gaze back across the room. Unnoticed by anyone else, Suri shimmered briefly and a shadowy substance oozed out of him, puddling onto the floor beside him before gradually coalescing into the shape of a man. A moment later, a second shadowy thing oozed out of Suri's companion, the Mr Darcy wannabe, although this one was less substantial in appearance and its features weren't as well defined.
“Oh, crap,” muttered Kate, loud enough for Jason to hear.
“What is it?” he asked, looking around curiously.
“Er, nothing,” said Kate hastily, giving him a nervous smile.
“Bullshit,” countered Jason.
“I beg your pardon!” retorted Kate indignantly.
“You're a terrible liar, Kate, and I've had enough of your secrets and obfuscations for one day. Tell me what's upset you,” he insisted, “or I'll walk out of here and make you pay the entire bill.”
Kate gave him a withering look. “Oh, you will, will you?”
Jason glared back, not giving any ground. “Yes, I will.”
Kate sighed, seeing the resolve on his face. He wasn’t going to back down. To be honest, she was just as sick of the secrets and lies as he was. Jason knew she was a healer – there was no keeping that from him after she healed his broken back and crushed spinal cord after the rock climbing accident that initiated their friendship – but there was so much more he didn’t know. It was probably selfish of her to want to share a little bit of her secret self with someone, but sometimes she felt so completely alone. And she knew she could trust Jason implicitly. Of course, it should be Ryan she was confiding in, but after trying to contact him all day, she was too mad to care.
“Fine,” she relented, “if you really want to know, those two men who just walked in are witches, and they just set two of their tethers loose.”
It wasn't till she said it out loud that Kate realised what was wrong with the peaceful scene before her. Two shadowbinders, sitting in a public place, having a quiet dinner together. In her experience, that never happened. Even a master and apprentice would think twice about risking such prolonged public exposure. Witches were aggressive, territorial, solitary creatures and did not play well together. That whole myth about them living in covens and swapping spells, like bored housewives swapping recipes, was a total fabrication. The only time a pair of seasoned binders got together was to kill each other.
They didn't usually go looking for trouble, though, at least not in public, so it was unlikely these two constituted an active threat. The interaction between them was bizarre, though. “Darcy” was being properly deferential to Suri, who was clearly dominant, and Suri wasn't rubbing Darcy's face in his inferior status, as might be expected. They were behaving perfectly normally. Which was the opposite of normal.
It took Jason a moment to regain the power of speech, but he finally said, “Okay, I'll bite. What's a tether?”
Relegating her speculations to the back burner, Kate gave her friend a rueful smile, knowing she was about to change the way he looked at the world forever. But he asked fo
r it. “Basically, a tether is a type of demon. One that's still attached to its host, or in the case of a witch, its master.”
At the word “demon” Jason’s eyes practically popped out of his head and Kate felt immediately ashamed. What did she think she was doing, burdening her friend with knowledge that would probably give him nightmares?
“Actually, I was kidding,” she grinned. “There’s no such thing as witches and I made up the whole tether thing. Geez, I wish they’d hurry up with dessert,” she finished, changing the subject. “I'm just dying to try that sticky date pudding!”
“You’re doing it again!” cried Jason, seeing right through her. “I’m a big boy, Kate; I can handle whatever nasty little secrets you’ve been hiding. Tell me about these tethers. I really want to know,” he insisted.
“You really don’t,” maintained Kate, but seeing he was about to protest again, she added, “but I’ll tell you if you insist.”
“All right,” said Jason, savouring his victory. “That’s more like it.”
Taking a deep breath, she began. “Okay, so demons are real and they’re all around us. That sounds pretty scary, but they’re really just part of the natural order of things. The thing you need to know is that most of them can't exist in this world on their own; they need a host to feed on... a human from whom to get the energy they need to live. The more negative energy they absorb, the stronger they grow, and the weaker and more susceptible to suggestion they make their hosts. But since most people are basically good and able to control the worst of their impulses, most demons never grow strong enough to hurt anyone or achieve any sort of autonomy.”
“Right,” said Jason, keeping his voice steady as he tried to absorb this startling new information. His face was noticeably paler than it had been a few minutes ago, but he got full points for keeping his cool.