by CJ Bridgeman
Until today. She reached in and slipped her finger beneath the seal, tipping the contents into her lap. The diary, the small stone and the watch were all still there, whilst the ring was still on her finger.
She looked at them differently this time, for they held more mystery now. Rather than the belongings of a woman who never seemed to have the time to show her only child any affection, they were now the belongings of someone who had powers that appeared only in the imagination, someone who had precious secrets contained in a diary that was being hunted by people who could spout fire from their very hands -
Felicity inhaled sharply as a disturbing and unwelcome thought abruptly forced its way into her mind.
What if her mother’s death hadn’t been an accident?
Murder. The word echoed inside her skull, an extra weight forced upon her already heavily burdened mind. Could it be possible? But then, it made sense, didn’t it? Her mother had been powerful, and she had been carrying a very desirable, magical arsenal around with her, if what Oliver said was to be believed. It stood to reason that someone might kill her to get their hands on it -
Felicity shook herself physically, as if that might help her lose these troubling new thoughts. She reminded herself that she needed to sleep, not formulate wild, crazy theories about her mother. Audrey Lucas had died in a car accident, a tragic collision that saw her vehicle slammed into a tree just off the side of the road. There had been no suspicious circumstances - the police had told her that.
She ran her fingers over the grooved surface of the stone that had been in her mother’s possession the night the accident had happened. It was such an odd little thing. Felicity had often wondered what it was and even gone so far as to ask her father about it, but no one could provide her with an answer - not even the internet. She brought it up to the light of her lamp and studied the markings more closely, but they looked more like patterns than any kind of wording. She placed it inside the box her father had bought for her, along with her mother’s watch and diary.
The box was a far more fitting home for these precious items than the old carrier bag. They seemed comfortable there, safe, secure and welcome, as if they had always been meant to find their way there.
Felicity reached for her mother’s journal and curled up in the corner of her bed, pulling the duvet around her and pressing herself up against the two walls. With a click, she turned out the light and was left in darkness. She somehow felt safer that way, perhaps because she had spent so long lingering in the shadows of the background and was therefore used to it. She was alone in the flat, so it made sense to pretend that she wasn’t there at all, in case those who came for her mother came for her, too.
She shook the thought from her mind irritably, cursing herself for thinking it. But every time she closed her eyes it came back to her. She imagined the scene of the crash, her mother driving her car, innocent and unaware of the danger that was following her. The sky was dark and the rain was pouring down; it had to be raining, of course. And then, out of nowhere, there came a burst of light and energy that struck the vehicle and turned it upside down. Over and over and over it rolled; her mother didn’t stand a chance. When the car finally stopped, she was already dead.
It was ridiculous, Felicity knew that, just as she knew that the accident had occurred very early one morning in summer at a time when the sun was shining. Her morbid imagination was only making things worse and she had to learn to control it.
She had opened her mother’s journal without even realising it. Though the room was dark, there was just enough light streaming between the gaps of her makeshift blanket curtains to see that it was on the page of the defensive spell Oliver had recited to her earlier. The words still made no sense to her, but she couldn’t forget how they sounded. Their shape, their tone, their pronunciation; she felt as if they had been burnt into her very soul. Even thinking about it made her feel queasy.
She touched the page with her fingertips, just as she had done a thousand times before. Under her breath, she tried unsuccessfully to read the spell aloud. Though she remembered it perfectly, she couldn’t quite say it herself; the language was too alien, the words too complex.
She tried again, whispering to herself in the darkness. Had Oliver been there, he would have mocked her attempt but acknowledged that it was a better try than the first.
Spurred on by a refreshing burst of determination, Felicity persisted. The more she tried to say them, the easier the words became. Eventually her whisper became a mutter. She thought of Oliver sneering down his nose at her and making sly comments about her inferiority and found herself resolute to his imaginary challenge. Before long, her voice had increased in volume to that of her normal, everyday speech.
Felicity was so focused on her task that she hadn’t noticed the page begin to glow a pale red.
Finally, after what seemed like only a few minutes but had in reality been much longer, her mouth found its way through the maze of strange letters and sounds and pronounced the words accurately; the tone, emphasis and accent - all were correct.
She sighed triumphantly, but she couldn’t revel in her success for long; sleep beckoned to her desperate eyelids. She was so, so tired. But there were so many things to worry about, so many things to fear - how could she possibly think about sleeping?
And then a deep, satisfying slumber finally claimed her.
Oliver’s eyes snapped open. It took them a moment to focus in the gloom, and a second longer for his mind to reestablish the difference between dreams and reality, and then he remembered where he was: in the cellar of that idiot, Jamie Clarke.
He had been attempting to sever his bonds when he must have fallen asleep. His neck and his back ached. His wrists were stinging from the roughness of the rope. He felt like such a fool to have failed to escape that he had to take a deep breath to contain his frustration and stop himself from shouting out, for he didn’t want to draw attention to himself.
He leaned his head back on the pipe to which he was tied and wondered when the daughter would come back to ask him more questions. He had piqued her curiosity, of that he was certain, and though he was not exactly within Felicity’s circle of trust, she did not have to believe everything he said in order for his plan to work. He just needed a little bit more time with her to convince her to hand over the book and set him free, and then she would be the prisoner and he the captor. The task might well require some better acting on his part, for however good he was at hiding his true feelings and intentions, he was less practised at pretending to be something he wasn’t. But if he succeeded, the others would never know how his initial attempts had failed and he could escape any punishment.
And yet, one thing he could not escape was the voice in the back of his head telling him to give up, for he had no right to claim any kind of success after the miserable blunders he had committed. He did not deserve the title given to him by the others; he deserved nothing more than to face their judgement and sentencing.
No. He would show them. He would prove himself to be worthy by completing his mission. By the time the others arrived, both Felicity and the book would be in his hands.
Suddenly and unexpectedly, Oliver felt a twinge of fear in the pit of his stomach. At first he thought it was his body’s response to his dangerous thoughts, but he quickly began to realise that it was something else - something far, far worse. The palms of his hands started to sweat. His breathing quickened.
The others were almost here.
11.
Felicity turned over in bed, groaning in protest to the beeping alarm that had roused her from sleep. Her mother’s journal, which had laid open across her chest, fell to the floor.
It was still dark outside, as was usual for the time of year. Felicity had often had to get up and get ready for school in almost pitch black weather, so she was used to it, but that didn’t mean that every muscle in her body wasn’t resisting her tugs and pulls as she reached over to her digital alarm clock.
&nbs
p; It continued to beep, even as she slammed her hand upon it. For a moment she was confused, and then she realised that it wasn’t her alarm clock that was singing to her. It was her mobile phone, the secondhand one that Hollie had given to her a few months ago so that the two of them could keep in touch. It was an old model, nothing special, and the ringtones were so limited that the best of them sounded very similar to her alarm.
Now fully awake, Felicity grabbed hold of her phone and answered it.
“Hello?” she croaked.
“Fliss, you have to come over,” came the voice of Jamie. He sounded distressed.
“Jamie?”
“Yes, yes, it’s me. You have to get over here now, Fliss. It’s Oliver.”
Felicity sat bolt upright. “What’s happened? Has he got away? Is he - is he coming for me?”
“No, no, nothing like that - but Fliss, you need to get here now. Hurry!”
Felicity hung up the phone and got out of bed as quickly as she could. The last of her sleepiness had faded as soon as the adrenaline rushed into her system; hearing Jamie speak Oliver’s name in such a worried, almost frantic way scared her.
The streets were still and quiet, for it was only around seven in the morning. As Felicity approached Jamie’s house, she saw a familiar figure rushing in the same direction. It was Hollie.
The two of them met at the base of the steps that let to Jamie’s front door.
“He called you, too?” Hollie asked Felicity.
“Yeah,” she said with a nod.
“What’s going on?”
Felicity didn’t reply, for she had no answer. She simply shrugged her shoulders and the two friends hurried into Jamie’s house.
Though it had been practically silent outside, the difference indoors was staggering. The bangs of moving furniture echoed in the entrance hall, but nothing was quite as disturbing as the shouting coming from the cellar. For a moment the girls couldn’t tell if the voice belonged to Oliver or Jamie, but when Hollie’s twin emerged from the cellar and the shouting continued, they had their answer.
“Thank God you’re here,” he said when he saw them. “He’s been like this for an hour. Won’t let me anywhere near him. He’s gone insane!”
“It must be from being locked up for all this time,” Hollie called out above the din. “What do they call it - cabin fever. I told you this was a bad idea!”
“Yeah, thanks for that, Hollie. Really helpful!”
“What’s he saying?” Felicity asked.
“Nothing, really. He’s just shouting.” Jamie shook his head. He looked defeated. “If the neighbours hear him they’ll call the police. We have to do something!”
“I’ll go down and see him,” Hollie said decisively, and began to walk towards the cellar steps when she was blocked by her brother.
“I’m not letting you go down there by yourself.”
“I’ll be fine. Get out of the way!”
“No!” Jamie looked from Hollie to Felicity. His expression was severe. “We all contributed to this mess, so we all have to try and clean it up.” He paused. “We’ll all go down there. Together.”
Felicity and Hollie exchanged glances. It was odd for Hollie, seeing her brother take charge like that, but then he had been doing so more and more often these days. In a strange way, she thought, it suited him.
She nodded, giving her consent to the plan. Felicity was not overly keen on returning to the cellar, but she had been outvoted before polling even began. Slowly and reluctantly, she followed the twins down the steps.
The shouting ceased as soon as the three of them entered Oliver’s view. He looked awful. His dark hair was in disarray, there were red circles beneath his eyes, some tears had appeared in his clothing; he looked as though he had just been attacked. The chair upon which he had been forced to sit for the last few days had toppled over and was lying nearby. A few other items that had been within his reach, such as a bucket, mop and the old bench, had also become innocent victims of his apparent insanity.
He stared at the three of them with crazed eyes. He couldn’t have had much sleep. His skin looked deathly pale, though it had not been particularly tanned to begin with. He stood with his shoulders hunched and his head bowed so that he had to look upwards slightly to see them, a challenging stance that almost dared the three of them to come closer. Jamie, concerned for his friend and sister, stopped before he reached the bottom of the steps.
Oliver raised his hand and pointed towards them. “I will only talk to you,” he said between breaths, and his voice was deep and quiet.
It was obvious to whom he was referring, although all three of them were standing in the direction Oliver had just pointed.
But Jamie was still feeling protective. “No,” he said, sounding braver than he actually was.
Oliver’s response was to swiftly deliver a kick to the nearby chair, which clattered noisily across the cement floor.
“Stop it!” Hollie cried.
Jamie turned to Felicity. “Fliss,” he said. “I normally wouldn’t ask, but... if he carries on, we’re going to be in a lot more trouble than we already are. If the police come and they untie him -”
“I know,” Felicity interrupted him. “It’s fine. I’ll talk to him.”
Jamie smiled gratefully. “We’ll just be upstairs,” he told her, and then the twins left her alone in the cellar. Alone, of course, save for Oliver.
She knew to expect the uncomfortable stare before he had the chance to send it her way, but it had become so familiar a sight that it didn’t unnerve her as much as it had yesterday. but knowing that he wanted to speak to her gave her a sense of power that she hadn’t felt when in his presence. As she walked into the cellar, her confidence gave her strength.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I needed to see you.”
Felicity placed her hands on her hips defiantly. “Then you should’ve politely asked Jamie if you could use a phone, not had a hissy fit like a three year old.”
Oliver’s eyes gave away his anger. “Look at you. You think you’ve got all the power, just because I’m the one tied up and you can leave this place any time you choose. But you have no idea what’s coming. If you did, you wouldn’t still be here. You’re a fool!”
He spat the words so menacingly that a part of Felicity’s confidence wavered, though not enough to show. “Are you done?” she asked patronisingly, as if speaking to a child who had just had a tantrum.
Oliver didn’t take that well. He stared at Felicity as if trying to knock her down with a simple glance and looked as though he were about to explode again. But looks were apparently not as powerful as magical words and their accompanying gestures, so Oliver was powerless to do anything at all. He seemed to realise this, and as she watched, the malice, anger and hatred faded from his face. His expression softened, and Felicity was shocked at what she saw hidden beneath his bravado.
It was fear. He dropped his eyes to the floor as soon as it emerged, but not before she got a quick glance at it. It was as if he finally realised how helpless he was and could no longer hide it from her. He looked like a captured, wounded animal, and though it was never a word that Felicity felt suited him, she thought he looked innocent. Lost, innocent and afraid. Had Hollie been there, she would have rushed to him, but Felicity was much more wary; not one part of her was tempted to comfort this seemingly broken man, for he had lied to and fooled her before.
And then he looked at her, and she saw his despair as it stared right back at her, open and vulnerable. “Felicity,” he said softly, his voice strangely sombre. “We need to get out of here. They’re coming.”
She regarded him curiously. She wanted to know more, but something was holding her back. “I don’t know if I can trust anything you say,” she said.
“Then trust your mother,” he replied.
That struck a nerve. “Don’t talk to me about my mother,” she said quietly. “Not after the things you said yesterday.”
&nbs
p; “They’re all true,” Oliver insisted. “Every word I spoke was the truth. But you don’t have to believe me - once the others get here, you’ll find out for yourself.” He shook his head solemnly. “But by then... it will be too late.”
Felicity frowned. “What... what do you mean?” she asked. “Who are the others?”
“The same people who are after you are also after me,” he said. “They want to kill us.”
“What?” Felicity gasped. “How do you know that?”
This time, Oliver made eye contact. “They got to your mother.”
Felicity took a step away from him, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re insane. You’re crazy!”
“They’re going to kill us, to make examples of us just like they did your mother,” Oliver persisted, his voice sounding desperate. “We have to get out of here. Do you think your mother would want to see you get killed by the same people who got to her? Listen to me, Felicity!”
Felicity, who had been pacing frantically, stopped and turned to face Oliver at the mention of her name. “How do I know that you’re not the one who murdered my mother?” she demanded. “You tried to kill me - and Hollie, too.”
“I wasn’t going to hurt you,” Oliver said. “I needed to find you and get you away from here. I thought that scaring you would be the best way - but I was wrong.”
Felicity shook her head. Why was she listening to this?
Oliver spoke calmly. “If we leave now, we can get away. All you have to do is untie me.”
In spite of everything that she had just been told, Felicity couldn’t help but emit a short, sudden laugh. “Do you think I’m stupid?” she said. “I’m not going to untie you. If they’re after me, like you say, then fine - I’ll leave. I’ll get away. But I’m not going anywhere with you.”