Shadow Over Sea And Sky

by K H Middlemass

  “It used to belong to someone else,” Emily said, voice turning quiet. “A friend of my family. But he died.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Nick said politely. Emily gave him a weak smile in thanks.

  “He was old, these things happen,” she said, trying to be nonchalant. “It’s not his house anymore. I have to keep telling myself that it’s Volkov’s.”

  “Simone told me all about your art,” Nick said. “This portrait sounds like a pretty big deal.”

  Emily thought for a moment. “I suppose it is.”

  “Emily’s never been one for praise,” Simone said, taking a sip of her whisky. “I’d say it’s a pretty big deal.”

  Emily’s stomach had tied itself in knots. Following Simone’s lead, she took a gulp of the dark golden liquid in her glass and tried not to wince as it hit the back of her throat and sent a sharp heat trickling through her body.

  “Have you been working on it long?” Nick asked. “The painting, I mean.”

  How to answer that simple question? Emily felt like the portrait had been looming in her life for years and years, when it had only been weeks. She thought of the sketchbook filled with failed attempts, all of them close to reaching something that remained just inches out of her reach. After the confrontation with Volkov, and she still wasn’t sure if it was a confrontation, she had tried to stop drawing despite the fear she felt from his threats, but had found it impossible. It was constantly on her mind, lurking in dark corners like a persistent shadow. Her room was filled with loose sheets of paper, crumpled and torn and smudged with pencils and charcoals and paints, hundreds of pairs of yellow eyes looking at her from every angle. Volkov had been right; she would finish it, even if it killed her, which was becoming more and more likely all the time.

  “A while,” Emily said finally. She took another gulp of whisky, a bigger one this time, clenching her eyes shut as she swallowed it down. “But I’m blocked. Something’s stopping me from finishing it.”

  Simone was looking at her quizzically. Emily turned her gaze to the fire. Suddenly, now seemed as good a time as any.

  “Can I talk to you both about something? I don’t really have anyone else who’d listen.”

  Simone and Nick gave each other a quick glance.

  “Do we need more drinks for this?” Simone asked.

  “Maybe,” Emily said, sighing. “Probably.”

  “Okay,” Simone said. “Guess we’d better get another round in.”

  ***

  It had taken Emily a while to figure out exactly how she was going to approach this. This wasn’t the same as it was with Abrahms, who had already convinced himself that the shadow of a vampire hung over Caldmar; Nick and Simone might just think that she was crazy, and she probably wouldn’t blame them if they did. She’d only just begun to repair her relationship with Simone and was afraid of disrupting the already shaky foundations they had been building in the last few weeks. How was she going to react to this? Would she just cut her out of her life, completely this time? Emily couldn’t afford to be friendless, not now, but these were risks that she would have to take.

  After Nick had brought more drinks and they were all once again settled in their seats, Emily began to recite the speech that she had prepared for herself, turning it over and over in her head until she was word-perfect.

  “Okay,” she said in a voice so unlike hers that she had to stop for a moment to remember what word came next. “What I’m going to say to you now, I just need you to understand that I know what it sounds like, and that I need you both to keep an open mind.”

  Simone and Nick shared that same glance again, a wordless communication between the two.

  “You look at us and think we’re not open-minded?” Simone gave Emily a reassuring smile. “We’re obviously not trying hard enough.”

  “Maybe a facial tattoo or some sort of elaborate piercing would do the trick?” Nick reached out and took Simone’s hand; their fingers hung intertwined over the expanse between the two chairs. Emily smiled weakly, feeling only a small amount of relief run through her, along with a little envy at Simone and Nick’s easiness and obvious affection for each other.

  “Simone, do you remember that day when we sat on the pier and you said that we needed to stick by each other and I said all that stuff about how I wasn’t feeling so good about the portrait anymore?”

  Simone nodded.

  “I said that I couldn’t make it work and that it was because my drawings suck.”

  Simone gave another nod. “Which they don’t, as we discussed.”

  “I was lying,” Emily said quickly, trying to make the words come as fast as she could. “I couldn’t make it work because I was scared.”

  “Scared?” Simone repeated quizzically, the smile quickly fading from her lips. “Scared of what?”

  “I didn’t really know at the time, but it’s just gotten worse and worse. Ever since I started going to that house, ever since I started the damn thing, I’ve been scared and confused and I don’t know what to do.”

  She was starting to sound desperate, so she bit back a little. When she looked down, her hands were visibly shaking. She clasped them together and looked down.

  There was silence for a moment. Simone released Nick’s hand gently and pushed herself from her chair. She went to Emily and squatted in front of her, swiftly taking her face into her hands and inspecting her closely, turning it gently left and right so she could see from all angles. Emily’s eyes darted to Nick, who had put down his drink and was watching in silence. God knows what he must think about all of this, she thought.

  “Holy shit,” Simone said softly, taking her hands from Emily’s face. “I’ve just noticed how tired you look. You could put the weekly shop in the bags under your eyes, Em. Are you getting any sleep?”

  Emily shrugged. “Some, not much though. I’ve been having bad dreams too, about Hugo and the house. And about Volkov.”

  “Did he do something to you?” Simone asked, her voice taking a dark and dangerous edge. “Because if he did, I’ll fucking kill him.”

  She hissed these last words through gritted teeth, and Emily couldn’t help but feel grateful that Simone would still care enough to be angry on her behalf.

  “It’s complicated,” Emily replied. “It’s not what he’s done. It’s what he might have done, or what he might do.”

  “How long have you been feeling like this, Emily?” Nick asked, the first words he’d spoken in a while.

  Emily thought about it. “Since my mother started getting sick, I suppose.”

  “It could be stress,” Nick offered. “I had to take a year out from university after my father had a stroke, because mum couldn’t take care of him by herself. Things like that can do strange things to you; I lost weight, I remember, and I barely slept a wink that year. All I could think about was my dad, wanting him to be well, to really be my dad again.”

  Emily nodded understandingly. “Did he get better?”

  “He did.” Nick said, a small smile crossing his lips. “It took a long time, but he got better. I’m sure your mum will, too.”

  “Okay,” Simone said, standing up. She looked flustered, hands on hips. “I don’t care if this is stress or whatever, I want you to go back to the start and tell us everything. It might help you to get it all out. We’re listening. Go.”

  So, Emily did. She told them about her first meeting with Volkov and how she had started to forget things. She told them about Victoria and how she was growing weaker every day, her father’s sudden absence, and about the wolf and the impossible painting hidden away in the attic. It all unfolded without control, the words falling from her lips like jewels from the cursed peasant girl in the fairy stories. Simone and Nick listened in silence, but Emily watched their faces carefully, trying to gauge their reactions. Nick gave the occasional nod and made little noises here and there like he was giving her story real consideration. Simone, meanwhile, became visibly restless the further into the story th
ey went, and more and more agitated. She looked like she was bursting to say something but knew better than to let it out. But when Emily came to the part about Abrahms and his story, Simone became still again the moment when she realised exactly what this whole thing was about.

  When Emily finished, the two of them remained still and quiet for what felt like forever. Simone’s eyes were brighter, her cheeks flushed, and Nick’s face had shifted into a contemplative expression, his chin resting on his balled-up fist.

  “I know it doesn’t make much sense,” Emily said. “And I know it all seems crazy, that I seem crazy. But I need to know what’s real and what’s not. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

  Simone, as ever, was the first to speak. “I’m not going to lie. This is some freaky shit you’re telling us, Emily.”

  Emily nodded sadly.

  “Freaky shit.” Simone repeated, using the words like punctuation. Nick gave her a look, one eyebrow raised.

  “You’re a sensitive soul, aren’t you?”

  “What do you want me to say, Nick?” Simone was clearly no longer in the mood for jokes. “Do you want me to act like this is all totally normal?”

  Emily felt like retreating into herself, cheeks growing hot. Simone’s eyes were bright with fury, glittering like a cat’s.

  “No,” Nick said in an even voice. “I think we all know that this isn’t normal, even Emily. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

  Emily felt a sudden rush of gratitude.

  “I have to admit, it’s all a bit strange,” Nick continued, eyes turning to Emily. They were warm and open, without a hint of judgement. “I think that there are certain things that could be explained rationally, but other things I’m not so sure about. I would say that the wolf was just your mind playing tricks on you, but then there’s someone else that says they’ve seen it. You could argue that the painting’s date is easily falsified, like a novelty picture he shoved up into the attic and forgot about, but from what you’ve told us this Volkov guy isn’t exactly the type.”

  Simone gave a huff and fell back in her chair, her arms hanging gracelessly over the sides.

  “That fucker,” she said darkly. “He sounds like a psychopath. He’s been messing with your head. You need to stop going up there. Cancel the commission and don’t accept another red cent from him, either. It’s not worth it, Emily.”

  “I wish I could,” Emily replied. “But he said that if I didn’t my mother would die.”

  “Victoria’s not going to die,” Simone said fiercely. “And you said yourself that it might have been a dream. How can a dream threaten you?”

  “Would you risk it if it was someone you loved?”

  Simone went to speak, but no words came. She looked at Nick, who looked back at her. Emily could see Simone running the same scenario through her head, the man before her in the place of Emily’s mother. Her brow creased in frustration and, after a moment, she sighed in resignation.

  “Even if there is something going on with this guy,” Simone said, turning sharply back to Emily. “You don’t actually expect us to believe that he’s a vampire, do you? Because that’s a really, really big ask and the whole supportive friend thing has its limits.”

  “I don’t expect you to believe anything,” Emily responded softly. “I’m not even sure if I believe that part myself. I just need you both to help me prove to myself it’s not true. I don’t think I can do it alone.”

  “Okay,” Nick said whilst Simone necked down the last of the beer in her bottle with unnecessarily large gulps. “What can we do?”

  Emily pretended to think, even though she already knew what the answer would be. The quiet was punctuated by Simone belching, which she somehow managed to do angrily. It was one of her greatest talents.

  “Will you both come up to the house with me?”

  Simone’s eyes widened. “You want us to meet the psychopath?”

  “No, no,” Emily said quickly. “I meant during the day, when he’s not there. We could go now if you want. Just to walk around.”

  Simone looked unconvinced. Nick placed his hand on the small of her back and rubbed it gently, like he was trying to relax her. It was an intimate gesture; for a moment Emily felt like she was spying on something she shouldn’t be and looked away dutifully.

  “That’s where I thought I saw the wolf,” Emily continued. “Maybe all I need is to see that there’s nothing there with my own eyes, in the cold light of day.”

  “Simone?” Nick asked tentatively.

  Simone exhaled through her nose, closing her eyes for a second. “Fine, let’s do it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, if it’ll help you, let’s do it.” Simone set her bottle down on the table beside her and looked at Emily with grave eyes. “You didn’t judge me about my dad. Now it’s my turn.”

  It was all Emily could do not to jump up and hug her.

  2

  The tip of Emily’s boots brushed against the edge of the stone pathway to the house. She glanced over her shoulder to see that Simone was instinctively clutching at the sleeve of Nick’s jacket, compelling him to pull her closer and place a reassuring arm around her.

  “Are you absolutely sure that this is ok?” Simone asked Emily. “It’s a bit too creepy, even for my tastes.”

  Emily turned back to look upon the graveyard that stretched out before them. The air was so chilly that their breath hung in the air.

  “He told me himself,” she said softly. “He’s never here during the day.”

  With that, she took a step forward and began to move down the path. As she walked she caught the sound of Nick whispering something to Simone, the beginnings of her reply, and quickly busied herself by observing the gravestones. When Hugo still lived in the house, the graveyard was always kept in splendid care. The gardener, a genial and elderly man named George Marner, had been in the Fairbanks’ employ since he was a young man. Once a week since he was eighteen years old, George had trimmed the grass and de-weeded the grounds and kept the headstones standing upright without fail. He didn’t work there anymore, like the rest of the staff.

  Emily heard Simone and Nick’s footfalls behind her and slowed up until they were walking alongside her. No one spoke. They walked past two weeping angels carved from marble, one of which was suffering from a broken wing. The tip of its stone feathers lay crumbled by the angel’s feet.

  “Cheery,” Simone muttered under her breath. Nick laughed quietly.

  “It is a graveyard,” he said. Simone gently bumped him with her shoulder and began humming the tune of The Addams Family.

  “Not just any graveyard,” Emily said, noticing that she too was speaking in hushed tones. There was something about places like this that always made her voice small, like she had to appear appropriately reverent. “This belongs to the Fairbanks family. Or at least it did.”

  “That’s the old man’s clan, eh?” Simone said. She let go of Nick’s hand and wandered off a little to the left, over to one of the smaller headstones. She bent down and peered at the faded description, squinting her eyes to make it out. “Big family. They must have gotten busy.”

  “At one time,” Emily replied, ignoring the crude remark from her friend, “probably the largest family in Caldmar.”

  Simone tripped her way back to them, manoeuvring around the disturbed pieces of stone.

  “It’s a good job we don’t get many Goth kids around here or they’d have a field day,” she said glibly. She looked around her. “Where does it end?”

  “Near the bottom of the hill, I think,” Emily pointed to the horizon before them where the stones began to curve and descend. “Close to the cliffs.”

  “Let’s go then,” Simone said. “Lead the way, oh wise one.”

  They walked. The wind seemed to pick up as they got closer to the cliff’s edge, ruffling Simone’s spiky hair and sending Emily’s curls flying about her face, making it hard for her to see. As the cemetery came to its close, the graves began t
o thin out and the ground became less sturdy. Before long they stood at the edge, staring out at the endless grey expanse of the sea.

  “Hell of a view,” Nick said appreciatively, raising his voice against the howling of the wind that blew in their ears.

  “Water is water,” Simone retorted.

  “It is when you see it every day,” Nick shot back.

  Emily wasn’t listening. She had moved away down the cliff side, eyes fixed along the precipice. She walked slowly, aware of the way the wind pulled at her, but as close to the edge as she could. It was enough for her to see the waves revolting against the rocks, to see the flat of the cliffs as they descended downwards. She was getting further and further away from the house, but the further away she was, the closer she was getting to its end.

  “Hey!” she called to the other two. “I found something.”

  When they joined her, they too saw what she saw: a small curve to the cliff that led to a set of stairs that had been crudely carved into the rock. The brutality of the sea water had worn most of it away over the years, but there was still enough width left that a person could try and make their way down. From where they stood, they could see a small, dark cavern embedded in the cliff side. The cavern lay directly beneath the house.

  “We’re not going down there,” Simone said. “You’d have to be suicidal to go down there.”

  Emily ignored her. “I’m going. I want to see what’s down there.”

  “You’ll be blown off your feet and fall,” Simone admonished. “It’s too dangerous.”

  Emily looked back at her and raised an eyebrow. “What happened to the fearless Simone I knew? You’ve done stuff way more dangerous than this.”

  “That was before I developed a sense of self-preservation,” Simone threw back. “And nothing I ever did required me to throw myself from a great height.”

  But Emily knew that she’d hit the right mark; a little of that steely determination had come back into Simone’s face the way it did whenever her pride was challenged.