by S McPherson
‘Take me.’ Lexovia shuffles him ahead of her, falling in step behind.
She is mesmerised. Traipsing through the woods is fine for she feels at ease and in somewhat familiar territory. However, as they leave the woods and come to a road, she stops, gripping Nathaniel’s arm between her fingers.
‘What is it?’ he asks, confused.
Lexovia exhales, taking in the much taller street lamps, flashing corner shop signs and sounds of dogs barking. Across the road, two men sit at a round table, on chairs seeming too small to bear their weight. They are large, bald and covered in ink. They laugh jovially as they shovel food from newspapers into their mouths.
‘Just...different.’ Lexovia takes another deep breath then releases his arm.
‘Follow me,’ Nathaniel says, ‘and try not to look so stunned.’
Lexovia closes her mouth, which she only now realises is hanging open, and follows after Nathaniel as he crosses the street. There are cracks in the tarmac. She peers down at them, admiring the reflection of the streetlights. Then she spies a manhole. She wanders over to get a better look. It is round and has strange carvings in it. There are a few letters engraved there and she crouches down, squinting to make sense of them.
‘Look out!’
Lexovia screams as the sound of a horn blasts and a large vehicle narrowly swerves past, just missing her as she leaps out of the way. Trembling, she watches the driver race off, shaking his finger at her through the window and bellowing something she can’t quite hear over the loud thumping of her heart.
Nathaniel races over.
‘What are you doing?’ he pants.
Lexovia gapes at him, wide-eyed and speechless.
‘No cars in your world?’ he asks as he helps her to her feet.
‘No.’ Lexovia lets out a shuddery breath. ‘No cars in Coldivor.’
Feeling sorry for her, Nathaniel wraps an arm around her shoulders and leads her to the pavement.
‘Come on,’ he sighs, ‘not much farther now.’
The next day, comfortably curled up on a sofa in the dorm room the college gave her and enjoying her very first television show, Lexovia is incredibly annoyed when a shrill sound butchers the punch line. She studies the room in the hope of identifying the offensive noise. Perhaps the clock? Or the television itself? She struggles to find the mute button on the remote control and in the end simply switches it off. The sound stops. She sighs.
Why do the Corporeal enjoy watching television if that’s what it does?
She considers going to the library that Nathaniel told her about but her thoughts are interrupted by the sound starting up again. She glances at the television. It is still off. Getting up, she decides to follow the noise. It leads her over to the bed by the window. Jumping as the sound screeches into her ear, she turns and notices the mobile phone Nathaniel gave her, flashing blue on the bedside table.
Of course. She rolls her eyes, we learnt about telephones in Humanitorium. Never did discuss how irritating the sound is, though.
Tapping the green button, as she had been shown, she holds the instrument to her ear.
‘Hello?’
‘Dezaray.’ It is a gruff voice. ‘Get down ‘ere. We’re short staffed since I had to fire you.’
‘Who is this?’
‘Don’t be a smart arse,’ snaps the voice. ‘Get yourself down here or else.’
Suddenly, it clicks.
‘Drake?’
‘Well done.’ The line goes dead.
Nathaniel arrives quickly, carefully writing down the directions and bus routes to Steak Home. He’s brought Dezaray’s uniform and Lexovia wriggles into it, combing her hair down in an attempt to hide the points of her ears.
‘I told you it was her work phone,’ he grumbles, still jotting things down. ‘Why did you answer?’ Now finished, he takes the instructions and folds them into her hand.
‘I thought it might be you.’ Lexovia grimaces. ‘Given Dezaray and Drake’s last encounter, I didn’t actually expect him to call.’
‘They have a strange relationship those two.’ Nathaniel slumps down on the settee. ‘I’ve given up trying to understand it.’
‘Why does Dezaray stay?’ Lexovia creases her brow. ‘How, knowing every Saturday that’s what awaits her?’
‘It isn’t every Saturday to be fair,’ Nathaniel scoffs, ‘if you can call that fair. More often than not, he is too drunk to lift a finger, and sometimes he is actually quite nice to her.’
Lexovia snorts, ‘How long has it been going on?’
Nathaniel is thoughtful. ‘Just over a year now. They say there are five stages of grief; Drake hit anger one day and stayed there.’
Lexovia chews her bottom lip as she shrugs on her coat. ‘What’s your connection to them anyway?’ she asks, pulling on her boots and tying up the laces.
Nathaniel rubs his brow. ‘Gardener turned friend I suppose. Their parents hired me.’
‘Oh, so you knew them?’
Nathaniel nods.
‘What happened?’ Lexovia is interrupted by the sound of the phone shrieking yet another time.
‘You should go.’ Nathaniel gets to his feet, ‘Best to keep up appearances until we sort this mess out.’
Lexovia reluctantly follows him to the elevators and eventually out into the night.
‘Got your instructions?’ he asks.
‘Got ‘em,’ and Lexovia holds up the folded piece of paper.
Nathaniel nods. ‘Okay, I’ll wait to hear from you.’
‘Bye.’ Lexovia turns to leave.
‘Remember, if he tries anything...’
‘I know,’ Lexovia calls back, shooting an amber spark from her fingertip.
‘That’s my girl,’ she hears Nathaniel shout after her.
Smiling slightly, she slowly makes her way down the road to the bus stop on the corner. She unfolds the paper and reads, ‘Number 73. Stridel.’
It’s a frosty night. She pulls her gloves out from her coat pocket and yanks them on, followed by a swift adjustment of her hood, tighter over her ears.
There is a couple quite involved at the bus stop when she arrives. They are locked in a passionate embrace, smashing into the walls and poles around them. Averting her stare, Lexovia sweeps past and takes a seat, stamping her feet to keep warm.
The lady groans. Lexovia clears her throat in an attempt to break them apart but they do not seem to notice, and if they do, they don’t care. They lie on the bench next to her, their heads constantly bashing into her side.
‘Number 73. Stridel.’ Lexovia shifts awkwardly. ‘Number 73. Stridel,’ she repeats, her eyes deliberately averted.
I am definitely not in Coldivor anymore.
LIFE AS A COLTIS
I wake up and for a brief moment forget where I am. Sunlight slides through the sides of a pleated curtain and a ceiling above me is an odd shape: curved on one side, straight on the other and coming to a point – in fact, the whole room takes this shape. It’s small and the walls are red brick. There’s a wooden door to my right; the one leading to the rest of the house and another door lies ahead of me on the left. I assume this is the bathroom. As more aspects start to register, I realise I can hear the sound of crunching. Peering through my eyelashes, I notice bite-marks appear around the edge of an apple shaped artefact resting on the bedside table. Once the ornament is completely gone – apparently eaten by an invisible biter – it reforms and the noisily removed chunks, slightly louder now, begin to vanish from it once more. I stare at it, puzzled. It’s clear glass with a centre of swirling red. Is this Lexovia’s alarm? And if so, how on Earth do I switch it off?
‘Shut up,’ I moan, pulling the pillow over my head to drown out the incessant crunching.
‘Clearly you’re not a morning person.’
I spring up, shocked to discover Milo standing at the foot of the bed. I fail to conceal my horror.
‘Sorry,’ he grins, not really seeming sorry at all, ‘The clashes are silenced here. Otherwi
se everyone would risk a heart attack every time someone teleported.’ He chuckles. He’s more beautiful than I remember. He fills the room with the scent of vanilla and his hair appears darker and shaggier, as though wet from his morning shower. His eyes rove over me, from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, again calculating, peeling me apart as if peeling off my clothes.
‘Oh.’ I subconsciously pull the quilt tighter around myself. Lexovia’s nightwear is a lot skimpier than I’m used to. In Islon, I sleep in a large t-shirt that once belonged to my dad and a pair of unflattering tracksuit bottoms. Words cannot express how glad I am Milo hasn’t wandered in on me wearing those. As I study him, I imagine he would look great in anything: a potato sack, a plastic bag, nothing – definitely nothing. I flush, foolishly afraid he can hear my thoughts. Although, am I imagining it or did he just snicker and disguise it as a cough?
‘Allow me.’ He saunters over to the apple still eating itself away and waves his hand over it. To my delight the ornament is once again whole and the crunching stops.
‘My hero,’ I drawl then wish I hadn’t for he grins as if I actually meant it. Perhaps sarcasm is lost on these people. At that moment, I unwillingly become aware of how close he now is to the bed, the bed I am in. I slide closer to the opposite edge but that doesn’t put much distance between us.
Milo smirks, his stare unnerving, pinning me like a vice. His eyes tell a story; one of laughter and mischief. I wish I knew what he was thinking; I hope he doesn’t know what I am. The moment seems to stretch on for hours though it’s no more than a few seconds.
‘You better get dressed,’ he says.
‘Right.’ I clear my throat and clamber out of bed, making sure the nighty properly covers my backside as I lean over and peer at a glass chest of drawers. It’s actually quite a great invention. From the outside, it seems as if you’re looking straight through the glass into the chest’s neat and minimally stacked drawers, but when you open them up, you find they are in fact brimming with clothing.
Lexovia’s style is so incredibly different to mine – for one thing she has more colour than black and white – she has what I call happy colours: an array of reds, blues and even something as brazen as yellow. I gawk in disbelief. What am I doing here? My stomach lurches and I swallow the urge to slam shut the drawers and hide under the bedcovers.
‘Everything alright?’ Milo asks. I murmur some sound of agreement then, like eating something you’re sure you won’t like – quick and without looking – swiftly plunge my hand into the drawers and pull out the first top and bottom my hands land on. I stare down at the items, a cream jumper and a pair of intentionally torn trousers; acceptable.
‘You’ll need this too.’ Milo rummages through Lexovia’s wardrobe and pulls out a navy-blue blazer with black trimming. It has a silver button with some symbols embossed on it but I don’t pay it much attention. That’s when I notice Milo is wearing a similar blazer only his is cut for a man and he’s rolled up the sleeves so they ruffle at the elbow; his button hangs undone. It suits him. I drag the jacket towards me; it’s a lovely soft fabric I can’t identify.
‘Thanks.’ I wait to remove my nighty, acutely aware Milo is still standing here, watching me, and the hair on the back of my neck rises to attention. ‘Are you planning on staying here the whole time?’
‘Is that an offer?’ I hear the cheeky grin in his tone. My heart misses a beat. I don’t know how to respond. If I were braver, I might say ‘maybe’ with a flirtatious arch of my eyebrow and begin undressing, but I’m not.
‘No, it’s not,’ I reply stiffly.
‘I’ll leave you to it then.’ He chuckles lowly and evaporates from the room. I breathe, unaware I was holding my breath. I feel giddy and nauseous at the same time, and flopping back, smother a scream in the pillow.
‘You can do this,’ I tell my reflection in the bathroom mirror, so very aware I am lying. I sigh and rinse my face for the second time. It was by sheer luck that I managed to work the tap; a small glass sphere. I waved my hand over it as Milo had done the alarm and to my relief icy clear water ran out of it. When I wave my hand the other way, the water heats up and the sphere turns red. My skin seems paler than usual and I pinch my cheeks in a desperate attempt to add some colour. Still unsatisfied, I run my fingers through my hair to tousle it. It’s funny; I never gave much thought to my appearance, yet here, around Milo, I now find it quite high on my list.
When growing up, people told me I was pretty, that I looked just like my mother, but they also said I should dress better, style my hair, and get some sun. I practice all sorts of smiles in the mirror. I watch how my lips bend, how my teeth unattractively flash. I know I’m supposed to look happy but I look more like I’m in pain. How would Lexovia smile? She actually seemed like she didn’t smile too often herself, making it that more special when she did. I remember her looking strong and fierce. I scrunch my eyes and stick out my lips, my cheeks turning crimson – far from fierce. Who am I kidding? I’m going to be the reason we all get arrested. Come to think of it, I don’t actually know what will happen if people suspect I’m not Lexovia.
I yelp as a pounding on the door causes me to knock a small bottle of green liquid into the sink.
‘What’s going on in there?’ Milo calls.
I glance at my watch. I’ve been in here for twenty-five minutes and I’ve spent the last ten giving myself a pep talk. I’m basically ready but can’t seem to let go of the sink.
‘I couldn’t figure out how to use the shower,’ I lie; a bad lie too as I simply had to step into a small empty room with no ceiling and water sprinkled down onto me, like a segment of the sky was raining. It was the perfect temperature and tasted almost sweet. ‘Be out in a minute.’
Finally, I emerge from the bedroom and Milo stalks towards me.
‘Twenty-seven minutes!’ he announces. How does he know? I’m yet to see him wear a watch or even see a clock in this place.
‘We’re going to have to teleport.’ He wraps an arm around me, pulling me close – I camouflage a shudder as mixed feelings run through me; somewhere between ‘get your hands off of me’ and ‘never let me go’ – and with a wave of his index finger and a spiral of blue, we are gone.
Instantly, or so it seems, I hear a loud clash and manifest in front of a large, arched door complete with an ostentatious lion knocker. Looking behind me, I see the wide steps of a stone staircase leading down onto the familiar dusty ground I trudged across last night. In the distance is nothing but empty land and a few scattered trees. Then I gasp. Near the stairs is a row of carriages, each one being pulled by an unsightly six-legged creature with scaly beige skin and large black eyes. It has a pig’s snout and three sharp horns on its head. I turn dumbfounded to Milo.
‘Stay calm,’ he murmurs.
I’m about to question him but no sooner do my lips part when two stumpy guards in tweed suits appear in a dense cloud of mist. I release a strangulated squeak and feel my eyes widen further, but on the whole, I suppose I manage the pretence of staying calm.
‘Tardy again I see,’ scowls one of the dwarfs. I watch as bubbles of spit bounce between his lips on every syllable. He really is quite hideous; they both are. Their skin is a dirty yellow with thick, orange, whiskers protruding from their ears, cheeks and chin. They have slanted, reproachful beady eyes, long, drooping snouts and a mass of ginger hair standing up on their heads. I’m amazed at how my feet stay firm. Granted, I never imagined this scenario, but if I did, I wouldn’t have painted myself seemingly so serene.
‘When will you stop taking liberties?’ scolds the other.
‘Sorry, Boonov, Choaks.’ Milo feigns regret.
‘Been messing with potions I see,’ observes Boonov, eyeing me. I shift uncomfortably.
Luckily, Milo is quick to respond, ‘Bulliak potion. Great for growing hair.’
‘Yes,’ I flummox, ‘Bulliak.’ Once again, I’m surprised. My voice sounds so normal, much more normal than I feel. I don’t sound lik
e Lexovia, though. I watch them watch me and swallow, my eyes shifting, afraid they heard it. Everything now seems louder, time longer, my movements slower. I’m convinced they’re going to suspect something. But instead, they each hold up a spindly index finger that sparks green and immediately doubles in length. They turn to the door and use their extended fingers to tap the lion knocker in an odd rhythm. On the last tap, the lion grows larger. I instinctively grab on to Milo’s hand and squeeze until his knuckles turn white.
‘Ow,’ he hisses, but I don’t care or apologise. I feel like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. What is this strange land, Toto? My mind is racing away with me and I can’t even make sense of my jumbled thoughts anymore. Milo squeezes back, hard, a brisk crunch to snap me back to my senses. I glare at him before returning my stare to the creatures before me.
Boonov or Choaks glance at me and I widen my eyes once more. I’m trying to appear relaxed but I know I look more like a caged animal. Soon the lion is almost the same size as the door and its mouth creaks open, revealing a long corridor lined with classrooms leading off.
‘After you,’ Milo murmurs.
I awkwardly stretch my lips across my face before stumbling through the lion’s mouth and into the corridor.
I gasp, my gaze traveling its length, noting a winding staircase at its far end, beside it a grand stained glass window. There aren’t any lights on the ceiling but the hallway is well lit, bathed in a golden glow, and there appears to be lockers set into the wall, rows of brass handles marking them. It’s beautiful. Imogen said Melaxous was the poorer side of Coldivor, to where the Coltis were exiled; I wonder how grand their original home was.
I jump as a mop appears, scurrying across the corridor and straight through the opposite wall.