Alistair had raced to him. “What’s wrong?” he’d asked, wide-eyed at the sight of his friend in such despair.
For a moment, Felix had been startled by the company. “I can’t smell pine,” he murmured at last, his eyes bloodshot and swollen.
“Pine?” Alistair stuttered.
“Do you remember the scent of pine?” Felix went on despondently. “Our houses smelled so strongly of it. It used to infuriate me at times. It was on our clothes, and in our hair… My mother’s overcoat smelled terribly of it.” He paused. The desert wind lifted grains of sand and whipped them against their skin. “She’d spend her afternoons walking the hills, and she always returned home smelling of trees. I’ve forgotten the smell, Alistair. I miss it.” His final words were hoarse and unsteady.
Alistair said nothing. He simply sat beside his friend, gazing into the vast, empty space spanning before them. They stayed there all night, waiting patiently for the sun to bring the light of a new day.
Later that year, the boys had returned to the Cynon Valley, where the scent of pine filled the air and clung to its inhabitants. It was Alistair who’d suggested they return. He’d told Loki it was because he’d quite like to live in the castle in the hills. Loki approved the idea at once. Felix did, too.
Alistair glanced at Loki now, as they roamed the streets of Rushwood. Dear little Loki, he thought. He might have been as strong as ten men, but inside he was as fragile as glass.
Alistair placed an arm around Loki’s shoulders. To anyone watching, they could pass as two brothers heading home from the train station with burlap bags slung over their shoulders. Alistair decided that if anyone asked, that would be their story. He’d speak to them quite casually, as if he were no different from them. Yes, that was his plan. Though he hoped he’d never have to use it.
They walked in silence towards the church.
“Look, Loki,” Alistair whispered. “It’s rather handsome, isn’t it?” Their eyes travelled up the stone face of the building, all the way to the high steeple with its round, stained-glass window facing out.
Loki nodded his head, stray blonde tendrils spilling over his eyes. He brushed them aside. “Do you think Jeremy Smith is in there somewhere?” he asked, gazing beyond the churchyard to where headstones formed rows along the grass.
Alistair exhaled softly. “I hope so.”
“What if he isn’t?”
“Then we’ll just have to find a bullet some other way.”
Loki folded his hands together, deep in thought. “Alistair,” he said, “since when do hunters need to be vanquished with a Piriot?”
“I don’t know,” said Alistair, trying to appear indifferent. This had been a conversation he’d been trying to avoid all night. “I’m sure it’s not that uncommon.”
“But what is this Severan? It’s so strong. And a Piriot? We’re up against something big, aren’t we?”
“Felix knows what he’s doing,” Alistair replied vaguely. He hoped that thought would be enough to end the discussion.
But Loki wasn’t ready to let go yet. “Do you get the feeling that Felix is keeping something from us?”
“No,” said Alistair, loyal to the last even though he was absolutely certain there was truth in Loki’s words.
****
Loki trudged over the boggy ground, his feet sinking into the mud with every step he took. Alistair didn’t appear to be having quite the same trouble.
I suppose it helps to be tall, Loki guessed, scrutinising Alistair’s lean frame. He would have liked to have been tall—and he might have grown to be, had he been given the chance to grow at all. Yes, I would have been very tall indeed, he decided. Taller even than Alistair, perhaps. And certainly taller than Felix.
He mused over the fantasy for a while. He was sure his father had been tall, though his memories of those days had faded quite a bit by now. He supposed that was to be expected. After all, many years had passed. Many, many years.
Loki looked down at his hands. They were still youthful in appearance, and certainly not the hands of a two-hundred-year-old man. Absentmindedly, he touched his face. His skin was soft and smooth—not like Alistair and Felix, who showed regular traces of coarse stubble along their jaw lines, giving away their six-year advantage on Loki.
How he envied those six years. He didn’t begrudge the other two for it; he simply wished it upon himself also. It sounded strange, wishing for six years and yet wishing away an eternity. But Loki had quickly learned that wishing never seemed to get him very far. Until Bronwen came along, that is.
Not only had she brought the promise of a cure—something which, despite Alistair and Felix’s conviction of the opposite, Loki had never given up hope on—but more exciting than that, she’d brought herself. A new friend. The big sister he’d always secretly wanted. If he was honest, he didn’t even mind that she’d rearranged the kitchen. Because, he supposed, that was what big sisters did.
Ahead, in the Rushwood cemetery, Alistair came to a stop. He placed his bag on the ground and stared down at a gravestone.
Loki picked up his pace and hurried to join him.
“Have you found Jeremy?” he asked.
Alistair nodded slowly. “This is it. Jeremy Smith,” he read aloud, “lost soul.” A thick black line crossed through the inscription, staining the old stone.
“Lost soul?” Loki frowned. “Why has his grave been drawn on like that? You can hardly read his name.”
Alistair sighed sadly. “It was an old tradition. When a person was possessed by evil, their grave would be marked to ward off mourners and well-wishers. I’m sure a werewolf’s death was not deemed a virtuous end, and I imagine that’s why his headstone is inscribed with lost soul. They probably thought Jeremy was no longer of his body.”
“But his soul wasn’t lost. Jeremy was still in there somewhere,” Loki protested, a rush of emotion shooting through his heart. “It wasn’t his fault. Jeremy was still in there.” He dropped to his knees and began scrubbing at the black mark, trying to clean it from the stone with the heel of his hand.
“I know that, Loki. Some people just… can’t understand.”
“I don’t like it,” Loki said urgently. “I want it gone.”
Alistair gently pulled him to his feet. “I’m afraid it’s permanent,” he said. The final words hung heavily in the air, silencing the boys for several bated seconds.
“Very well,” Loki replied at last. “Then let’s at least pay our respects, as it should have been done. I’d like to say goodbye to Jeremy.” He puffed out his chest. “Dear brother Jeremy,” he began. “May you be honoured for the bravery in your heart, and the obstacles you faced. May your soul finally rest in peace.” He bowed his head, signalling for Alistair to do the same.
When Loki spoke again, his voice was quieter. “At least we’ve had each other,” he said. “What if Jeremy had no one?”
“It’s best not to think such sad things,” said Alistair diplomatically. “After all, who’s to say he didn’t have a wonderful life? I’m sure he had someone very special who cared for him deeply.”
“I hope so,” said Loki. “Maybe there were three of them, like us. And they were best friends, and had each other no matter what.” He paused. “Or maybe there was a girl who cared for him in the way Bronwen cares for Felix.”
Alistair smiled. “Maybe.”
“Do you think he’ll stay?”
“Who?” Alistair’s brow creased.
“Felix. When we get the cure, do you think he’ll choose to stay?”
Alistair thought about it for a moment, looking to the sky as he searched for the perfect words. “I’m sure a part of him will yearn to stay,” he answered at last. “But, in the end, I don’t believe he will.”
Loki stared at the black mark on Jeremy’s gravestone. “I’ll miss him, you know. I’ll miss you, too.”
Alistair smiled again. “I’m sure we’ll all be together, wherever we end up.”
Loki brightened at the t
hought. “Then I hope you’re right about Felix, because I’d miss him so very much if he wasn’t there. Is that selfish of me?”
Alistair shook his head but remained silent.
“He loves her, doesn’t he?” said Loki.
“Yes. I believe he does.”
“I wonder what that’s like.”
“I imagine it’s quite wonderful.”
“I wish they could be married.” Loki glanced at Alistair, a playful grin spreading across his face. “I like her a lot, and I think we would all have such happy times together.”
“Yes,” said Alistair, smiling affectionately. “I’m sure we would. And if things were different, I’m certain they would be married.”
“Do you think they’d name their first child Loki?”
Alistair laughed. “I think they just might.”
Loki turned back to Jeremy’s grave. “Well,” he said to the earth underfoot, “it was nice meeting you, Mr. Smith.” He retrieved a shovel from his bag. “And I hate to disturb you, but this is a matter of life and death.”
Chapter Thirteen
Time Keepers
Bronwen awoke at sunrise. A warm orange glow crept in through her window, tinting the thin white drapes. She was in her room at the cottage, still wrapped in Felix’s jacket. His plan must have worked, because the Severan had stayed away. At least, she assumed that was the case. She glanced to the hallway in search of Felix, but he was no longer there.
Restless now, she crawled from her bed and straightened out the sheets and pillows. After a quick change of clothes, she made her way downstairs. It was still early, so she hadn’t expected Ada to be awake. She was surprised when the sound of muffled voices drifted from the living room.
Bronwen tiptoed noiselessly down the staircase and came to a stop at the closed door. She held her breath and listened.
“We won’t speak of this again,” Felix was saying. “As far as you’re concerned, none of this happened.”
“But it did happen,” Ada replied, fraught.
“I’m warning you, if you even so much as think of breathing a word of this,” Felix hissed, “I will kill you faster than—”
Bronwen flung the door open, stopping Felix mid-flow. Startled, he quickly slipped a piece of paper into his back pocket. Before it disappeared from her sight, Bronwen caught the word Lantrice printed across the top of the page.
I know that word from somewhere, she thought at once.
Ada’s eyes widened at the sight of her.
“What’s going on?” Bronwen demanded.
“Hello, my love,” Ada said nervously. “You’re up early.”
“What was that?” Bronwen glared at Felix’s pocket.
“Paper,” Felix said casually. “What did it look like?”
“What was on the paper?”
“Everything your grandmother knows about the Severan. I thought it would be useful to have it all written down.” He pulled out a fistful of papers from his pocket and waved them around.
Bronwen turned to Ada. “What’s going on?”
“Felix is telling the truth,” she replied. “He wanted to make sure he had all the information.”
“I heard him threaten you.” This time she was sure she wasn’t imagining things.
Ada chortled. “He’s a colourful young man, I know. But he means no harm. He has your best interests at heart.”
“I do,” said Felix. “You know that. She knows that. Now can we leave, please? Alistair and Loki should be back by now. Excuse me if I’m a little short tempered, but I’d very much like to get this over with.” He stuffed the papers back into his pocket.
Bronwen looked helplessly between Felix and Ada. Something was definitely not right. But why would they both lie to her? They were the two people she trusted most in the entire world. It didn’t make sense.
“Everything’s fine, Bronwen,” Ada assured her, catching her anxious gaze. “We’re just all feeling a little tense at the moment. It’s nothing to concern yourself about.”
Felix rubbed his brow. “Yes, I’m tense. I’m sorry if I spoke out of line, Ada,” he said, although Bronwen presumed the apology was solely for her benefit. “Thank you for your hospitality. We’ll be on our way now.”
“Safe journey,” Ada replied, perfectly amicable.
This is weird, Bronwen thought, eyeing them doubtfully. The polite smiles were almost more bizarre than the hushed voices and threats. Very weird.
“Are you ready to leave?” Felix asked.
She stared at him for a long moment. “Yes,” she said slowly. “I’ll just get my bag.”
“I’ll get it,” Felix offered, his forced smile still fixed in place.
Bronwen watched as he strolled out of the living room, returning several seconds later with her jam-packed shoulder bag. He led the way through the kitchen and out into the dusty pink light of dawn.
Bronwen waved a final goodbye to Ada as they crossed the lawn and ducked through the back gate.
“Felix…” she began once they’d picked up their trail uphill.
He glanced at her. “Yes?” The rising sun shot spears of light through the trees and caught in his crimson eyes.
“I heard what you said to Ada,” she told him. “You told her you’d kill her.” Again, she added silently.
Felix let out a breath. “Oh, you know me,” he said lightly. “I can’t go a day without doling out a couple of death threats here and there. It’s part of my charm.”
Bronwen ignored his deflection. “Why were you so angry at her?”
“I wasn’t. I thought she was perfectly tolerable.” He paused. “Like I said, I’m sorry the tone got a little… heated. It won’t happen again.”
“It had better not,” Bronwen warned him. “I mean it, Felix. I’m getting sick and tired of your erratic behaviour.”
“Noted.”
“You would tell me if there was something I needed to know, right?”
“Yes,” he said definitely. He walked ahead, his face tilted skyward to let the morning sun warm his skin.
Bronwen trotted to keep in stride with him. “Do you promise me?” she said, catching his arm and drawing his eyes to hers.
Felix stopped. He turned to face her. Strands of black hair swept across his brow in the light winter breeze.
“I promise you,” he said. He held her gaze steadily for a little while longer. “I need you to trust me. Trust that I know what I’m doing.”
“I do trust you,” she surrendered.
He bowed his head. “Thank you,” he said.
Bronwen looked at him and, for a moment, he seemed almost dreamlike, as though he could vanish into thin air if he so chose. There was something enchanting about him, like he couldn’t possibly be of this world. It was as if he’d slipped through the cracks of another dimension—which, Bronwen supposed, wasn’t all that far from the truth.
He’s right, she realised suddenly. This isn’t his time. She felt a pang of sadness. Not for herself anymore, but for him, and for the life he had missed out on. The simple, monotonous normality of life that she took for granted.
“So?” Felix urged. “Are we okay?”
“Yes,” she answered. “We’re okay.”
“No more erratic behaviour,” he decided.
Bronwen summoned a smile. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
They carried on walking uphill, tramping through the undergrowth.
However, it wasn’t long before Felix stopped again. He tilted his head and breathed in the woody scent of the hills.
“Interesting,” he muttered.
“What is it?” Bronwen asked.
Felix stepped up to a nearby tree and ran his fingers along the bark, then leaned in and inhaled. “It’s been here.”
“The Severan?”
“It must have tracked you from the castle. Who knows how close it got…” His eyes glazed over in awe.
“If it made it this far, it could have tracked me all the way to the cottage
.”
“I imagine it came close.”
Bronwen felt a stab of fear. “Ada’s there alone.”
“Yes, but you’re not there. She’ll be fine. It’s not after her.”
Bronwen stared into the depths of the woodland. The trees crept upwards like rungs on an enormous ladder, leading high into the hills. It only wants me, she thought grimly. Why, was still unclear.
The rest of the journey went by in an introspective silence. By the time they reached the castle, Alistair was waiting for them on the drawbridge. With his strong, lean build he bore the stature of an Adonis.
“They’re home!” Alistair shouted, beckoning into the courtyard.
Buoyantly, Loki burst out onto the drawbridge and raced towards the open grass. Alistair trailed behind, a look of relief on his face.
“Did you get the bullet?” Felix asked as the other two approached.
Alistair slid his hand into his trouser pocket and produced a small silver pellet. He held it up under the glint of the sun.
“One Piriot B14 bullet,” he declared. “Near mint condition.”
Loki hopped from left to right. “We did it! We actually did it!”
“Well done,” Felix congratulated them. “How was the trek? No difficulties, I take it.”
“Not really. It was all fairly straightforward. We arrived in Rushwood at around midnight, found Jeremy Smith’s grave, Loki performed a small memorial service…” Bronwen and Felix exchanged a look.
“…and then we dug up the coffin and—”
Felix raised his palm. “I think our imaginations can take over from there, thank you, Alistair.”
“And it’s definitely the right bullet?” Bronwen asked.
Alistair nodded. “Unmistakable.”
“We did it,” Loki said again. “Do you realise what this means? We’ve won! Bronwen will get her life back, and we’ll get our death back—”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Felix cut him off. “All we’ve accomplished is digging up a werewolf.”
“Jeremy,” Loki corrected.
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