[Fosswell 01.0] A Brush With the Moon Read online

  It didn’t take long to unpack the few items I’d thrown into my backpack, so I decided to take a quick shower.

  The bathroom was straight out of the pages of Homes and Gardens Country House Designs. There was a roll-top bath with an antique style metal shower head and a square pedestal basin. The toilet had a wooden seat, an overhead cistern, and a porcelain-tipped pull chain. The bare floorboards were darkly stained, and forget-me-not flowered wallpaper covered the walls.

  At least the water had been hot, I thought five minutes later as I wrapped myself in a huge lilac towel.

  “Sorry. I was a little longer than I thought. Grandmother wasn’t in the best of moods,” Sebastian said from the other side of the door. “Are you okay in there?”

  Before I could answer, the door opened, and I turned to face him.

  A look of pure shock covered his face, and his jaw dropped. “Oh. My. God!”

  Chapter Twelve

  “WHAT IS IT?” I asked.

  “When were you planning on telling me you had a little secret of your own?” Sebastian said once he’d gained his composure.

  I started to dry my face.

  “Don’t,” he said, grabbing the towel. “I want to see.” He reached behind me, filled his palm with water, and patted it against my face. “Amazing. Of course, I’ve read about this in Eumann’s translations from the ancient tablets, but I never dreamt that I’d witness it in the flesh. It all makes sense now,” he said, peering at my face from every angle.

  He was treating me like an exhibit in a museum. I shivered with anger as well as the cold. “Would you mind telling me what the hell you’re talking about, and let me get dry, please?”

  “Sure. When you tell me how and when you were chosen.”

  “Sorry?”

  “You can’t deny it. Tokala’s left her mark written all over your face…so to speak.”

  I spun around to look in the mirror, gripping the sides of the sink, and stared at my reflection from every angle. I couldn’t see anything unusual and turned to face Sebastian once more, puzzled.

  He was laughing.

  “You can’t see it yourself. Only the magical eyes of our world can. Even then, the image must be viewed through the refraction caused by water. So, be careful where you get wet.”

  “How do you know about Tokala?”

  “Father made us study the old ways as part of our education. Tokala is one of three immortal goddesses from old Elysium folklore. The goddesses rule for a thousand years before choosing a successor. They all have alternate animal forms, and Tokala’s is a pure white fox. Her seekers bestow the gift of longevity through their bites to the most deserving of souls, who are then expected to repay the kindness by fighting for the good of all.”

  That sounded familiar. But fight? I couldn’t fight. I used to be the school bully’s favourite plaything. I would have to be bestowed with a little more than just longevity if anyone wanted me to fight. But I was intrigued. “What do you see? Am I a hideous monster?”

  “Of course not. It’s like a hologram. From certain angles, the light bends and reveals another image. It transforms your face into that of a fox. It’s pretty cool, but it definitely complicates matters and explains why some people might want you dead. The Reiths will be aware that a new tenderfoot has been chosen, and they will want to eradicate the threat as soon as possible.”

  I stroked away tiny droplets of water from my arm, tracing the outline of the scar left by the bite, wishing it would erase. “Are you saying that Beth’s poisoning and my imprisonment here are because…because of the bite?”

  “This is your sanctuary, not your prison. My only thoughts are for your safety. But we need to know if anyone else could have discovered your secret. Try to remember all the times you’ve had a wet face since your arrival here, and who could have seen it.”

  “Well, apart from you, just Beth. I think.”

  “Okay. And what about the rain? That would have the same effect, even through glass.”

  “Glass?”

  “Yes. For instance, if someone saw you through a rain-splattered window.”

  “Oh. I see. Actually, do you mind?” I said, shoving him out of the bathroom. “I’d like to get dressed.”

  “Hmm? Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

  I quickly dried myself and thought about the weather. “I think it’s only rained once since I’ve been here. I remember waking up to it that first morning at uni,” I shouted through the door. “But it’d stopped before I left. So, no.”

  “Okay. Good.” Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief, then sucked his breath back in sharply. “The Halloween ball. Did you go near the vamps? I mean, within, say…six feet or so?”

  “Um, no. No, I don’t think so.”

  “Good. They have an excellent sense of smell, even better than ours. They would have smelt Tokala’s scent on you.”

  A minute later, I was dressed, and I returned to the bedroom. Sebastian had vanished. I opened the door to the landing, searching left and right. No sign.

  “Seb? Seb?” I called nervously.

  “I’m right here, babe.” His voice came from behind me.

  “Well, you weren’t,” I said, confronting him. “And it’s not the first time you’ve pulled a disappearing act on me. What’s going on?”

  He considered his answer. “It’s one of our abilities,” he said, shrugging. “It’s called tripping. It basically means we can jump through space from one moment to another.”

  “Wow. Like teleporting, you mean? That’s kinda cool. Scares the shit out of me, mind, but it’s still cool. How does it work?”

  “You just visualise where you want to be and hone your mind.”

  Seemed simple enough. “What else can you do?”

  “Oh, you know the drill: strength, speed, night vision, good sense of smell. The usual stuff.” He shrugged. “Anyway, Connor’s coming, and I do need to go.”

  “Hey, bro.” Connor suddenly materialized beside us.

  “That’s quite impressive. How did you know he was coming? Are you telepathic too?” I asked.

  Sebastian laughed. “No. Part of the package. We can sense when someone’s tripping in. Look, I really need to fly before Dad gets his fur in a knot.” And with that, he kissed me on the cheek and vanished into thin air.

  “If you can do that, why bother having cars?” I asked Connor.

  “The chicks, dude. Hot cars equal hot chicks.”

  “Right. And, seriously?”

  “Seriously? Gotta keep up appearances. Besides, driving’s fun.”

  “I see.”

  “Cool. Look, you okay here? I’m no good at small talk. Don’t want things getting awkward, know what I mean? My room’s down the landing. You can call if you need me. I’m guaranteed to hear,” he joked, flicking his ear.

  I knew what he meant. I was no good with idle chitchat either. One of the reasons that I was such good friends with Beth was that she could talk enough for the both of us.

  “Do you mind if I explore a little? Sebastian…Seb, said I could.”

  “Sure, no problem. Should be safe enough within these walls. Best not go outside, though,” he said as he opened the door.

  “Okay, thanks. See you later.” I watched him walk to his room.

  He turned, bowed his head to one side, gave a weird salute of two fingers off his nose, as if he was blowing me a kiss, beamed a smile which I was sure had melted plenty of girls’ hearts, and closed his door.

  I was of two minds about leaving my cosy room to wander around a draughty old mansion, but my curiosity won again, so I grabbed my jacket and set off down the landing.

  I’d already seen Sebastian’s room, and the next one was Connor’s, so I continued down the line to the last door and opened it.

  It was a sad room, a morbid reminder of a childhood lost. Evidently, it had been Tamar’s room as a little girl. Dolls and teddies, long neglected and unloved, were suffocating under a thick layer of dust. In the window alcove, a small table an
d chair set was laid out for afternoon tea, although clearly only spiders had dined recently. An old wooden doll’s house stood against the wall. Paint had flaked off the roof, a headless doll lolled out of an upstairs window, and a one-legged doll lay on top of the broken front door in the garden. It looked like a massacre had occurred. I felt as if I were intruding on a private scene and hurriedly closed the door.

  On the opposite side of the corridor, there were two more rooms, but when I tried the handles, I found them both locked.

  Downstairs, I was drawn to a room just off the hallway, where I discovered the library—a circular, two-story room with curved shelving on the ground floor, set out like one of those little plastic ball bearing toys. Almost every conceivable bit of wall space was crammed with bookshelves, overly stuffed with old leather-bound volumes except for one small section where an antique leather-topped desk stood, guarded by the portrait of a man. A wooden ladder ran on runners around the circumference of the room, allowing access to the narrow gallery floor above, and rays of light streamed down through twinkling dust particles from the domed glass ceiling.

  I’ve always loved books. Escaping from reality into an engrossing story is second only to painting on my relaxation list, so I lazily strolled around the shelves, studying all the rare and unusual titles in an attempt to find a little light bedtime reading. The filing system wasn’t exactly Dewey decimal, but I soon got the gist of it.

  After a while, I came across a classics section, where I discovered a gorgeous first edition of Pride and Prejudice, a story that had been a favourite of mine since my Nanna gave me a copy for my eleventh birthday. I couldn’t resist taking it over to the desk for closer study.

  I had not sat long, imagining Mrs Bennet prattle on about the letting of Netherfield Park, when a gruff cough sounded from above me.

  “That’s my seat. Nobody sits in my seat,” said a man’s voice.

  Pushing the chair back on its castors, I strained my neck in an attempt to find the voice’s owner up in the gallery.

  “Connor? Is that you?” I called. “You can quit it with the pranks. You don’t know me well enough yet.”

  “Connor would know not to sit in my chair,” growled the angry voice, behind me now.

  It had the desired effect. I jumped up immediately and spun around to face my accuser.

  There was nobody there.

  I scanned down past the shelving and around the room, but I saw no one.

  “I know it’s you, Connor. You’re supposed to be looking after me, not scaring me half to death,” I shouted into the aisles.

  I waited. No answer. So I turned, intending to retrieve the book from the desk, but instead I froze…and screamed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE LIBRARY door burst open, and a comforting pair of arms wrapped themselves around my trembling body.

  “Grandpa! What’ve you been told about scaring the guests?” Connor scolded the translucent image of a man who now occupied the seat.

  Grandpa? I exchanged looks between the image and Connor’s face, now unnervingly close to mine.

  “But your grandfather’s…dead,” I said.

  “And yet he hangs around like a bad smell, don’t you, Grandpa?”

  I suddenly realised whose arms were wrapped around me and eased out of his hold, my eyes still glued on the apparition.

  “You know I can’t leave, dear boy. Perhaps you should warn your guests of my presence, and my partiality for this chair, or maybe you could keep me properly informed when visitors arrive, so I don’t mistake them for burglars and treasure hunters. That is a rather valuable book, you know.”

  Connor turned to face me, and I can’t have been a welcome sight. I’m sure my wide eyes and slightly salivating, gaping mouth must have been off-putting. I was witnessing my first ghost. I tried to compose myself as Connor spoke again.

  “Sophie, this is…was Grandpa Joseph. Grandpa, this is Sophie, Seb’s girlfriend. She’s staying with us for a while.”

  “Sebastian’s girlfriend, eh? Well, that is a first. I’d shake your hand, my dear, but that would be a pointless exercise. Eh, what? Haw-haw. I’ll say one thing, though: he knows how to pick them, my grandson. You’re quite the looker, girl.” He pondered. “Yes, lucky boy, my grandson. You too, Connor.”

  “Enough, Grandpa,” Connor said, cutting his grandfather off. “Here, Sophie.” He handed me the book. “Let’s go sort some grub out. Grandpa, later.” He bowed his head to one side, in Grandpa Joseph’s direction, and touched two fingers briefly to his nose before dragging me out of the door.

  Lounging on the rug in front of the fire a little while later, Connor reluctantly told me his brief life story.

  He’d never met his biological mother. He was born out of wedlock after a one-night stand between her and his father while they were still at college. She was a devout, religious girl who couldn’t bear to have an abortion but didn’t want her future career ruined with a child, so she’d put him up for adoption. His father—Mr Lovell Senior’s brother—adopted him, but wasn’t ready for the responsibility of a child, and so had passed him from various nannies straight into public school without giving him a moment’s thought. Only after Connor had learnt what he was had he realised that he hadn’t been adopted because his father had wanted him; he’d been adopted because his father couldn’t let anyone else have him. It was quite a depressing story, and I felt sorry for the poor motherless boy as I stared into his older eyes and saw the sadness behind them.

  After we polished off copious amounts of chicken fried rice and spring rolls, the already sparse conversation dried up altogether, and Connor made his excuses to leave.

  I’d forgotten to pack my PJs, so I kept my sweatshirt on and hastened to bed with my book, wrapping the blankets tightly around me to stave off any icy drafts. It hit me then, the loneliness. Being alone didn’t bother me too much, but being alone in a strange house, a really strange house, did. I hoped that sleep would come soon.

  It didn’t. Lydia and Wickham had already run away to London by the time my eyes closed.

  ***

  In the end, I slept well, a dreamless sleep, woken only by my softly spoken name.

  “Sebastian? Is that you?” I murmured.

  “Sorry to disappoint,” Connor said, placing a tray on my bedside table. “Breakfast?”

  “Oh. Thanks,” I said, pushing myself to a sitting position as he perched tentatively on the side of the bed.

  He smiled. “Do you?”

  “What?”

  “Love New York?”

  I squinted down at my sweatshirt. “Oh, right. I’m sure I would, given half a chance.”

  He nodded. “I sussed you’re not the sort to eat takeaways every night, so I ordered the kitchen fitters to start work. I heard you like to cook, and seeing as you could be here for a while, well, I thought it’d give you something to do.”

  “Oh…um…that’s very generous of you,” I stammered, barely awake.

  “Nah, bit selfish, really. It was nearing the top of the to-do list anyway, but the pleasures of a family credit card and great connections can sometimes help to speed things up. Anyway, I haven’t had a home-cooked since school.” He grinned and carried on. “Not that I’m expecting you to cook for me or anything, just offering my services as a taste tester if you need one. They should be finished in a few hours.”

  He paused and looked at the tray. “Um, okay. I’ll, um…let you have your breakfast and…um…stuff.” He made to leave but turned at the last minute. “In case you didn’t know, there’s a TV in that cabinet over there.” And then he was gone.

  I wasn’t actually that hungry, but I didn’t want to appear ungrateful, so I ate the buttered toast, poured some tea from the teapot into the china cup, and found the television.

  It was later than I’d thought. The usual round of morning housewife shows had already begun, and I wasn’t in the mood to listen. It was all too real and normal, and I was beginning to prefer this new fantasy wo
rld.

  I got dressed and decided to check out the kitchen.

  Faint notes from a piano caught my attention as they drifted up the stairs. I picked up my tray and crept down towards the sound. It seemed to be coming from the ballroom, and I approached cautiously, entering unnoticed.

  The room looked bare. Tables and chairs were neatly stacked around the edges, and all traces of decoration from the Halloween ball had been removed. The space where the stage had been before was now occupied by a shiny grand piano, and the wolf’s image from the round window reflected off its shiny surface. Connor was sitting on the stool with his back facing me, playing beautifully.

  I advanced slowly. “Pretty tune,” I said, balancing the tray on my hip and leaning lightly against the piano.

  He didn’t look up. “Chopin.”

  “Music runs in the family, then?” I said, thinking about Jimmy.

  “Public school. Had to learn an instrument.”

  “Oh, really? What did Sebastian learn?”

  He stopped playing, leant back and gripped his knees with his hands, but still didn’t look up. “Look, sorry. I’d rather be alone. Do you mind?”

  Shocked at his rebuff, I took it as my cue to leave, and made a swift exit without knowing what I’d done to annoy him.

  Outside the kitchen, one of the workers took my tray without letting me in, so in the absence of a new toy to play with, I took my paints out onto the front steps for the afternoon, and I didn’t notice the time passing until the light began to fade.

  I knew the kitchen was finished. I’d spotted a white van leaving about half an hour previously, and after depositing the wet paintings in my bedroom, I skipped down to check it out, excited to see the result of the day’s efforts.

  Surprisingly, but pleasingly, not much had changed. The same sink remained under the newly glistening window. The back wall dresser had been retained, now clean and crammed full of glass storage jars filled with an assortment of dried ingredients. In place of the rickety old shelving, there now stood a silver American style double fridge, next to a newly built unit that housed a stacked double oven and grill. Located in the centre of the room, and perfectly matched to the units in green-painted wood, an island unit had been constructed to provide some much needed extra space.