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Chapter Two
West Parade
“Car clapped out, has it?”
The taxi driver who'd picked her up was friendly and sympathetic, but Emmi would have preferred silence. She fielded his questions as briefly as she could without rudeness, gave him the directions, and sank into the passenger seat, grateful that she didn’t have to navigate Lincoln’s tortuous one-way system herself that night, although as far as she could remember, from that end of town it would have worked more or less in her favour.
By the time she had reached Lincoln, the cathedral on the hill, always illuminated at night, stood out tall and proud against the darkness. The RAC truck had deposited her car at a garage down the far end of Monk’s Road, and arranged for a taxi to take her to her destination. Altogether, it taken the best part of an hour and a half.
“Here’s fine, thank you.”
Towards the end of West Parade, the taxi pulled in to the curb, some distance from Henry and Cecily Marshall’s house. The driver heaved Emmi’s suitcase out of the boot.
“I’ll take it up to the house, shall I? You look all in.”
Emmi forced a smile. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine. Honestly.”
She paid him, with a good tip thrown in.
“Thanks, love.” He closed the boot. “You sure you don’t need any help?”
“Really, I’m fine.” She began walking to prove her point. “Happy Christmas!”
“All right then, if you’re sure. Have a good Christmas yourself!”
After he’d gone, Emmi stopped and took a few deep breaths to clear her head. Then she walked slowly up the Victorian terrace, past the cheerfully lit windows and gaudy flashing lights of other people’s Christmases, towards the house that had once been her home. Was it really two years since she'd been here? She'd made an excuse last Christmas not to come. She knew it had hurt them. She couldn't do that to them again this year.
The wheels of her suitcase trundled on the paving stones behind her, sounding oddly hollow in the empty street. When she’d first left here eight years ago, she thought she'd never come back. But there was always that pull at her heart. Henry and Cecily had been the closest thing she had to a family. And Edwin. And Janie. And George.
So long ago now – all the fun and the noise and the rows. And the laughter. There had been a lot of laughter. Before it all got spoilt.
The house still looked the same: the old, red brickwork, the cracked tiles on the path and in the porch, the privet bushes in the tiny front garden. Except that the bushes were more overgrown now, and the blue paint around the door and on the window frames, looking an indeterminate muddy colour under the orange street lamps, was perhaps a little more flaked.
Emmi halted in the porch. She pulled out her key ring and looked at the old front door key, rather grubby and scratched now from all the years it had spent rattling around in pockets and being tossed onto coffee tables. Once she would simply have let herself in and gone through into the welcome warmth and light and laughter. But time had passed. So much time. That warmth didn't belong to her now. The key went back into her pocket.
She raised her hand to the bell, but was saved the awkwardness of having to ring it by the appearance of a familiar, lanky form, distorted through the frosted glass, but unmistakably Edwin. He must have been looking out for her. She smiled faintly. Good old Edwin.
He opened the door with the words, "What five o'clock do you call this?"
But a second later he'd taken in her face, lit from the hallway behind him. Without another word, he opened his arms, and she fell gratefully into them. Not that there was much of Edwin to cling to; but for the moment, she felt that the cold and darkness and fear, and the confusion and humiliation, of this horrible evening had retreated to the fringes of her mind, and left only blessed stillness.
Here was comfort. Here was safety.
After a few minutes, still hugging her, he said, "I take it the meeting didn't go well, then."
Meeting? Then she remembered. Margery Trent.
"I never got there. I was – unavoidably detained."
"I tried to call you, but I got your voicemail."
She didn't reply, but hugged him a little tighter. Just a few more minutes in this haven before she had to return to reality. He seemed to understand. Certainly he didn't speak again. He just held her, quite still, with the cold night air pouring around them into the hallway, until she took a deep breath and pulled away.
He stood back from her now, pushing his glasses up his nose in the gesture she remembered so well from their childhood. He hadn't changed all that much. His hair, a nondescript brown, still had that tousled look. It had always been resilient against his fiercest attempts to tidy it.
He scanned her face with concern, and catching sight of her own paleness in the hall mirror, she could understand why. There were little scratches here and there where tree branches had caught her as she ran, and her own hair looked as though it hadn't seen a brush in about a week.
"What happened to your hand?"
She looked down. "Oh, I skinned it on the road. It's a little sore, that's all."
"Have you had a fall? Emmi, what happened?"
She looked away for a moment.
"Can I tell you later?"
He nodded, and cupped a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Then he stepped outside, lifted her suitcase into the house, and closed out the night. "Come on," he said. "Let's get you that cup of tea."
He led her past the stairs to where more frosted glass shed light from the kitchen into the darker end of the hallway. A murmur of voices came from the other side of the door. The lowness of the volume showed that Janie had not yet arrived.
As they entered, George looked up from his laptop. He was even chubbier than the last time she'd seen him, his long wavy hair flowing free, and his worn black t-shirt sporting a jolly looking skull with two crossed guitars beneath it.
"You made it!" He favoured her with a stubbly grin, and she smiled back. It was impossible not to smile at George.
From the far end of the long room, Henry smiled and waved, while Cecily came forward and enfolded her in hug. Then she held her at arms' length. She, too, took in the scratches on Emmi's face and hands.
Edwin said, "She's had a fall, I think. She needs tea."
"Already working on it!" called Henry.
Cecily helped Emmi off with her coat and sat her down at the table beside George, on the padded bench under the window. Emmi rested her arms on the table and let Cecily clean the grazes on her face and knuckles, and the small cuts in her palm where the Keepsake had dug in as she clutched it during her flight. Ordinarily it annoyed her when people "fussed round her", but there was a comfort in it when it came from Cecily. Almost like having a mother.
The kind face bending over her was more lined, and the short hair a little greyer. Illness would do that to a person. As for Henry, his hair was positively white now, and he moved stiffly since the fall that had put an end to his nursing career. But they seemed very much their old selves.
Suddenly, Emmi wanted to cry. She swallowed back the tears, angry with herself for being so silly. Cecily noticed, though. Not much ever got by her, Emmi recalled.
"A cup of tea will help with the shock, you'll see." She smiled, and Emmi smiled back, wanting to cry even more. Cecily had always instilled in them the belief that a cup of tea solved everything.
"Here you are." Henry placed the steaming mug in front of her and she took a grateful sip, while he and Cecily distributed the other drinks. The tears came now, in spite of herself. They'd even remembered how she liked it.
Emmi didn't realise that Edwin had slipped out until he came back in. He took a seat at the end of the table by George, and Henry and Cecily sat opposite her. The talk was light and general. Janie would be here tomorrow, Edwin said. No one mentioned the other guest they expected. She'd forgotten him herself until now. Well, that was a good sign, anyway. She took another pull of the strong tea, and closed her eyes.
They ordered Chinese that evening, and the talk continued over the meal. Remembering the old times; catching up on the new.
Some time later, Henry and Cecily went to bed, and soon afterwards George, who had never lived outside Lincoln, gathered up his laptop and went home, promising to be back for breakfast. Then Edwin made two more mugs of tea and sat down with her. And she told him.
He listened without interrupting, but frowned with growing concern as she related her adventure. After she finished, he asked only one question.
"So you still have the Keepsake?"
"Yes." Her sore hand went to her pocket and closed around it. He nodded and smiled. She knew he understood, as much as anyone else could understand, what it would have cost her to lose it. He glanced at the clock.
"Well, I think the best thing for you now is a good night's sleep."
Emmi laughed.
"Yes sir!"
She saluted with a grin.
At the first landing they parted, and Edwin went up to his room on the top floor. Emmi, weary beyond words but peaceful now, opened the door to the room she had shared with Janie for nine years, and found that Edwin had put her suitcase on a chair, ready for her.
* * * * *
Edwin heard Emmi's step on the stairs, and left the group at the table to fill the kettle. George was showing them something on his laptop that made Janie whoop with laughter, as so many things did.
She'd arrived at about 7.30 that morning, looking far too fresh to have just driven from Derbyshire, and immediately made herself at home. He glanced over at her petite form hunched over the table, her short, dark brown hair tucked neatly behind her ears.
He smiled. Still his baby sister. Despite the five years between them, she could certainly take care of herself these days; yet he always felt protective towards her. He could never be sure whether she'd react to this with irritation or amusement.
George (whose choice of t-shirt today featured a zombie Elvis) had brought Mandy over for breakfast. An attractive, curvaceous girl, she sat at George's elbow laughing, her jet-black hair falling around her shoulders in glossy waves. When people who didn't know George saw them together, you could see them trying to figure out how that had happened.
Emmi came in, yawning. She smiled blearily at Edwin, and then joined the others at the table. He scanned her face briefly as he arranged some mugs on a tray. He was relieved to see that she had more colour in her cheeks this morning, and seemed more relaxed. He frowned. He'd like to give that policeman a piece of his mind, though.
"Edwin - you ok?" The question came from Janie, but everyone was looking at him, and he realised that he must have put the last couple of mugs down with some vehemence.
"Fine," he said. "Sorry. I must be clumsy this morning."
"Well, hurry up with that tea." Janie stuck her tongue out at him. He returned the salutation, and they both grinned.
Just as the kettle boiled, the garden door opened and Henry came in, brushing dirt from his hands and seeming to radiate cold. "Ah, tea!" he said as he wiped his feet. "Good lad, Edwin."
The two men stepped around each other so that Henry could wash his hands while Edwin made the tea. A few moments later, Edwin placed the tray in the middle of the table, which caused a general free-for-all as everyone reached for their mug at the same time. Henry would take Cecily hers later. She slept late these days.
"Hey Janie – congratulations on getting second dan," Emmi said.
Janie beamed. She was immensely proud of her Taekwondo achievements.
"Thanks," she said. "Still only a junior instructor, but you know, one day."
Janie planned on becoming a Grandmaster, and no one who knew her doubted that she'd get there in time.
"And how's the teaching going?"
Emmi shrugged. "It's all right."
"Edwin told me you're Head of Science now."
"Yes." Emmi took a sip of her tea. "But I'm… considering a career change."
"Ooh, what to? We want details."
Emmi laughed. "I have no idea. Just… something."
"Well, I'm glad we've got that clear then."
Henry said, "And Edwin's Assistant Librarian." He clapped Edwin on the shoulder with a proud smile. Edwin took swig of his drink.
"Yay for Edwin!" Janie had already known this, of course, but that didn't stop her from patting her brother on the back again, nearly making him slop his tea. "And George," she said, "Is about to invent a new computer programme which will murder us all in our beds and then take over the world!"
George laughed. "Have you been looking at my work schedule again?"
As the others talked, Edwin nudged Henry and said under his breath, "When are we expecting him?"
"Who?" Mandy had been close enough to hear. Crap.
Janie looked up.
"Who what?"
Henry broke the brief, stiff silence. "Rick's coming later today. We aren't sure when."
Edwin shot a glance at Emmi. Probably nobody else would spot the tension in her shoulders and the suddenly determined set of her chin.
"Oh lord!" said Janie. "Who invited him?"
"Cecily asks him every year," said Henry. "She doesn't feel it's right to exclude him, and I tend to agree. I know we only had him for respite care, not full fostering like you lot, but he's still one of our kids. Whatever he did, he'll always have a claim on us."
Janie pulled a face. "Yeah, but he never comes though. Why'd he have to change his mind now?"
Edwin said, "So – who wants toast?"
People began to mill around in search of breakfast, and Edwin felt Emmi relax again. Good.
After considerable amounts of toast and cereal had been consumed, Mandy got up. "This is where I get off," she said. She kissed George. "Have a nice day, sweetheart."
George promised to do so.
Mandy left the room, and soon they heard the front door open.
A man's voice said, "Nice timing."
Only Edwin seemed to notice how Emmi jumped. Henry was washing up the breakfast pots now, and George was debating with Janie the relative merits of rock climbing versus role-play gaming.
A moment later, the hall door swung open and Rick strode in. Edwin wondered how long he'd spent arranging the Santa hat to sit at that jaunty angle without messing up his hair.
"Merry Christmas, boys and girls!" He threw his jacket over a chair and looked around the room, grinning. "Have you all been good?"
George shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Merry Christmas, Rick," he said. "Er… glad you could make it."
Janie only grunted. Emmi said, "Hi," but didn't turn around.
Henry came forward, wiping his hands on a tea towel, which he then threw over his shoulder. He shook Rick's hand. "Welcome, son," he said. "Cecily will be pleased to see you. Would you like a drink?"
"Coffee'd be great, thanks." Another dazzling grin. Was he really that oblivious to the chill in his reception? Or was he just doing it to spite them?
"Edwin!" Rick strode forward, and before Edwin knew it he was being given in a hearty handshake. "How're the books? Still dusty?"
At the far end of the room, the coffee percolator gurgled into life. Rick would never touch instant.
"Janie!" Rick had already moved on, sparing Edwin the trouble of replying. Janie scowled. "Still as charming as ever, I see."
Edwin tried to quell Janie with a meaningful look, but it didn't stop her from honouring Rick with the great British two-fingered salute as soon as his back was towards her.
"George, mate, you're looking – healthy! Was that your girl I met on her way out? I know she can't be Edwin's. Very nice, you're a lucky man."
George opened his mouth, then closed it again.
"And Gersemi Jones." Rick stood over her until he made it absurd for her not to look up. Edwin saw Rick check her over, and a slight twitch at the corner of the handsome mouth. When Emmi did eventually raise her head, though, Rick was ready to meet her eyes. "It's been a long time." He took her hand softly and in one smooth motion, bowed over it and kissed it.
Edwin saw the colour rising in her cheeks, but also the frown and the grim set of her jaw. She sharply withdrew her hand and folded her arms. She did not reply.
Rick sat down next to Edwin, apparently quite unaware of the silence that surrounded him. He reached into a pocket of his designer jeans, produced a cigarette case and offered Emmi one of its elegant black and gold inmates. She shook her head; then, abruptly, she rose and began to clear away the abandoned jars of marmalade, Marmite and chocolate spread that still littered the table. Rick shrugged, took one out himself and tapped it on the monogrammed silver casing.
Henry shook his head. "Not in the house, Rick."
"Oh, right." There was that grin again. "I was forgetting the Rules. I'll have to pop out and pollute the garden.
As the door closed behind him, Emmi's shoulders dropped an inch or two. She breathed out, slowly. Edwin wanted to go to her, put his arm around her, and tell her it was going to be all right.
Janie exhaled rather more forcefully and said, "Well, thank God for that!"
Emmi laughed shakily, and gave Edwin a wry smile.
"I'm ok," she said. "Don't look so worried, Edwin."
Edwin returned the smile, and got up to help with clearing the table.
"By the way, Ems," said Janie, handing her the milk bottle, "What happened to your face?"
As, between them, they cleaned up the remaining debris, Emmi told Janie, George and Henry about her ordeal; a briefer, brisker version of events than the one she'd given Edwin last night.
"I'd like to have another look at the place by daylight," she said, when the expressions of sympathy and concern had died down. "If only to make sure that I’m not going mad. I'm planning to call on Margery Trent today, so it'll be on the way. I may have to borrow someone’s car, though."
Well, at least it would get her out of here. It was probably for the best. Edwin didn't like her going alone, though.
Janie punched the air. "Road trip! Bagsy shotgun."
"Oh Janie, you know I get sick in the back," said George.
"Well, you should've bagsied."
Emmi blinked. She looked helplessly at Edwin, who shrugged. This was probably a better idea, even if she didn't like it.
Emmi sighed. "A road trip it is, then."
Good. He'd expected her to put up more of a fight. Janie and George continued to dispute possession of the front seat as the garden door opened and Rick returned, with the smell of smoke hanging about him. He accepted the proffered mug of black coffee.
"Henry, you're a prince." Rick flopped down on the bench, put his feet up on the nearest chair and said, "Where are we going?"
* * * * *
No torches were lit in the wide Hall, yet a soft, diffused light played over the dry stone walls, fractured into a thousand shifting glints, as though a river ran nearby. But there was no river.
The walls were bare; there were no tables, no benches, no fire pits: only the high dais, running the length of the far wall, with its three high backed chairs of dark-stained oak, intricately carved with flowing curves and strange, elongated creatures. The roof was woven silver, adorning the great room the dancing light from the Gate.
Like a vast, rectangular window, it filled most of the wall above the dais. Indeed, it appeared, at first, to be a window; until you noticed the slight haze, like a shimmering membrane stretched over the opening. The scene beyond the haze was not a static view, but shifted restlessly, this way and that; seeking, tracking, focusing in, moving on.
It shifted at the behest of the tall man who stood before it on the dais, a tumble of shaggy hair falling to his broad shoulders.
Somewhere. The girl was somewhere out there. He could sense her now.
He knew what had happened, of course. He had seen the Blue Fire through the trees. The man scowled. It was not the first time that She had interfered with the Hunt.
She was strong; he knew it. Perhaps as strong as himself. But his own strength was waxing now. Soon the Host would be at their most powerful. There could not have been a better time to find the girl.
After so many years of fruitless searching, he certainly was not about to lose his quarry to Her. Not when he was finally so close. And now at last he knew the form; the nature; the essence. He knew what mark to aim for.
The Huntsman smiled. It was only a matter of time.
His brow creased. Time. He had enough left, surely? Enough for this. And then, perhaps, time enough for all things.
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