Fallow Heart Read online

  “You need to go back in and sit out the service,” Kasabian said. He tugged her arm, steering Lori until she was facing the church doors once more. “Are you listening to me? I’ll get rid of the head whilst you’re in there. We’ll meet later. Can you get away?”

  She closed her eyes, letting the words sink in, then nodded.

  “The wake’s over on Watergate Street,” she explained. “Once they’re all drunk I’ll come out. They won’t notice.”

  “The Door to Nowhere?” Kasabian asked.

  She opened her eyes. There was a flash of red, and she wasn’t sure if it was in his gaze, or her own.

  “Yes. The door.”

  “’Til then.”

  Power, and its uses

  Granddad was absent from the wake. So was Walker, which Lori thanked the stars for. It was no use thanking God any more. She didn’t belong with the likes of Him now. The church had been even worse the second time around, that crawly feeling in her skin turning to a full burn. This time, she’d taken a seat at the back, far away enough to block out most of the service itself. When the congregation had retired to the pub to drink themselves out of their mourning, Lori took a plate of sandwiches and escaped into an antechamber to wait it out. If Chester was good for one thing, it was historic old pubs with weird layouts. She’d been on her own for almost an hour by the time the drunken singing echoed from the main bar. That was her cue to sneak away.

  Her mother was leading the singing, surrounded by other women with pints and whiskey glasses. One had a football scarf that she was waving to and fro, and the out-of-tune chorus filled the room with slurred words:

  But since it falls unto my lot

  That I should rise and you should not

  I'll gently rise and I'll softly call

  Good night and joy be with you all.

  Lori looked up into the ruddy complexion of Yvonne Blake. Through most of this ordeal she’d been sober, or at least a lot more sober than when Brian was around. Now, she was swaying and wavering, tears streaming despite her smile. Tonight, Lori would find her shivering and sweating. Vomiting and crying. Bemoaning her aching head in the morning. Her stomach twisted and wished she hadn’t eaten the sandwiches. Turning away, Lori spotted an archway labelled CLOAKROOM & EXIT, which must have led out onto a back-street.

  When she got through the arch, the old corridor curved a little. There was a narrow hall with coat-hooks lining the left side, two rows one beneath the other. To the right was a long wooden bench. And on that bench, Lori’s father was crying. Ian Blake was almost silent in his suffering, his body bent double as he rested his head on his knees. His arms were clasped around those gathered knees, rocking a little. Lori watched the rhythm as his back touched the stone wall, then his feet touched the flagstone floor. Back and forth, like a baby. Shuddering all the while. The sour taste of sick rose in Lori’s throat and she fought to keep it down, coughing suddenly.

  Her father looked up. His face was soaked and puffy. He rubbed at it with his hands, but all the seemed to do was spread the salt-water around.

  “Sorry, my girl,” he croaked. “You don’t need to see your old Dad like this, do you?”

  You did this. The voice said again. You made him this way.

  “I’m sorry,” Lori said.

  He raised his brows.

  “You?” Dad gave a weak chuckle. “What do you have to be sorry for, my darling?”

  He reached out a hand, waiting for her to take it, but Lori couldn’t bear it. She came to stand beside him at the bench. The exit door was to her left, the stark daylight of freedom looking ever-more inviting. But how could she leave her father this way?

  “I wish I knew what to say,” Lori said in a low tone. “Knew what to do to help.”

  Dad got up, his hand dropping away.

  “Only time helps now, sweetheart,” he explained. “I’ll be all right. Everything’s always better after a good cry. Your mum used to say that.”

  A good cry and a pint of vodka, Lori thought.

  There was a creak of floorboard, and a second later a woman had appeared from ‘round the corner. She was bleary-eyed, a little older than Pauline but with the same kind of features, and she leaned on the wall of coat-hooks haphazardly as she stumbled towards Lori and her father.

  “All right Jeanine?” Dad said.

  “Don’t you ‘all right’ me, son.” The woman had an Irish brogue. “Where were you, eh? Why was my sister out on the town on her own that night? Where were you to protect ma Pauline, huh?”

  “We’ve been over this.” Lori’s father stepped forwards. “It was a social with the football club. I didn’t feel like it. How was I to know-”

  “You should have been there!” Jeanine raged. Her other arm swung up and Lori was horrified to see her holding a bottle. “You should have been there you bastard!”

  Pauline’s sister lunged, the bottle flying towards Ian’s face as she swung it. Lori’s chest rushed as it narrowly missed his head. Her father leaped back but Jeanine was already lining up another swing, shouting the same accusations over and over. Lori’s gaze grew darker, flashing red every few seconds. She stepped up, hands ready as the woman made another lunge forward.

  “Get away from my father, you bitch.”

  One shove, and Jeanine went flying into the wall. There was a terrible crack and a cry of sheer agony. The coat-hooks were balled at the end, and several of them had crunched nastily against the woman’s back. Lori watched, open-mouthed, as Jeanine sunk the floor, the bottle discarded. She rubbed her back hard, coughing.

  “My feckin’ ribs,” she spluttered. “Jesus Lord…”

  Lori bolted for the door.

  All the way through town she kept running the moment over in her head. The sheer impact of the shove, the power coursing in her body. She was strong now, stronger than she’d ever felt, able to break things. To break people. If those coat-hooks had been the sharp, more pointed kind, God only knows what would have happened to Jeanine. And all for getting her drunken grief out, for taking out her anger on Lori’s father. She was around the corner from the Door to Nowhere.

  Lori raced on, ready to see Kasabian as she reached the square where the blue door stood. She sped onto the grassy patch under the tree, looking around at the two rows of houses. Nothing. There was only one way into the street, the way she’d come in. He wasn’t there. Lori watched the empty walkway, hoping for some glimpse of his thick, dark hair or his inked skin.

  “He’s gone, I’m afraid.”

  She turned. On the steps of the Door to Nowhere, standing behind the low, locked gate, was a tall, thin man. He had an ugly smile, twisting his pink lips and stretching them across his features a little too far. She hadn’t seen him on her way into the clearing. He had his thin arms folded across his chest, his silver suit shining like the clouds overhead. Lori looked at the blue door, its strange sensation radiating into her. The hairs on her arms rose to stand on end.

  “How do you know that?” she asked the stranger.

  “I was watching from my window,” he replied. “You’re looking for the Arab boy who was waiting here a little while ago?”

  “He’s Lebanese,” Lori said, her jaw tight.

  “I do beg your pardon,” the stranger said.

  That smile was unfaltering. Lori couldn’t help but look between him and the door behind him. Kasabian had told her that she had different instincts now. She knew where he’d come from, impossible though it was. He wasn’t human, either, she knew that for sure.

  “What have you done with him?” she said, a hand on her hip.

  The stranger raised his pale brows. He cupped his hands together, his grin widening to show a row of narrow teeth.

  “Nothing,” he replied, “Do you think I should?”

  Lori clenched her fist, nails digging into her palm. She looked the door again.

  “If you’ve got him… If you’ve done something to him…” she began, her mouth growing hotter with every word.

&nb
sp; The stranger held up his hands, palms open and damp. He huffed out a little laugh, shaking his head.

  “Please, you’ve got it all wrong,” the stranger replied, “I’m a friend.”

  His skin was almost as pale as his hair, white-blonde and slicked back against his head. He looked around forty, though his pale eyes were glossy like those of an amused child, and there was a sheen of sweat on his face. Lori shook her head.

  “Not to me.”

  Her phone buzzed. Lori fumbled in the deep pocket of the maxi dress, fishing past her keys. Her eyes were still trained on the stranger, but she brought the phone up to see the message in the bottom of her vision. The name took a weight off her heart.

  KASABIAN: I couldn’t stay longer. Sorry. But the problem’s solved.

  She had to leave. She knew it in her bones that there was bad news surrounding this man, or whatever he was, and now she knew that Kasabian was safe. Lori took a single step back, and the stranger took one forward to match it. He leaned on the locked gate.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, cocking his head to one side. “I’m afraid I have rather a penchant for the dramatic. First meetings are always so memorable, are they not? You’re right not to trust me yet. But I shall endeavour to convince you to, in time. You’re a strong creature, and I have a need for a monster like you.”

  Monster.

  There was a flare of heat in her mouth. She wanted to spit at him, to shoot back the words he’d used. She wasn’t a monster. She wasn’t.

  “I’m leaving to find my friend,” she said, tongue lashing against her teeth. “You’d better not follow me.”

  “Oho!” The stranger exclaimed, revealing a mouth of slightly yellowed teeth. “Believe me, darling, I wouldn’t dare.”

  Lori turned on her heel, storming out to the walkway that led back to town. When she turned to the clearing, she saw what she’d been expecting to see. The stranger was gone. Only the Door to Nowhere remained. For a fraction of a moment she wanted to go back, to try that door, to rattle its handle. A flare of fluttering raged in her chest. She made herself stay away. Lori put the phone to her ear, tapping the central button.

  “Call Kasabian.”

  The ringing began, but there was no answer. She tried him every step of the way back to the wake. Nothing.

  Treatment, and its side effects

  Huw was still in hospital, but his many wounds were healing. Lori’s mother had told her that he was in an induced coma whilst the painkillers got him through the worst of it. It was Tuesday, and it would be a few days more before the old Welshman was awake enough to think, let alone recount the tale of what had attacked him. Lori had some time to figure things out before then, and she couldn’t waste a minute more. Since the funeral, her mother had confined her to the caravan, but without Granddad to drive them down to the treatment centre, she had to send Lori there in a taxi. For once, Lori was grateful of her mother’s drinking, for her post-funeral binge had made her too queasy to go with her that morning.

  The D.C.’s covert little medical centre came into view as the cab pulled up. The two police cars were parked up, which meant Michaela was already inside. As Lori got out of the car and gave the driver his money, she watched a dark figure in a long coat crossing to the doors. The figure was fairly short and the coat was far too thick for the time of year, its hood pulled up right over the head. When it reached the double doors of the centre, it peeped around for a moment. Owe’s dark face shone out from under the hood.

  “Your change, love,” the cabby said.

  “Keep it,” Lori replied absently.

  She was already walking towards the centre, watching Owe disappear through the doors. In moments she was at the desk beside the other girl, getting her name ticked off by the same receptionist who’d been there the week before. Owe flashed her a look, large eyes hooded by her dark brow. The reddish tinge to her skin was still present this close up.

  “I didn’t think you’d be back,” Lori said, handing her bag over to the receptionist.

  Owe wriggled a dark brow.

  “Yeah? Why’s that?”

  They walked a few paces from the desk, settling into a corner of the empty waiting room.

  “What you said last time,” Lori answered. “You said this place was pointless, because the demons come back.”

  It was the ‘d’ word that seemed to take effect. No sooner it had left her lips, Lori saw Owe shoot a look to the receptionist then back at her. She blinked. Lori started for a moment. She’d forgotten about the sideways eyelids. The girl leaned in a little closer.

  “Cut it out,” she snapped, “you’ll get me kicked out again.”

  “Why?” Lori asked, folding her arms. “Because we’re not supposed to call those ‘creatures’ what they really are?”

  Owe rocked back into her seat. She brought her feet up into the cross-legged position that Lori had seen before, readjusting the folds of the thick coat over her legs. Lori wiped the back of her neck with her palm.

  “Aren’t you boiling in that thing?” she asked.

  The other girl shook her head.

  “I run cold,” she replied. “Don’t you remember what you did to me?”

  Lori remembered grabbing Owe, and the searing pain she’d complained of when they touched. Owe had let the heavy hood fall down over most of her face now. Lori could only see the brown-red sheen of her lips as they moved.

  “I guess you come from a different part of Hell to me,” she said.

  There was a stab deep in Lori’s chest. She hadn’t felt the need to clutch the scar in a while, but now her hand was threatening to shoot there. Owe gave a snigger, the coat jiggling in its seat like it had a life of its own.

  “Not so confident when you’ve run out of information, eh Big Girl?” she teased.

  “It’s Lorelai,” Lori shot back, “and if you think I don’t know about the Harvest, you’re wrong.”

  The coat stopped moving.

  “Did…” Owe’s voice began. Lori waited, watching the motionless figure, willing her to speak again. “Did you get a Visitation?”

  “How do you mean?” Lori asked.

  “I mean,” Owe began, “did your demon come back to check up on you? To see how you’re progressing?”

  Lori’s mouth ran dry. She paused a moment, swallowing against the scratchy, choked feeling in her throat.

  “Not yet, no,” she answered.

  “Welcome ladies,” said a familiar voice from across the room.

  Allardyce had cut their question time short. He was waiting at the double doors, holding one open, and Lori saw Doctor Lyons waiting behind him. She rose and crossed the room, venturing a smile at the tall, dark figure. He smiled back.

  “You look chipper, Miss Blake,” Allardyce said. “How’s the medication working for you?”

  In truth, she’d been forgetting to take the tablets more and more since Huw had inadvertently told her what they were. If all they had in them were tranquilisers, Lori had reasoned she would only use them to keep calm. She certainly hadn’t taken any that morning. Today, she needed her wits about her.

  “I’m feeling all right,” she replied, “but I have a lot more questions to ask.”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” Doctor Lyons cut in. She preened her hair with both hands, then collected them together like she was about to sing in a choir. “I’m so glad to see you and Miss Mahad again.”

  “Thrilled to be back,” Owe said from under her hood.

  “You can take that off now,” Allardyce said, crouching to bring his lips level with her head.

  There was a muffled sigh. Owe let herself be seen at last. Lori held back a breath. The raised patches of skin on the girl’s hairline had turned into stumps. They were black and shiny now, reflecting the fluorescent glow as the foursome walked down the corridor. Owe’s hands slipped up into her heavy sleeves, rubbing her forearms. Lori walked a pace behind her, next to Allardyce, whose gaze didn’t seem to want to leave the other girl’s horn
s.

  “I think I ought to make a trip down to Records, Audrey,” Allardyce said, “see if we have anything to help with Miss Mahad’s newfound growth.”

  Doctor Lyons came to a halt, turning on her heel to face the rest of the group. Owe’s shoulders slumped in the big coat, and she kept her head turned in the direction they’d been going. They were opposite a tall, grey door which looked like any of the other doors on the long corridor. When Allardyce leaned beside it, however, Lori noticed his hand hovering over a nine-digit keypad. The door was restricted, leading to some kind of Records room. Records the D.C. only allowed its staff to look at. Lori twiddled her thumbs, feeling sparks of nerves there.

  “Any area in particular you’d recommend I look?” Allardyce asked, his dark brows raised.

  Lyons pouted a little.

  “Faunus, perhaps,” she answered.

  Lori kept her eyes trained on the keypad as Lyons spoke. Allardyce’s thumb wriggled over the number nine.

  “If I recall, we had a few cases in Norway some years ago,” the doctor continued. “God, what were the patients’ names…”

  There. Nine, six, nine, six. The keypad flashed green a moment. Allardyce pushed at the door. A hiss of air escaped as the seal broke, the scent of disinfectant travelling to Lori’s nostrils. She crinkled her nose.

  “I’m sure I’ll find them,” Allardyce replied. He offered them all his warm smile, one by one. Lori was last. “See you anon, ladies.”

  Lyons was leading Lori and Owe away before the door to Records had even clicked shut. Lori’s skin hummed like she’d been plugged into the mains. If they had records from Norway down there, they were sure to have them from Spain too. If the murderous Matiás Ruiz had anything demonic going on, he might be among those files. Lori tapped her fingertips into her palm as she walked. Nine, six, nine, six. It had to be worth a try.

  The door to Girls’ Group H was ajar when they got there, and Lori spied a pair of bright eyes watching her through the gap. She recognised the violet ring around the irises before the door was even open. What she didn’t recognise was the rest of Michaela’s face.