Fallow Heart Page 9

  Lori nodded, trying hard to take that in amongst her worries. For every concern the group shot at Lyons, she seemed to have either a prescription for it, or a CBT technique that was ‘proven to work’. Though Lori wasn’t sure about any of it, she certainly didn’t want to end up looking like Owe, or behaving like her for that matter. It had to be worth a try.

  In truth, Lori was glad when the session was over, for the overwhelming amount of advice and information wouldn’t fit into her head. When the three girls from Group H reached the waiting room, they found that the nurse from reception was expecting them. She gave them each a pharmacy bag with their details printed on the side, and Lori raised a brow at the size of Niamh’s. It was so huge that the younger girl had to wrap both her skeletal arms around it to keep it in her grip.

  “Protein powders and vitamins and stuff,” she explained with a wheeze. “Good thing my Dad always parks close-by.”

  “I’ll return these to you as well, girls,” the nurse said, offering a plastic box in which their belongings were waiting.

  Niamh reached in, retrieving a small purse barely big enough for a mobile phone.

  “See you next week, newbies!” she called sweetly.

  Niamh began to skip away, and for the first time Lori saw a flash of her bony ankles beneath the billowing folds of the white dress. As she scampered out in the bleak September day, four uniformed officers entered the waiting room. They looked a little bored. One of them nodded at the nurse and at Michaela, who was too engrossed in the plastic box to notice. Lori heard the hard knocks of her rummaging.

  “Finally.” Michaela exhaled.

  “You kids,” the nurse groaned, “you can’t live without your mobile phones, can you?”

  “Are you ready, Miss Shaw?” one of the officers asked.

  “Almost,” Michaela answered, turning back to Lori for a moment. She looked her over, a half-empty smile on her pink, glossy lips. She rattled the prescription bag between them. “I guess this is step one, right?”

  “Right,” Lori replied. “It uh… It was good to meet you.”

  “Same,” Michaela said, her smile a little fuller. “We’ll be all right.”

  She almost reached out to tap Lori on the shoulder, but seemed to think better of it. Lori watched as Michaela left with her escort. Four officers whom Matilda Vane had convinced that they were protecting a witness instead of a killer. Lori watched through the glass doors as the police cars pulled away. There was no sign of the Clio or her family anywhere. Lori settled into the chair by the exit again, fumbling in her bag for her phone. She’d call Mum, let her know she was done, then get home to take a look at the pills they’d given her. Help was on its way at last.

  Seven missed calls. All of them within the last ten minutes. All of them from Kasabian.

  Finally.

  Lori’s chest gave a leap. There was a message too, a text where Kasabian had sent her some kind of Google Maps link. There were only a few words beside the link:

  How soon can you get here?

  When she opened the maps app up, she found a pinpoint for a location somewhere near the back of Tesco. It was only a ten-minute walk from where she was right now. Soon, her mother and grandfather would be back to retrieve her. But right now, there was only an open door leading out into the city. Lori bit her lip, a few seconds passing as she stared at the unanswered text. What reason was there to trust them? All this time with no answers, and where had he been? Who was he, even? She didn’t know. All Lori had was the feeling when he held her, calming her wild rage outside class that day. The memory radiated all over her body, cooling her scorching skin.

  She slid her fingers up to the keyboard.

  On my way.

  Doors, and how they open

  It was a backstreet. In all the years Lori had lived in and around Chester, she had never walked down it before. She supposed there was no reason that anyone would, unless they happened to live in one of the houses that lined the sides of the little square courtyard. They were three-storeys high, about two hundred years old, a terrace of grandeur. Lori looked at them forlornly. She’d forgotten what it was like to live every day in a real house. There was a scrubby patch of grass between the two rows of houses, where Kasabian sat cross-legged, as he had at Lori’s college the morning before. He got to his feet when he noticed her approaching.

  “Sorry to be so urgent,” he said as he rose, “I’ve not got long before I have to get moving.”

  But Lori was already looking beyond him, further into the courtyard.

  “That’s weird,” she said, steps edging ever closer.

  There was a door set into a grey stone wall. It was far larger than any of the doors of the normal houses, bright blue with paint peeling. The façade around it looked ever older than the terrace itself, though its windows had been filled in, and moss and weeds were creeping up to the useless sills. Beyond the façade, the wall turned to a brick surround. Everything about it was closed off and derelict, right down to the rusty little fence and gate that kept anyone from stepping up to the old door itself. She had come here to see Kasabian, desperate for information, and she didn’t understand the rapture that the door had trapped her in.

  “What do you feel, when you look at it?” Kasabian said, his breath on her ear.

  Lori’s spine gave a tingle, but she couldn’t look away from the bright blue door.

  “It’s wrong,” she said, struggling for words. “It’s weird and wrong.”

  “I know what you mean,” Kasabian replied. “I keep coming back here, and I don’t know why.”

  His rough hand touched her elbow, slowly turning her away from the imposing door and back to the grassy patch. He sat down, but Lori didn’t follow. She walked to a street bollard and leaned on it, letting the strange feeling in her chest settle for a moment.

  “We have senses now that we didn’t when we were human.”

  Kasabian spoke so simply, as though there was nothing unusual at all about no longer being human. It hurt Lori to hear it, a stabbing sensation in her gut. But she had come this far for the truth, broken the rules already. Soon, she’d start getting the flood of calls from Mum and Granddad wondering where she was. There was no more time to waste.

  “You’re like me, aren’t you?” Lori asked.

  Kasabian nodded. He tugged at his vest, pulling it down to show her his scar. Lori took a step closer again, peering at the spot above the tell-tale tattoo. She frowned.

  “It’s changed,” she said. “From your photo.”

  There was no longer a crescent moon shape, but a full circle, the skin there a slightly lighter shade than Kasabian’s usual tone.

  “It changes with time,” he answered. “This is nearly two years old now.”

  Lori could hardly imagine living another two days with the knowledge she was burdened with. Kasabian let go of his shirt, and the tips of his tattoo vanished too.

  “And the three symbols on your chest?” she asked, eyes darting to his body for a moment.

  He raised a brow. The first full smile she’d ever seen overcame him. Kasabian lips parted to show bright white teeth, save for one that was broken on the far top-left. He exhaled a little laugh.

  “I was almost eighteen when I got the scar,” he explained, leaning back on his hands. “I woke up in a tattoo shop in Beirut the next day with these three.” He traced the lines of the letters through the thin fabric of the vest. “No memory of asking for them. They became the first of many.” Kasabian cocked his head in Lori’s direction, still smiling warmly. “How did you come across them?”

  Lori took a few more steps towards the street performer.

  “I think…” she said, fighting the dryness of her mouth. “I think I graffitied them onto the side of my home. I don’t remember, but someone saw me with a spray-can.”

  “Makes sense,” Kasabian said, nodding.

  He was so calm about it all. Lori envied that desperately. From the moment that the Cervinae had scarred her, all she�
�d known was panic. She finally gave in and sat down on the grass, pressing a thin blade between her fingertips. The chill of the cold earth comforted her a little.

  “Do you know what it means?” Kasabian asked.

  Lori shook her head.

  “It’s demotic Arabic,” he explained, “so for me, it was pretty easy to translate right away. It means sown. Like a seed.”

  “Sown,” Lori repeated. “I’ve heard that a few times.”

  “From Matilda?”

  She nodded. Kasabian’s large, dark eyes honed in again. Though Lori still felt a pinch of nerves in the centre of her chest, she had to stay. Kasabian had helped her twice already, and he knew so much more about the touch of the beast than she did. She finally had a chance to unleash the questions that had been burning away in her head.

  “Were you there on the day the Cervinae attacked me?” she asked.

  “I found your bag up on the Roman walls, by the Eastgate clock,” Kasabian said, shaking his head. “I didn’t know anything about the Cervinae then.”

  “But Matilda said there was a witness,” Lori protested, “that someone reported the attack to the D.C.”

  Kasabian pouted. “Sorry, not me.”

  “Then how do you know what I am?” Lori asked.

  The busker shrugged.

  “Saturday, of course,” he replied.

  Lori blinked. She tried to think back to Saturday, then immediately wished that she hadn’t. It was the day she’d first spotted Kasabian, the day of the body-drop. Kasabian pushed himself onto his knees, leaning over and dropping himself closer to Lori. Her insides rearranged themselves, tense with the closeness of it all. He looked up at her from his new position, pointing one rough fingertip at her chest.

  “As your body takes on the transformation, you’ll start to be able to tell who’s human and who’s… other,” he explained. “Maybe you’re feeling it already, in small ways. You have a feeling about the door, for example.”

  Lori glanced over her shoulder, staring back at the stark blue square of wood.

  “It doesn’t lead anywhere, you know,” Kasabian added. “Just a blank brick wall on the other side. The house that it once belonged to is long gone, I looked it up in the library.”

  “So… I’m going to change?” Lori mused. “In what way?”

  “That’s up to you,” Kasabian answered.

  Lori scoffed, air shooting from her lips. If there was one thing she hadn’t felt in the last five days, it was in control. Surely nothing was up to her anymore? Kasabian reached out and tapped her knee. It tingled where he touched her.

  “You’ll believe me, in time,” he said, another toothy smile emerging. It faded a moment later though, and he let out a little sigh. “Just because the Cervinae has infected you, it doesn’t mean you have to give in to it. It doesn’t mean you roll over and accept the Harvest.”

  “The what?” Lori frowned.

  “The Harvest,” Kasabian repeated. He sat up a little again, eyes suddenly studious. “The D.C. didn’t mention it?”

  “I don’t think so,” Lori replied.

  “Damn them!” Kasabian shouted, jolting to his feet.

  A sudden snorting noise erupted from him that turned swiftly to a growl. It was more feral than any human could have made, echoing into Lori’s head. She scrambled back to her feet, retreating towards the ominous door, watching as the busker paced back and forth.

  “They lied to you too, then?” he griped, hands flailing. “Matilda always promises the same thing. Help. Honesty. Information. But they told you nothing! How is any Sown supposed to survive if they don’t prepare us?”

  “So prepare me,” Lori said.

  She took a step forward, interrupting his paces. Kasabian’s chest heaved, his breath slowing again as she studied his face. In some ways, Lori was pleased that he wasn’t calm all the time about his situation, but in others it made her more terrified.

  “So you’ve been told that the Cervinae infected you,” he said, “and that a demon is now growing inside you. But did you stop to think about why that is?”

  “I don’t get what you mean,” Lori said, her brow pressed forwards. “Why what?”

  “Why the Cervinae didn’t devour you, or kill you for sport?”

  Lori had a sick, sour taste in her mouth from that question. She swallowed hard and balled her fists.

  “Go on then,” she challenged. “Why did it infect me?”

  “So that the beast can return,” Kasabian answered. He hung his head, deflating with one last snort of indignation. “The demonic energy inside you is going to build and grow into power. When the Cervinae comes back, it will take that power from you to increase its own.”

  Lori’s her nails dug into her palms, arms stiff and burning.

  “It’ll harvest me,” she breathed.

  Like a pig fattened up for the slaughter.

  The voice in her head was gleeful, and it made Lori want to tear it straight from her own brain. She remembered Owe’s words barely two hours ago. They find you all the same, she had said. The demons come back for you. Lori stepped closer to Kasabian, reaching out. He took hold of her forearms gently, grounding her.

  “What do I do?” she pleaded.

  “You’re safe from it until you’re ready for harvest,” he soothed. “Your scar will tell you when it’s time.” Kasabian looked around, a sudden sharpness to his movements. “For me, it’s hard to stay in one place. I’m so far from home. I have to keep moving.”

  He let her arms go, and Lori tried to grab for him again.

  “No, please.”

  Her phone blared into life, ringing away in the bag on her back. Lori ignored it, following Kasabian as he began to stride out of the courtyard.

  “I’ll be back by Sunday,” he assured her, looking back. “I can call you then.”

  Lori shook her head.

  “I… There’s a funeral,” she explained, her chest suddenly sharp with agony. “My dad’s girlfriend. I can’t miss it.”

  Kasabian came to a halt. He looked around again hurriedly, sparing a single glance for the big blue door now off in the distance.

  “Where?” he asked.

  “St Werburgh’s,” Lori explained.

  “See you there.” He nodded. “Text me if anything happens before then. Some of the places I choose to hide don’t have signal, but I’ll get back to you when I can.”

  He hugged her. Lori wasn’t ready for it, her chin smashing into his chest against the strength of his arms. It was surreal and warm, his heartbeat rushing out against her face, her body stiff and strange in the embrace. By the time he broke away, Lori had only begun to realise that she ought to have returned it.

  “I’ll help you,” he said, dark eyes wide. “Better than they can. I swear it.”

  Lori’s phone hadn’t stopped ringing throughout the harried exchange. As Kasabian bolted away, Lori delved into her bag and answered the call. She didn’t have to look at the screen to know who was ringing, for the gruff, panicked tone that answered was already in full flow.

  “Where the devil is she?” Granddad raged. “Hello?”

  “Hiya,” Lori replied, starting to walk. She held her temple, trying all of Kasabian’s body out of her head and focus on the call.

  “Oh thank God.” She heard her mother’s smaller voice in the background.

  “Relax,” Lori cut in. “I’m at Tesco getting a meal deal. Come and meet me up here.”

  “Don’t you tell me to relax, young lady,” Granddad griped. “You’re not where you’re supposed to be.”

  “I’m seventeen,” she said, forcing out a sigh, “and you two were late, and I was hungry.”

  There was much grumbling at the other end of the line, and Lori took the time to race up and around the corner to get into the supermarket. When Granddad had reluctantly agreed to come and collect her there, Lori hung up. That weighty sensation of guilt was back in her belly. She stared at the sandwiches without really looking, her mind wanderi
ng back to Kasabian’s promise. It was hard to know whether it was wrong to lie to her family now or not. Harder still to tell whether she should be trusting the D.C., Kasabian, or neither of them. Her hand wandered back to her scar, feeling it through the thin cotton of her t-shirt.

  Was it her imagination, or was the crescent moon starting to thicken already?

  Hell, and the many forms it takes

  “A detailed study of at least one work of the artist, plus a personal appraisal,” Granddad read. He furrowed his slim, silver brows, looking up from the page. “What does this have to do with learning Spanish?”

  “Profesora Marta says it’s about learning the culture as well as the mechanics of the language,” Lori explained, a pencil balanced neatly between two fingers.

  “And do you have to write this appraisal in English, or in Spanish?” her grandfather asked.

  Lori’s lips fell into a pout.

  “Uh,” she began, setting the pencil down. “Not sure. Profesora Marta was supposed to outline it at the end of Monday’s class, but I never made it to end of class.”

  Don’t think about it.

  Lori blinked, and the half-memory of last Monday sank back under the surface. It was nice to have something new to focus on, though Granddad’s kitchen-diner wasn’t the ideal classroom. There was classical musical tinkling gently from the kitchen radio, and the remnants of Huw’s ‘grapefruit surprise’ at the far end of the table. Lori had been trying to avoid looking at the gutted scarlet flesh of the fruit from the moment she’d sat down opposite her grandfather. He set down the specification paper, folding his bony arms over it.

  “So, have you chosen an artist for this cultural project?”

  Lori nodded. “Salvador Dali.”

  Granddad’s sharp eyes glittered a little.

  “A most noble choice,” he remarked, “but I wouldn’t do The Persistence of Memory if I were you. All the other kids are bound to be appraising melted clocks. Like flies to honey.”