A Strange Fire (Florence Vaine) (32 page)

 Sam and John sit at the table eating and drinking beer, deep in conversation.
I can tell they’re discussing what action to take on the matter of the witches,
their colours glow with practicality, determination and protective instincts. I
wonder just what Sam can do being half Angel and all, he must have some fairly
unusual abilities since his father is an Archangel, that’s like the highest
rank in heaven, or wherever it is that they live.

 Soon Hayley brings out the cake, which is a huge sponge with cream,
eighteen candles planted in circles around its middle. Layla dims the lights so
that the only illumination comes from the cake itself. Everyone begins to sing
“Happy Birthday To You” loud and cheerful. I sing along too, but very quietly.
When we get to the line, “Happy Birthday dear Ross...” the flames on the
candles suddenly go out.

 “Ross, you aren’t meant to blow until we’re finished singing,” says Alex
in a bored disembodied voice, the room encased in darkness.

 For a moment no one answers, and a feeling like fizzy bubbles popping in
the pit of my stomach comes over me. I get a sensation that is vague but
familiar to me, it’s exactly what I would feel when I’d find my dad passed out
in his bed, having taken one too many pills. A feeling of deepest, darkest
despair, that life will never get any better. God, what’s happening? Why did
the candles go out? I’m almost certain Ross didn’t blow on them, never mind
anyone else.

 In the next second I fall to the ground, my legs go powerless to hold up
my body. The strange thing is, I can hear the others fall too, like they’re
experiencing the exact same powerlessness. I hurt my ankle when I fall and
whimper in pain. But – oh no, please no. My whimper makes no sound. I try to
make an audible noise, to prove to myself I’m imagining things, but it only
confirms my fears when no sound comes.

 The room is entirely silent, as I picture the others laying there just
as I am, unable to make a sound. I lift myself up and crawl along the floor,
somebody grabs my hand and pulls me into them and I recognise Frank’s lean
frame. His hands search my face, to make sure it’s me, and when he’s satisfied
he hugs me tighter. My eyes slowly adjust to the dark and I can make out lots
of shadowy figures moving about the space, though they don’t make a single
sound. I can’t see them properly no matter how hard I strain my eyes.

 Frank pulls me along with him over to where the light switch is located
by the door. He flicks it on but nothing happens. We look at each other for a
second, acknowledging that something is seriously wrong here. The electricity
was working just fine a moment ago before Layla had turned off the lights for
the birthday cake.

 “The witches,” I mouth, since I’m unable to speak, and I can’t tell if
Frank is able to see me properly.

 A second later a cold, damp hand slithers down my bare arm and I jump
away in fright, peering around to see what had touched me. All I can make out
is a grey figure retreating away from me. The feel of the hand reminds of that
first time when the invisible stalker had touched me. When those icy invisible
fingers had clasped around my neck. Frank holds onto me, probably frantically
asking me what happened, but there’s no point since I can’t answer him anyway.

 Little by little the sick feeling in my stomach begins to subside and a
blast of light illuminates the room. But it isn’t because the electricity is
working again, it’s because I can now see the flames of Frank’s aura, and those
of his brothers and John. The magic of the witches must have muted my ability
for a time, but now it’s coming back to me. And I wish it wouldn’t.

 Grey robes crowd the space, the flames help me to see them but I don’t
think the witches know that I can. They’re slowly filing out the sliding doors
of the kitchen which have been slung wide open. I look around to see if
everybody’s okay. Hayley and Layla are hunched together on the floor, their
arms around each other. Most of the boys are on the floor too, but John flails
his arms about trying to feel what it is that has entered the house, his mouth
moves as he tries to shout to no avail. Sam stands by the counter, his face is
still and without emotion. He doesn’t struggle under the sudden loss of senses
as we all do. He is far too ethereal to lose composure in that way.

 The instinct to run after the women and see where they go to comes over me,
but I don’t for fear of what they might to do me if they catch me. Another
minute goes by before the feeling in my stomach vanishes completely and the
atmosphere of badness leaves the house. Frank runs to switch on the light
again, and this time it works. Our voices are back too, and a bombardment of
words flow noisily from everybody’s mouths as we express shock, horror, anger.

 I stay quiet while everyone else continues talking. I peer around the
room, taking in the high concentration of auras and trying not to get a
headache under the blast of many conflicting colours. Angered yet relieved.
Fearful yet ready to take action.

 And then, as I take in those around me, something seems to be off.
Someone is missing. It’s only when Layla begins to scream, “Ross! Ross! Where
is he gone?” that I realise who’s not here. And who the witches had come for.
Ross. I’d been so blind to think it was me they’d take first. How stupid were
we not to realise the significance of his age. It’s his bloody birthday.

 John hurries for the door, but Sam pulls him back. “Where do you think
you’re going?” asks the Nephilim.

 John shrugs out of Sam’s hold. “I’m going after those monsters and
getting my son back.”

 “You can’t go unprepared John,” says Sam. “Look at how they rendered all
of us so powerless, we’re dealing with a strong and high level of magic here,
not to mention a malevolent one, it’s not a good idea to go barrelling in all
guns blazing. We need to get organised and make a plan.”

 “I need to at least follow them Sam, we can’t let them get away. If we
do we might never find them, and I’m not going to let them kill Ross like they
did to that poor girl.”

 “I will follow them,” Sam answers. “I’m the only one who won’t be
detected.” He looks John directly in the eye, trying to persuade him and calm
him down.

 It works and John steps back, his expression unreadable when he says,
“Find my boy, Sam.”

 Silently Sam nods and slips out into the night. Frank steps closer to
me, eyes checking that I’m all right and not suffering any side effects of the
witches’ magic.

 “I’m okay,” I assure him, as his hands cup my cheeks, move down my neck
to rest on my shoulders.

 I can hear Layla sobbing over by the counter, but I can’t bring myself
to look at the colours of her misery. I need to do something to help. Somehow
figure out who these witches are, or why exactly they’re doing this. I think I
know where to begin. I turn to Frank.

 “Will you drive me to Caroline’s?” I ask him. “I have to talk to her
about Lauren, find some clue that can help us save Ross.”

 He nods without saying a word, and looks to John for permission to
leave.

 John’s head sags, he must be under so much stress, but then he rights
himself and says, “You two go, find out what you can. But be careful.”

 We leave the room, and something I hadn’t noticed yet hits me. All the
while we’d been in the kitchen after the witches had left, the boys and John
had all been revealing some aspect of their demons in their auras. A wing. A
head. A tail. But it didn’t frighten me. Not one bit. Perhaps the demons are on
our side.

It’s nine forty five on a Friday night and
I’ve just knocked on Caroline’s front door, hoping she’s around. My nerves are
on edge because I remember getting the impression her mother was a bit of an
old shrew when Caroline had spoken of her. I’m praying she isn’t the one to
answer the door. The decades old Volvo Estate Caroline and Christian share is
the only car in the driveway, so it’s looking good that their parents have gone
out. Frank waits for me in the car across the road, keeping a watchful eye out
in case the witches decide to make another attack.

 After a minute I hear soft footsteps padding down the hallway, and
Christian answers the door in comfortable tracksuit pants and a long sleeved t-shirt.

 “Oh,” he says. “Hey Flo, what’re you doing here?”

 I can understand his surprise to find me at his door since I’ve never
called to the house before.

 “Is Caroline in?” I ask him, in return he nods and motions up the
stairs, stepping out of my way and leaving the door open for me to come in. I
step inside and close the door after me. I don’t need to search for her room
since her door has a fancy little flower embossed plague that reads “Caroline’s
Room” in a swirly font.

 I knock first before going inside, and find Caroline sprawled out on top
of her duvet with lots of pillows propping her head up reading a book. She sits
up when she sees me, looking a little embarrassed at having been caught
spending her Friday night in reading. I don’t know why though, for me that’s an
ideal way to spend an evening.

 “Flo,” she says in confusion, “I thought you were going to be at Ross’
birthday party tonight.”

 For several beats of the clock ticking above my head on her wall, I
struggle with how to explain why I’m here. After much mental conflict I decide
to go with the truth insofar as I can. I sit down on the side of her bed.

 “Ross never showed up for his party,” I tell her, the white lie comes
easily, “and Frank k-keeps saying how it’s so unlike him not to show.”

 Caroline shifts over to me, and her colours tell me that she has no idea
why I’m here, telling her all this.

 “But wasn’t it a surprise party?” she asks. “Maybe he forgot he was
supposed to be there.”

 I shake my head. “He knew about his party, he just pretended he was in
the dark to keep Layla happy. Anyway, even if it weren’t for that, he’s still
normally home by this hour.” I pause a moment before continuing. “I know this
sounds crazy, but I’m worried the same person who kidnapped your cousin Lauren
might have taken Ross.”

 Caroline purses her lips and rubs her forehead. “I don’t know about
that. I’m sure you’re just jumping to the most extreme conclusion because
you’re worried. He’s a teenage boy, he’ll probably arrive home at midnight,
blind drunk.”

 I don’t bother to disagree with her, instead I say, “Yeah, I suppose you
might be right. But – I mean, just to put my mind at ease, could you tell me
some more about Lauren? I want to figure out if there are any similarities
between her and Ross.”

 Caroline’s eyes tilt down in sadness, and then she nods. “Sure, I
actually have some photos of her here, if you’d like to see them.”

 Enthusiastically I tell her I would, because although Lauren’s
appearance has been described to me, and despite the fact that I’ve been inside
of her body in a dream, I have never actually seen her face. I feel like a
picture might somehow connect me to her more closely. Caroline kneels down in
front of the small chest of drawers by her bed and pulls open the bottom one,
retrieving a big purple photo album. She heaves it up onto her bed and flips it
open about midway through.

 “I have some pictures of a trip our parents brought us on to the beach
about three years ago,” she tells me.

 The first photo is of the two of them sitting on a bright yellow towel
that’s been spread out on the sand, they both wear swim suits. Caroline looks
directly into the camera, a bright smile on her face. But Lauren is turned away
slightly, her hand shields her face because she doesn’t want to be photographed.
But I still recognise her short blond hair and slim, almost boyish build, even
though I can’t see her face.

 “Looks like it was a fun day,” I say, scanning the image.

 “Hmm, it was,” replies Caroline, her eyes somewhere far away as she
takes in the scene of sun, sea and sand, before going on, “That day was one of
the better times for Lauren. She seemed, I don’t know, less burdened in some
way. I think it did her good just to get away from Chesterport for a while.”

 Absent-mindedly, Caroline turns the page to the next photo, this one is
a group shot with Christian, Caroline, Lauren, and a little blond girl of about
ten or eleven years of age. Perhaps she’s Lauren’s younger sister. All of them
hold ice-lollies, and my eyes focus in on Lauren as this is the first time I
have seen her face properly. She smiles, but without showing teeth. Caroline
might think this was one of Lauren’s better days, but I’d have to disagree.
There’s no escaping the haunted aspect to her pale blue eyes.

 Seeing her full on now, she seems so familiar. But that’s probably just
because of the connection I already feel to her. I take in the rest of the
photo, in the background there are ice-cream stalls and a pier far off in the
distance. Then my eyes wander back to Lauren and something dizzies me. My mind
flashes to a memory, and my heart pumps hard against my ribcage. My skin goes
all pimply, causing the hairs to rise on end.

 I’ve seen Lauren before. Brushed her off as a day dream. As a
manifestation of my over active imagination. The clue was so vital but I barely
even gave it a second thought. And now I know who the head witch is. Who my
stalker is. Who it was that had walked in my dreams.

 I bolt up from the bed and tell Caroline I’m feeling ill and need to go
home, before running out the door. When I get to the car I find Frank sitting
listening to Classic Rock on the radio. I plant myself in the passenger seat
and shut the door tight. I gasp for breath as I fumble to secure myself with
the seatbelt. Frank watches me without saying a word, but his expression holds
a dozen questions.

 “I know who’s leading them,” I whisper. “I know who the head witch is.”

 Several expressions pass over Frank’s face before he grabs me by both
shoulders. “How? Who is it?” his words spill out in less than a second.