To Summon Nightmares (11 page)

He shook his head violently. He had to stop thinking like this. He didn't know anything for sure, and the feeling of powerlessness the whole concept gave him was sickening. But what could he do? If Niall was telling the truth, and Jacky had killed people, didn't he have a responsibility to turn Jacky in to the Guild? What was the right thing to do?

It doesn't matter
, he told himself firmly.
You don't even know how to contact the Guild,
if
it even exists, and anyway, Niall's got it under control. Stop thinking about it!
But did Niall have it under control? How did he plan to stop Jacky? Cohen replayed the conversation over again in his mind, trying to remember if Niall had said anything specific about his plan to stop Jacky from killing again. He hadn't told Cohen anything really. Not why Jacky was killing people, or what could be done to stop him. Maybe Niall didn't know.

He pulled out his phone to check the time. He'd been walking for over an hour. His stomach gave a little jolt of panic and he had to reassure himself that the location of the sun meant he was definitely walking in the right direction. It was just a longer walk than he'd suspected. His feet were beginning to blister, and the sun was
hot overhead. He pulled his hoodie off and made a disgusted face when he realised he'd begun to sweat. He tied it around his waist (very fashionable) and picked up his pace a little. He was going to look a right sight when he got into town. Good thing he wasn't looking to make friends or impress anyone.

By the time the little town came into view over a hilltop, Cohen was sweating profusely. His breath was ragged, and he was certain his feet were bleeding. He wanted nothing more than a cold shower and a soft bed, neither or which he was likely to find in town. Oh well, he was only here for petrol. He'd find the nearest petrol station, grab a can and... lug it all the way back to his house. He sighed heavily. He really hadn't thought this through very well.

Witton was really a tiny town. From his vantage on the hilltop, Cohen could see the single main street that cut directly through the town, with only a few small streets branching off in different directions. It was beautifully quaint though, even from far away. Cohen could see that the houses were painted various colours, packed tightly together in town and then becoming increasingly sparse as they crawled away into the countryside like colourful blocks. The sun was high in the sky now, causing him to shade his eyes and squint, but he thought he could see a petrol station.

He caught his breath, tightened his hoodie around his waist and began the trek down to town. A solitary car passed by him, but didn't slow down long enough for Cohen to see the driver. It was only another fifteen minutes or so before the petrol station came into view, luckily on the outskirts of town. It was a flat, metal building with only one pump, but what looked like a rather large convenience store attached to it. Cohen rushed towards it, grateful for the shade. He didn't see any petrol cans for sale outside, so he pulled the glass door open and stepped inside.

A bell jingled as the door shut behind him, and Cohen looked around at the dimly lit shop. He felt chilled, and realised that he had been sweating a bit. He quickly untied his hoodie and pulled it on, feeling slightly gross.

"Cohen?" said a familiar voice, and Cohen blanched. Niall was emerging from behind the counter, a concerned look on his face. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh," said Cohen, feeling his face heat up with sparks of embarrassment. "You would work here."

"Why, do I suit it?" asked Niall, looking amused, until his face became serious suddenly. "You look exhausted. Did you walk here?"

"I needed petrol. I thought I'd just walk to town and surely I wouldn't meet anyone I know between home and the petrol station—"

Niall walked towards him, still looking concerned. "Cohen, do you remember last night when I told you to be careful?"

"My car wouldn't start, what was I supposed to do?" asked Cohen, exasperated. "Anyway, it's the middle of the day, and there was no one around."

"You—" Niall crossed his arms, his face a mixture of annoyance and concern. He looked as handsome as always, although perhaps a little wan. "You walked all the way here, to get petrol," he confirmed. "And you look as if the walk's nearly killed you. What were you going to do after you got the petrol?"

"Well, I was going to rest a bit first," said Cohen, unsure of why he was bothering to defend his sanity when he wasn't sure of it himself. "I dunno..."

"Did you wear the charm I gave you, at least?" asked Niall as another customer entered the shop, and he looked relieved when Cohen pulled out the pendant from the long string around his neck. "That's good."

The customer gave Niall a sharp, unfriendly look and strode up to the counter. Niall glanced at Cohen with a long-suffering expression and hurried after him.

Cohen drifted over to a rack of crisps near the counter to observe the transaction. The customer was a middle-aged man dressed in dirty, unkempt clothes, and Cohen couldn't tell if he was just a rude person, or if he was being particularly short with Niall. He barely spoke to Niall as he grabbed the debit machine from him in a distinctly unfriendly manner and shoved his card in. Niall glanced at Cohen, and the man turned and seemed to notice Cohen for the first time.

"Who are you?" he barked.

Cohen nearly stepped backwards in surprise. "I—I'm new in town. Cohen Brandwein."

The man pulled his card from the machine and leaned on the counter to look at Cohen. "Oh, you're the one who gave the alibi for
him
, aren't you?" he jerked his head in Niall's direction. "Chief Garda mentioned you, only she said you were a boy."

Cohen gritted his teeth. "I am," he said, and his voice came out much weaker than he wanted it to. His voice was changing, slowly, and he could usually produce quite a deep pitch when he wanted to, but of course he utterly failed this time. "I inherited the Coughton from my aunt."

"The old Jewish witch," confirmed the man. "I know. And," he leered, "I know she only had nieces." He stepped forward, advancing on Cohen. "Listen here,
girl
," he said. "There's been a lot of strange things going on in this town lately, and we don't take kindly to strangers anyhow, especially not ones who are strange to begin with." He turned to look pointedly at Niall, whose jaw was set in a tight line of anger. "Tell you what, you don't try to stand out, and don't go socialising with people who aren't liked, and you'll keep out of trouble. Otherwise..."

"Excuse me," said Cohen, finding his proper voice at last. "Thank you for the advice, but I'm not here to impress anyone. And furthermore, I'll socialise with who I like."

There was a loud noise of paper ripping and then Niall cut in. "Here's your receipt," he said, holding out a slip of paper. "I'd like you to leave now."

The man turned slowly to Niall and snatched the receipt from his hand. "I'll be speaking to your manager about this," he said. "We don't need any murder suspects working here anyway." He turned to Cohen and tipped his hat in a way that was not at all polite. "Miss," he said, and strode out of the shop.

The doorbell chimed, and Cohen nearly fell back into the rack of crisps. He was furious, his whole body shaking. "Oh my god, what an
arsewipe.
"

"I am
so
sorry," said Niall, staring at Cohen over the counter. "It's—he was only so rude because you were talking to me. It's all my fault."

"It's not your fault," said Cohen, reaching over to pick up a pack of crisps. He saw what he had been looking for suddenly, a shelf of petrol cans across the shop and he made for them. Niall followed him.

"That was incredibly brave, what you said to him," Niall said. Cohen felt himself glowing a little from the praise, the warmth slowly reducing the shivers and clutch of dysphoria.

"Thanks," he said. "I'm used to standing up to people, I suppose." When he glanced up, Niall still had a look of unabashed admiration on his face. "Oh, stop it," he admonished, but he couldn't help but feel proud of himself as well. "Why was he so rude to you?"

"Oh," Niall shrugged. "Everyone in town is, really. They all think I'm the murderer."

"But I gave you an alibi, they know it wasn't you!"

"Right," said Niall. "Or they think you're in on it."

"Oh," Cohen looked down at the petrol cans, the weight of that fact sinking in. "Well, whatever. I guess I'm not here to make friends. Is this what I need?" He held up a can.

Niall nodded. "I suppose so; I'd have to see your car to be sure. Tell you what," he chewed on his lip a little. "Just, if you wait around a bit I'll be off work and I can drive you back to your place and see that we get your car working."

"Really?" asked Cohen. "That'd be great. I—you're not going to get in trouble, are you? That man said he was going to call and complain about you."

Niall looked out the glass doors to where the man had driven away. "He won't," he said firmly. "And if he does, my manager doesn't care. He's the only one who would give me a job. Here, I'll get it." He lifted the can and carried it over to the counter for Cohen.

"I can carry it," Cohen protested, but Niall insisted on carting for him.

"No offence, but you look about ready to expire," he said. "Go to the café or the bookshop and get some rest before I drive you home."

"Will I meet more of the charming locals?" Cohen sighed as he pulled out his wallet to pay, and Niall merely grimaced.

When Cohen stepped back out into the sunlight, the parking lot was once again empty. He lifted a hand to shade his eyes and squinted in the direction of town. Niall had said that it would be no problem for him to find the café, but Cohen wasn't sure he believed him. Oh well, he was hungry, and in definite need of a coffee. He thought, amused, that maybe his irritability due to lack of caffeine was what had influenced him to stand up to the rude customer.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and began the walk down the road towards town. Although he'd told himself he didn't really care, he hoped fervently that everyone in town wasn't going to be as rude as that man. Well, Myrna wasn't, at least, so he had one friend. And Niall, he supposed, was his friend too, although that relationship was just... strange. He hoped his apparent feelings for Niall weren't clouding his judgement too much, and also that they weren't horribly noticeable. Obviously Niall had a lot on his plate (including a psycho ex-boyfriend) and wasn't exactly in the market for a new boyfriend.

Cohen had never had a boyfriend before, and he'd never allowed himself to think that he might. Liking women was normal for him; he'd identified as a lesbian and had a string of girlfriends before ever coming out as trans. He'd always known he was bi, really, but he'd also always felt like gay men were unattainable to him, like he was an imposter for even being attracted to them.

He remembered his conversation with Niall though, the first night in Witton, before everything had been turned upside down. Niall had sat close to him, and told Cohen that he wouldn't mind dating a man like Cohen. Of course, that didn't mean anything, and Cohen still had to decide whether or not he was interested in dating a guy with such obvious issues, if the option presented itself.

Niall had been right about Cohen not being able to miss the café. It was one of about four establishments as he entered the town centre, and the large weathered sign hanging above proclaimed simply "Café." It had glass windows, but the sunlight was so bright that Cohen couldn't really see in. It really did seem to be the only place to acquire a meal, since the pub across the street didn't look like it would be open until later in the day.

Full of apprehension as he was, Cohen took a firm grip on the heavy wooden door and pulled it open. It swung open easier than he expected and Cohen flinched and slipped in awkwardly, hoping he hadn't made too much of a scene. He blinked a couple of times as his eyes adjusted, before managing to identify a staff member, a plump black woman, who was staring at him from behind the counter.

"Oh!" she said. "Hello."

Cohen managed a tight smile, trying not to fidget. "Hello," he replied.

The woman was still staring at him with a confused expression. "Are you passing through, then?" she said. "I don't recognise you."

"Oh, no," said Cohen, his heart sinking. Here it went again. "I'm living here now, in the Coughton. It was my aunt's."

The woman's features rearranged themselves into understanding. "Oh, I see!" she said. "Myrna mentioned you, but," her voice faltered, "I thought Miriam only had nieces?"

Cohen forced his smile to stay in place. "Nope," he said. "My name's Cohen."

If the woman continued to be confused, she didn't show it. "Well, come in," she said, gesturing Cohen forward. "What can I get you? I'm Grace by the way."

As Cohen stepped forward, he became aware that there were several other people sitting in the booths and at the tables around the shop, and all of them were staring at him. Only a few were doing it openly of course, the others glancing at him surreptitiously over coffee and books. Most of them seemed to be middle aged or over. Cohen tried to ignore them, ordering a coffee and a pastry for lunch.

He paid and collected his food, and went to sit in a booth by the window, all the while feeling eyes on him. He wished he'd brought a book or something, but settled for taking his phone out and connecting to the Wi-Fi. Eventually, when he neglected to do anything interesting, he felt the stares recede, and he settled in to eat his pastry.

The door opened a couple of times, people came and went. A few of them sat down to eat, a few simply left with their coffee. All of them stared at Cohen, but luckily none of them spoke to him. Cohen sat with his head down, flicking through websites on his phone and wondering how he was going to get through the rest of the day. He was feeling quite depressed, and more than a little homesick. He longed for the city where no one knew anyone, and he could walk into a coffee shop without getting stared at like he had two heads. Why had he thought moving to a small town would be a good idea?