Blue Moon (Book One in The Blue Crystal Trilogy) (24 page)

It had seemed a huge laugh at
first. Queen of Glamour gets hitched to Prince of the Reality
World. He’d been a big hit on his reality TV show and everybody
wanted a piece of Mikey-Boy. Including her. But once all the hype
had been stripped back and his physical charms had started to fade,
she’d found he was just a handsome husk with nothing between the
ears.

He’d served a purpose, she
supposed. Her ratings had been dropping slowly but surely, not
catastrophically, but enough to get her agent worried.

“We need a big event,
Kimberley,” he’d said, in his flat Black Country accent. “I don't
care what it is. Well, not another breast enlargement. Perhaps
husband number four? Someone that’s current you can ride on the
back of, as it were.”

“Who d’you have in mind,
Danny?” she’d asked

He’d twiddled his cigar and
said, “Mikey-Boy, of course. He’s hot, he’s single and he’s gagging
for you.”

She’d grinned, liking the sound
of it and after that it had been easy. Leave it to the agents.
They’d sorted everything: the first date, the declaration of love,
the disagreement, the reconciliation, the proposal, the engagement
and the wedding. The media had been alerted at every stage and it
had worked a treat. Her ratings had soared and she was back on top.
Even the national news had given her coverage. She was an icon, a
national treasure, the darling of young girls everywhere.

For a time, it had been
enough.

She’d had more modelling
assignments than ever, a new TV show, her own brand of Forever
Youthful make-up and perfume and enough product endorsements to
last a lifetime. Whatever she touched became gold. The money poured
in and her coffers were overflowing. She skied in Saint Moritz,
sunbathed in Saint Tropez, cruised on a yacht, had a hair stylist
in London, a Botox technician in LA and a costumier in Paris. All
the usual clichés you needed to buy into the jet set.

But just recently, things had
started to slip.

What had once been effortless,
now seemed tiring. What had once been easy, was now hard work.
Upward and onward had always been her motto. Now she felt gravity
pulling her downward.

It was Mikey-Boy who’d first
lit the blue touch-paper, which was when she realised just how much
she despised him. They’d been invited to yet another celebrity
function, some party or dinner or opening or first night, she
really couldn’t remember. She’d been getting ready to go out,
preening in front of the mirror, admiring her long, shapely legs,
tight ass, flat stomach and voluptuous chest. Mikey-Boy had
watched, fascinated: Kimberley Chartreuse, the living Barbie Doll,
everything fake, everything false, from the sprayed on tan to the
enormous, double ‘F’ bazoomers.

Then, horror of horrors, he’d
leant forward, looked closely and said, “You’re getting lines!
You’re showing your age.”

She’d frozen him with an icy
stare, walked out without speaking and had hated him ever
since.

That night, when she got back,
she’d sat in front of her dressing room mirror for an hour and
studied her face. She had a permanent trout pout thanks to too many
collagen injections, she’d been under the knife more times than she
could remember and it seemed every few weeks she was rushing off
for a bit of ‘bo’.

“God, how I hate getting old,”
she moaned to the mirror. “If he’s noticed it, others will, and I
know what the press are like. They’ll seize on every little
wrinkle.”

She picked up her cell phone
and brought up an app that showed how you’d look as you got older.
With trembling fingers, she selected a photograph of herself and,
at the press of a button, watched her face transform into that of
an old witch, creased and lined, hanging and drooping, everything
going south. With a cry, she threw the phone across the room.

The thought of having to hide
her ageing face made her feel physically sick.

“I was made for the limelight,”
she declared. “I need people, I need fans, I need to be
adored.”

She retrieved her phone and
dialled her agent’s number.

“Danny? It’s Kimberley. I need
you to do something. It’s urgent and it’s top secret…”

Danny listened silently as
Kimberley outlined her requirements, then he puffed on his cigar
and smiled.

“I know just the person. Leave
it to me.”

23.
Truth

At seven in the morning, I
figured it was safe to open the church door. It was going to be a
gorgeous day. The sun had already risen, streaking the few clouds
that drifted across the sky with golden light, and all seemed fresh
and clean and new.

I breathed in deeply, and
looked around. The gravestones were serene and peaceful in the
morning light, dew lay on the grass and birds sang in the trees. It
was the kind of morning that made you glad to be alive, all the
more so for looking out over a graveyard. I peered at the bushes,
but could see nothing ominous or threatening. No evil yellow eyes
stared back at me and I began to wonder if I’d imagined it. I
daren’t even start to process what I’d experienced, I needed to get
home and surround myself with the routine of everyday life.

More than anything, I needed
time to sit and think, and decide what to do. I didn’t know when
I’d next see Theo and I had to be prepared when I did.

I was still wearing the long
blue velvet cloak and now I took it off and folded it carefully.
Carrying it under my arm, I stepped out of the church and closed
the heavy oak door behind me.

Ten minutes later I was back at
home, creeping up the stairs and into my room. I hid the velvet
cloak at the bottom of my wardrobe, pulled off my clothes and took
a long, hot shower. I luxuriated in the hot water, feeling it wash
the excitement, the fear and the passion of last night out of my
system, and emerged feeling calmer, cleansed and able to think more
clearly. I realised I was famished and, donning my dressing gown,
went downstairs to have some breakfast. I made myself a large bowl
of porridge, followed by a boiled egg on toast.

‘Now I feel more human,’ I said
to myself, then shuddered at the thought.

Those people last night, surely
they weren’t human? But if they weren’t, then what were they
exactly? Theo had scoffed at the idea of vampires. So were they
some kind of aliens? Let’s face it, I’d witnessed some very old
people being transformed into young, beautiful beings, without
blemish or imperfection. And Theo was one of them. As were all the
members of his family.

I loved Theo to distraction and
had never experienced such feelings of intensity and love as I had
last night. But what had I fallen in love with? And where did that
leave me? Theo had been most insistent I leave the hall as quickly
as possible. He said I was in terrible danger. Was I still in
danger? Or could Theo keep my presence last night a secret? Surely,
if no one knew I’d been there, I was safe, wasn’t I? Or did I
really see two yellow eyes watching me in the graveyard? And if I
did, who was it? And did they know I’d been at the Blue Moon
Ball?

I didn't have any answers. The
only person who did was Theo and I had to wait until I saw him
again before I knew what they were.

My mum came into the breakfast
room.

“Hi, Emily, you’re up early,”
she said, in surprise.

“Hi Mum, I couldn’t sleep.”

That was the truth, I didn’t
mention I’d never been to bed.

She examined her face in the
mirror on the breakfast room wall and exclaimed, “God, I’m looking
old. I’m going to need a facelift soon.” She stretched the skin
upwards with her fingers. “There, that looks better, doesn’t
it?”

I stared at her in alarm. “Old
is good, mum, don’t worry about ageing naturally. Take it from me,
you’re fine the way you are.”

She stared at me in
amazement.

“Well, thanks, Emily, I didn’t
know you felt so strongly on the subject.”

“I don’t,” I back-tracked,
“it’s just there’s nothing wrong with getting old gracefully.
Anyway, if you’re worried, I’ve got this really good facial stuff
Tash gave me. Made from beer. Makes your skin feel amazing.
Allegedly.”

“So, you haven’t actually used
it?”

“No, but look at Tash’s face.
Her skin is amazing, you have to agree.”

“Alright, I’ll give it a go.
Leave it out in the bathroom for me.”

“Okay. Always remember, mum,
natural is best.”

“Er, haven’t I been saying that
for years? Every time you attempted to go out plastered in
make-up?” she said, looking at me strangely.

“That was in my Goth phase last
year,” I informed her. “I am so over that now. Can’t you tell?”

“Yes, I think I might have
spotted that. I must say, your current look is a huge improvement.
In fact, just recently, you’ve been positively glowing. Must be
love….”

It was definitely time to
change the subject. This was getting into cringe territory.

“Is Granddad up yet?” I
asked.

“No,” answered my mum, pouring
a cup of tea and looking concerned, “he’s not too good. He says
he’s going to stay in bed today.”

“It could be the virus I had,”
I suggested. “We need to build him up with home-made chicken
broth.”

“Yes, let’s do that,” my mother
smiled at me. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s made of strong
stuff.”

“I'll take him a cup of tea,” I
offered, jumping up and going into the kitchen. I needed to stay
occupied, I felt jittery and on edge. I made the tea, dark and
strong, just how he liked it, and carried it upstairs, knocking on
his door.

“Come in,” said a weak voice
inside.

It was dark in the bedroom, so
I opened the curtains just enough to let in a little light.

“How are you Gramps?” I asked,
looking down at him.

I was quite shocked by his
appearance. He seemed to have aged since I’d last seen him, which
had only been the day before. He lay back on his pillows, looking
frail and ill. His eyes were watery and bloodshot, his face thinner
with an unnatural flush to his cheeks, and his forehead was shiny
with perspiration.

“I’ve felt better, Emily,” he
said, smiling feebly and struggling to sit up. “It’s this old body.
Can’t fight off the germs as well as I used to. It’s probably
nothing more than a cold, a few days in bed will see me right.”

I looked at him with concern.
He seemed to be breathless and struggled to get out his words.

“Do you want me to ring for the
doctor?” I asked, feeling somewhat inept.

“No,” he said sharply, “I’ve no
need of the quack. You know what he’d say: ‘Rest, drink lots of
liquids, take paracetamol. ‘Can’t treat a virus, your body has to
fight it off.’ It’s always the same.”

There was no telling my
Granddad. He was one of that generation who had no faith in the
medical profession and certainly not the village doctor. In
Granddad’s book, there was no better medicine than fresh air, good
food and a whisky nightcap. It had seen him in good stead so far,
and he wasn’t going to change the pattern of a lifetime.

“Okay. Shall I bring you up
some breakfast?” I asked.

“Not just yet,” he answered
wearily. “Let me come round a bit first. I’ll be down for breakfast
when I’m ready.”

“Alright,” I said, walking to
the door, “but if you want anything, just shout. I’ll bring you a
nice bowl of porridge, a bacon sandwich, whatever you want.”

“Maybe,” he said, looking
exhausted.

I closed the door to his
bedroom and went back downstairs.

“Gramps doesn’t look too good,”
I informed my mother. “He says he doesn’t want the doctor, so what
d’you think we should do?”

“You know what he’s like,”
answered my mother. “Don’t worry, I’ll look after him. I can work
from home today, and you need to get to college.”

College! I’d completely
forgotten about it. Somehow, with everything that had happened, it
seemed more like a weekend. Now, I realised it was Friday and I had
just ten minutes to catch the bus. I tore upstairs, ripped off my
dressing gown and flung on my clothes, and got to the stop with
just a minute to spare.

“You look like you’ve been up
all night,” observed Tash, which didn’t make me feel any
better.

How I wished I could have told
her what I’d experienced the night before. Never had I needed a
friend to confide in more than now. But how could I? For a start,
it sounded incredible. Old people going into a room with a blue
light and coming out young… What would I think if someone told me
that? Either they were winding me up or had been drinking. Then,
there was the danger element, which was a great deal more worrying.
If I really wasn’t safe, then I couldn’t drag Tash or Seth into
this. I’d chosen to go to the Blue Moon Ball, despite all the
warnings. I’d seen more than a few things that didn’t add up at
Hartswell Hall, and yet I’d still gone back, aware that something
strange was going on. I simply couldn’t involve my friends.

Tash had been right to be
suspicious of Theo, but she had no idea what was really going on. I
had to wait until I’d spoken with Theo, then decide whether to tell
them.

The day passed uneventfully and
I had great difficult staying awake, particularly in the Modern
History lecture. Mr Greaves’ monotone voice droned on
soporifically, citing battles and dates and theory and strategy
until everything blended together and I couldn’t stop myself dozing
off, prompting his sarcastic comment, “Are we keeping you up Miss
Morgan? Please don’t let my lecture interfere with your need to
nap.”

The end of the day couldn’t
come soon enough and I gratefully climbed onto the bus, feeling
worn out and drained. Never had I been happier to get home and I
slumped against the front door once it was closed, hanging my head
and staring at the carpet.