The Children Of The Mist (6 page)

The hand felt warm and comforting. And then she knew Zest was right. There was something in his backpack. For half a minute she listened. And then, incredibly, it came to her.

‘It's an ant,' she said flatly.

Zest slipped the pack off his shoulder and placed it on the ground. Together they peered in. With sure fingers Zest reached inside and pulled out the bag of dog biscuits. Morven could clearly hear the sound of tiny insect feet as the ant pattered over the dry biscuits.

Morven stared at the tiny creature. Intense. How the hell had she known? And then her eyes moved slowly to Zest's. More to the point, how had he known? Well, one thing was for sure. If she was crazy, so was he.

The train slid slowly into the station. Carriages paraded by, each as empty as the last. Morven and Zest sat side by side. This in itself was unusual. But then, it had been an unusual day. Zest glanced at Morven who stared out the window into the backyards of sleeping houses. She looked pale. Even for Morven. He knew she was scared but he hesitated to speak, in case he said the wrong thing. It was hard to temper down the huge bubble of excitement that sat in his chest. But there was fear, too. He could be wrong. If he was, he didn't know if he could bear it. He pulled out the bag of lollies and peered into the sticky bag. Two left. He offered one to Morven, which she took, and her dark eyes grazed his. For a moment he thought she would speak but she turned, head resting on the window, and looked out again.

‘I can lend you a board, if you like,' he said, trying to find an inoffensive opener. Morven turned on him with such ferocious speed that he reared back in his seat. ‘What! Is that the best you can do?' she spat.

Zest eyed her warily, aware that he was walking on very thin ice. ‘Chill, Morven.'

She slumped back in her chair like a deflated balloon. ‘Oh God, I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me.'

For one horrible moment Zest thought she was going to cry. Instead, she became still. Then she slowly turned her head, first this way, then that, with a rapt expression on her face, eyes wide and lips slightly apart. Morven had very nice lips, he thought. Very kissable. Not that he had any intention of telling her so. She'd piss herself laughing.

‘Zest, do you hear that music?'

Zest strained his ears but, other than the soft tic tack, tic tack of the locomotive, there was nothing. ‘What kind of music?'

‘I don't know. It's soft and kind of sad. It's familiar but I can't quite put my finger on it.' And then she snapped her fingers together. ‘I know what it is, it's a harp.'

Zest sucked in his breath. The harp. Chosen instrument of the Valkyrie.

Morven's eyes narrowed. ‘Do you hear it now?'

And he knew he must say something. It would be cruel to let her believe she was experiencing some sort of psychotic episode. ‘No, Morven, I can't hear it. But then — I'm not like you.' Morven tilted her head slightly, and licked her lips, which was a little disturbing, but Zest ruthlessly crushed his lust down. Sadly, he'd had lots of practise.

Morven glared at him. ‘Why are you talking in bloody riddles, Zest? Have I fallen down a rabbit hole or what?'

And he could think of no easy way to say it. ‘Morven — this is going to sound really, really crazy — the truth is I think you're…morphing…' He couldn't go on, too scared of the fallout from such a revelation. And there was still some doubt in his mind. What if he was wrong?

Morven leaned right up into his face. For a moment his senses reeled as her scent washed over him. Her skin was as luminescent as the full moon. Clear and unblemished. Her hair as black as the night sky.

Unfortunately, Morven was not in the mood for romance. She poked his chest. Hard. ‘For the love of all that I hold dear and sacred, Zest, will you get to the point?'

‘You're a vampyre, Morven.' Even to him, it sounded utterly ridiculous.

Morven blinked and sat back. ‘A vampyre? What, you mean a pointy-toothed, blood-sucking bat-person?'

Zest nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Her lips twitched. ‘A vampyre?'

Again, he nodded.

Morven's face disintegrated. ‘A…a…vampyre? Oh my God, Zest. That's priceless.' And she began to giggle.

It was infectious. Zest smiled ruefully. Who could blame her?

Then she stood up and grinned, reached out and slid the neck of his T-shirt aside, exposing his clavicle. With a melodramatic sigh she flung back an imaginary cloak and leant down, hair cascading over his chest. Zest laughed, more to cover up his extreme discomfort at Morven's unexpected closeness. The tiny nip tickled too. But his laughter dried up as she gripped him tightly on his shoulders and slowly sank her teeth in.

‘Shit, Morven, pack it in.' For a moment there was a struggle, but he finally prised her away.

Her head snapped back, hair whipping the air, teeth bared in a snarl of outrage. And then her mouth pursed suspiciously as she stepped back and collapsed in the chair opposite, shaking with mirth. After a minute she managed to collect herself and pointed at him. ‘Oh my God, you should have seen your face!'

Zest, inwardly shaken, managed a wry smile. His hand moved to the sore spot at the angle of his neck and shoulder. The skin was not broken but it was still tender. ‘I'll probably get rabies or foot and mouth.'

Morven grinned. ‘Don't worry, when you're deceased I'll give you the kiss of life and we can be the undead forever.'

‘That's zombies.'

She waved a hand around. ‘Whatever.' She glanced out the window. ‘Nearly home.'

They were. Eucalypt trees leaned in toward the track, the city long gone. ‘I'll see you tomorrow then?'

Morven nodded. ‘Sure. But you'd better bring your garlic and a large stake. Just in case.'

Stake
. Steak.
Raw and wriggling. Zest smiled, but inside him the whistles and sirens were tooting loudly. Despite Morven's incredulous amusement, some ancient knowledge buried deep in his brain sensed a subtle change within her. His clumsy attempt to warn her had missed the mark. Even though he felt he was letting her down, he did not know what to do. This was a novel experience for him, too. Suddenly he felt deeply inadequate and fearful for his friend. Really, truly, he must try again. Prepare her, best as he could. If he didn't try and it all ended badly, well, he'd never forgive himself.

‘Listen, Morven, jokes aside — ‘ He halted mid-sentence, aware he had lost his audience. Morven was curled over, her head almost on her knees. She let out a long groan. Not sure whether or not it was another wind-up, he observed her for half a moment. But then he noticed her hands were trembling. ‘Morven, what's wrong?'

She did not answer but cried out like an animal with its leg in the teeth of a trap. He jumped up and squatted down at her knee. He shook her gently. ‘Morven, what is it? Are you hurt?'

She gasped, let out a long whistle of air through her teeth and lifted her head. ‘I've got a really bad pain in my gut.'

Zest was almost relieved. A gut ache. Bit of a bug probably. Maybe the near-raw meat. She wasn't used to it. The train slowed and he glanced out at the neon lit sign as they came to a standstill. Next stop was Morven's, thank goodness. Soon they were away again. Zest sat back in his chair and watched on anxiously.

‘It's alright,' she said faintly, ‘it's nearly gone.'

But Zest was not reassured. Beads of sweat stood out on her high forehead and her eyes glittered with fever. Shit, maybe she should phone her parents. ‘Morven, why don't you phone your mum or dad to meet you at the station?'

‘No, no, they'll just fuss. I'll be fine.'

‘You don't look fine.'

She glared at him. ‘What, are you, like, the doctor now?''

She was so bloody stubborn. He wondered if he dared swipe her phone and make the call himself.

Morven tutted at him loudly and shook her head. ‘Don't even think about it.'

He put on his most offended and innocent look. ‘Do what?'

But another wave of pain flooded over her and she folded over helplessly. Well, he'd just have to take her home himself. There was nothing else for it.

At last the lights of the station heralded the end of the journey. ‘Come on, Morven, we're there.'

She opened her eyes and pushed up out of the chair, took a step, cried out and staggered back. If he hadn't caught her she'd have fallen. He half carried, half propelled her out of the train and onto the deserted platform. With his arm wrapped under her arms, she got as far as the steps that led up and over the railway track to the exit. As he paused to try and get a better grip, she crumpled. He caught her, slipped an arm under her knees and lifted her up against his chest. Her head lay limply on his shoulder.

‘Put me down, I can walk,' she whispered.

‘Sure you can,' he said.

‘I'm not a vampyre.'

‘Course you're not.'

As he ran up the steps two at a time, he could feel her heart fluttering like butterfly wings in her chest.

When the speaker on the wall clicked and crackled, Morven's mother, Shelley, looked up from her book in surprise. Morven must have forgotten her card key.

‘Mrs Smith, it's Zest, let me in.' Shelley looked at her husband. ‘Clifford, something must be wrong.' She jumped up out of her armchair, hastened over to the lift and watched anxiously as her husband called it up. She could not get away from the superstitious dread that her cardigan of life had just slipped a stitch.

Neither spoke as they watched the numbers light up and fade. Time seemed suspended. They looked at each other and back to the lift. Finally, the doors opened with a ping. Shelley let out a cry of distress as Zest stumbled through the door with Morven folded up against his chest.

‘What's happened, is she hurt?' said Shelley.

Zest stared at her, his beautiful green eyes wild and wide. ‘She's sick. Got a stomach ache. Collapsed at the station.' His voice was ragged and hoarse with stress.

‘Bring her to her room,' Clifford directed.

Shelley reluctantly took a step back while Zest followed her husband to Morven's room. She watched as the young man laid her tenderly on the quilt. She wondered if her daughter had any idea just how much her skater boy loved her. He trembled as he stepped away.

‘Get him a drink, Clifford,' said Shelley.

Clifford opened his mouth, but closed it again without a word and led the stricken boy out of the room. With her heart pounding like a jackhammer, Shelley gently placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders and shook her. ‘Morven, wake up. It's Mum. Can you hear me?'

Morven mumbled incoherently and her head rolled around on the pillow. Encouraged, Shelley tried again. This time, to her profound relief, Morven's eyes opened. Eyes of the deepest brown, almost black. So unlike her own.

‘Mum. What's happened?'

‘You were taken sick on the train. Zest brought you home.'

Morven nodded. ‘I've got a pain in my stomach.'

‘Where, show me.'

Morven placed a hand low on her abdomen. ‘Here.'

Shelley laughed weakly. ‘Morven, you silly thing, it's just period pain. You're going to start your period. If you haven't already.'

Morven blinked. ‘But it's terrible. Like someone's trying to remove my insides without anaesthetic.'

Shelley's heart squeezed in sympathy. Not for the first time she wondered why things had to be so hard for her daughter. She was so sensitive, feeling everything both physically and emotionally with an intensity that was a bit scary. Sometimes it was hard to repel the guilty conclusion that it was her fault. A kind of punishment for what she had done. But it could not be undone and obsessing over the past wasn't helpful. She reached down and hugged Morven to her. For a brief moment Morven hugged her back.

‘Tell you what,' said Shelley, ‘I'll go get you some Panadol and a hot pack. That'll help.'

Morven nodded. ‘I feel such an idiot. Zest will laugh fit to pee himself.'

Shelley smiled down at her woebegone child. ‘I don't think so. He's pretty anxious. I think he'll just be relieved you're alright.'

Morven's faced flushed to the vivid hue of a beetroot. ‘Don't tell him.'

‘Of course not. I'll say you have a virus.'

The colour faded rapidly from Morven's cheeks, leaving her complexion whiter than a page of paper. Her eyes closed and she was still. Shelley hurried out of the room to give the good news to the two waiting males.

Both were sitting on the sofa, empty glasses still clutched in their hands. Thankfully, Zest seemed to be more composed. As they both started up out of their seats, Shelley smiled and held up a restraining hand. ‘It's alright. She's fine. Just a bit of a tummy bug.' She felt her husband's keen eyes on her and knew he sensed her lie. There was something in Zest's expression too that suggested he wasn't fooled. But she blessed them both for pretending to believe her. Clifford she would tell anyway. As for Zest, well, that was up to Morven.

Shelley hurried into the kitchen, opened the cupboard door above the kettle and pulled out the drugs. She heated a wheat pack and headed back to Morven, who she found just coming out of the bathroom. Shelley hurried to her, shocked at her weakened state, suddenly afraid her diagnosis was wrong. With an arm around her daughter's slender waist she helped her back to bed.

Morven sank back onto the bed with a sigh of weariness. ‘You're right, Mum, I've just started.'

Shelley felt her anxiety recede. ‘That's great, Morven. You can stop worrying about it now. You'll be just like all the other girls — bloated and miserable. I told you it would happen.'

Morven nodded. ‘I know.' Then she turned and looked toward the window. ‘Mum, do you hear that?'