The Weight of Souls (16 page)

Her book pressed against my stomach. I tugged it free of my waistband and opened it with reverent fingers. I closed my eyes to bring her voice to mind then started to read.

 

Entry the fifth
 

 

My hand shakes as I write this, trembling so hard that I can barely make sense. The Professor paces outside and his demands have become increasingly urgent. Perhaps his gun is trained on me even now. Still, I cannot move without finishing this, my family needs to know what happened.
 

If only there was a way to beg my child’s forgiveness. Even if I make it home now, I do not deserve to look upon the faces of my family.
 

The sack of blood money at my feet is not compensation. How could I think it would ever be enough?
 

Perhaps I should let the Professor shoot me.
 

 

It began when I returned to the hole in the ground, a moment that already seems a lifetime ago.
 

Despite the queue of lantern bearers who had entered the tomb ahead of me, a preternatural darkness still covered every step below the sixth. Miserably I sought the Professor. The glare of the sun on his small round spectacles erased his eyes as he gestured me downwards.
 

On the fifth step I caught up with the man in front. Like lovers entering an icy sea we felt together with our toes. Step-by-step we descended and the tide of dark rose first to our thighs, then our chests. My bare legs prickled with cold then the darkness enveloped my head.
 

 

My lantern revealed walls decorated floor to ceiling with hieroglyphs. As I wondered what ancient curses surrounded us, we rounded a corner to find a large antechamber, riddled with tunnels like black mouths. In the centre the overseers were waiting to take the light.
 

“We’re setting up base there.” Sunbird indicated the lanterns already clustered by the far wall. “Stay out of the way until you’re needed.”
 

I followed the muted speech of my fellows, stumbling blindly towards the noise until I thumped into another of the men. I ignored his curse and wriggled into a space to try and meditate.
 

I should have fled.
 

 

There was a shout outside and I almost dropped the book. “Taylor Oh!”

I opened my window and leaned into the air. Justin was standing on the street, hands cupped round his mouth. “I can’t get in.”

A secret smile touched my lips.

Of course he couldn’t
.

“I’ll come and get you.” As I passed the dresser I put the book down carefully and looked, not at Mum this time, but in the mirror. Something made me pick up my hairbrush. Swiftly I dragged it through my hair, shaking it out over my shoulders. Then I opened my bedroom door, sucked in a breath at the sight of the dimly-lit hallway and sped as stealthily as possible to the vestibule.

I opened the door and peered out. Justin stood at the top of the steps. “I tried to walk through the door, but it’s solid. Don’t tell me your front door’s cursed too.” He sounded grumpy and tired and I couldn’t help smiling as he tried to walk past. “Ow.” He rebounded onto the pavement and rubbed his shoulder. “I don't understand; there’s nothing there.”

I rubbed my palm on my jeans. “I’m not sure if this’ll work but we can try. Here, you’ll have to take my hand.” My lip curled as I held my arm out to him.

Justin looked at it. “You don’t mind?”

“It’s the only way you’re getting in.”

I braced myself for the familiar hateful jolt, but when Justin’s fingers wrapped around mine they just felt dry and cool; no electric ice.

I walked backwards, Justin walked gingerly forwards and he was in.

As he passed the front door he shuddered and dropped my hand. “What was that? It was horrible, like walking through jelly.”

I checked behind me. Dad’s door was still shut. “Actually, you were right,” I whispered. “The house is cursed – Mum did it. She found these hieroglyphs a few years ago. They used to put them on Egyptian tombs to stop the ghosts of the pharaohs’ servants from escaping. She figured if it stopped ghosts from getting out of a stone pyramid, it might stop them from getting into a stone house. They’re engraved right there, under the ivy.”

“So I’m the first ghost that’s been in here.” He sounded impressed.

I nodded. “For a while.” I gestured towards the stairs. “Come to my room, dead boy.”

 

“Taylor, is that you?”

Automatically I panicked and looked at Justin; but of course Dad wouldn’t see him.

The study opened and he rolled into view. He looked exhausted.

“Are you alright, Dad?”

“I'd be better if I hadn't had a call from the school today, asking why you've hardly been in class this week.”

I flushed and stammered, caught without an excuse.

“I told them you were ill.” He rubbed a big hand over his eyes. “At least I didn't have to lie.”

“I'm sorry.”

“The only thing I can think to do for you is find a cure, but...”

“What?” My arms prickled with terrified apprehension. Was he going to send me away after all?

“I'm failing you, Taylor, and I don't know how much longer we can go on like this.”

All I could do was repeat myself, but the apology sounded hollow even to me.

Dad sighed. “I need another sample. Give me your arm, please.”

“D-Dad.” My eyes flicked sideways. Justin had stepped towards the kitchen as if to give us privacy, but he was watching. “Can we do this later? I’m in the middle of something.”

“I need it now. Are you sick at the moment?”

I showed him my gloved hand.

“That’s… good.” He rolled the syringe between his fingers. “Come on then.” He waved me ahead of him into the study. “Our evening out was good for me, it cleared my head. I think I’m onto something.”

A sigh quivered on my lips as I passed the threshold and took in the mess of equipment on the desk. “You’ve said that before,” I reminded him.

“This time is different, there’s a definite change in your blood when you’re sick.” He frowned. “I’ve booked a session with the electron microscope at Kings, but I can’t get in for a couple of months. I think the change might even be at a mitochondrial level. That’s where your cells make energy. But I can’t see it clearly with this thing.” He gestured angrily at his microscope, the best money could buy outside a real lab.

“Then why do you need more blood?” I huddled over my arm. “Can’t I have a break? I’m sore.”

He turned his frown on me. “You’re right; your arm does need a rest. I’ll take a few mils from your leg. Take off your trousers.”

“Dad!” I looked at the door. Justin was staring into the room.

“Come on, Taylor, we haven’t got all night.”

“I don’t want to do this any more.”

He tapped his fingers on the wheel arch of his chair. “I know this is hard, Taylor, for both of us. But I’m close, I can feel it.”

Looking for something to distract him I thought of
The Tale of Oh-Fa
that he'd left in the dining room. “Why were you reading Mum’s book?”

Dad followed my gaze towards the door. “Obviously it’s only a story, but there’s a bit in it that’s interesting, perhaps a kernel of truth. Oh-Fa’s granddaughter writes that he drank something after he made the so-called deal. Maybe your ancestor ingested some infected blood when he was in the tomb.”

“Blood?” I frowned.

“If you swallow blood containing a viral vector that carries an oncogene, it can insert itself onto host DNA and disrupt normal genes.” Dad raised his eyebrows. “Whatever you choose to call it – curse or illness – what you have has to be genetic; a dominant gene on the x-chromosome with a marker that kicks in at puberty. If only I could work out how to find that viral vector...” he shook his head. “Well, it’s only a story.”

He pulled the wrapper from a sterile syringe and I stepped backwards.

“Taylor,” he sighed. “Will it help if I overlook the conversation I had with Mr Barnes this morning?”

I pressed my lips together. “I want to keep Mum’s book and see her notes.”

The creases in Dad’s face deepened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I put your Mum’s things away because I don’t want your hallucinations being fed with yet more stories.”

“But–”

“I’m not ready to give up on you yet. Let me have this sample and I won’t ask for any more for a while, you can have that break.”

“Fine.” I sighed.

“And you'll go back to school?”

I nodded, then paused with my hand over my belt.

“Taylor, I’m your father, just take them off.”

Justin backed into the hall. When I was sure he couldn’t see me I slid out of my jeans. Dad pointed at a stool and I brushed away a thin layer of dust before I lowered myself onto the seat. Then I looked away as Dad approached with the needle.

I held my breath as the point broke my skin and tried hard not to wince at the insistent tug of blood being taken from the vein.

“All done.” Dad pressed a pad of cotton wool over the needle and pulled it free. An ampoule sat on top of his desk, ruby in the light that shone through it.

I took over the pressure on the pad. “You really think you’re close?”

Dad considered the brimming vial. “If I can duplicate the effect I’ll be nearer to the cure. Now I’ve seen a difference between your blood samples I’m going and try infect a sample of ordinary blood – my blood. If I can do that, then we know it’s an illness and reversible.”

“It isn’t an infection, Dad. If it was you’d have caught it already.”

“Not if it’s passed directly from blood to blood.”

“Like AIDS you mean?” A shudder went through me and I grabbed my jeans from the floor. Quickly I pulled them on, feeling exposed and grubby.

“Taylor.” Dad reached for my ungloved hand and I dodged him.

“I’m tired, I’m going to bed.”

On the landing Justin moved into my peripheral vision. He followed me silently and I closed the door behind him.

“Don’t say anything,” I warned. I hurled myself onto my bed and pressed my face into the pillow until the heat in my cheeks was cooled by the smell of laundered cotton.

 

17

 

A weapon in his arsenal
 

 

“Your Dad must really love you.”

I rolled over. Justin was standing by my picture board of Mum and staring into her serious eyes.

“What makes you say that?” I growled.

His fingers hovered over Mum’s face. “He’s working so hard to make you better.”

“He’s not trying to make me better,” I snapped. “Well, he is, but that’s not the real point.”

“That’s not what it looked like.” Justin cocked his head at the baby Mum cradled in her arms.

I swallowed. “That’s because you don’t know everything.” I rose and stood next to him, soothed by the image of Mum’s knowing expression.

Justin shrugged. “Tell me.”

“There isn’t that much to tell. Mum died in a car crash.” I looked at her picture, then at Justin.

“I remember it happening.” His face twisted into sympathetic lines and my stomach soured.

“Yeah, well, they’d gone to a party and Dad had drunk a bit much, so Mum was driving. Apparently she suddenly jerked the wheel left, like she swerved to avoid something.”

“A dog?”

“He says there was nothing there.”

Justin was quiet for a moment, then understanding dawned. His eyes widened. “She saw a ghost, and she didn’t realise.”

I nodded. “I’ve thought about it a lot. Maybe it was a kid in pyjamas or something. She’d have had a split second to ask herself: is it a ghost, or has the kid just managed to wander out of her flat and into the road?”

“She had to assume it was a real person.”

“I know. I’d have made the same call.”

“But your Dad…”

“The curse is his enemy. It’s taken Mum
and
his legs. He’s trying to defeat it. I’m a means to an end, a weapon in his arsenal. As long as I’m around he has a way of getting to it.”

“He’s your Dad, I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”

“Yeah.” My fingers trailed over Mum’s face and I gave my shoulders a shake. “We would have lost her at some point anyway.” My smile was a fragile papier-mache construction. “My family doesn’t have a long life expectancy. As if tracking down killers isn’t dangerous enough, we pretty much always go mad.” I tried to sound matter of fact, but I knew my voice was drum tight. “When I was a baby my grandmother hanged herself. My uncle was shot by a man he was Marking. Those of us who don’t die go to live in the middle of nowhere, or in institutions where we can be basically drugged off the planet.”

Justin pressed his lips together. “You think that’ll happen to you.”

“One day.”

“But you know what you see is real. You’re not mad.”

I turned to the mirror. “I have to be on the alert all the time. I have to pay attention to every single person anywhere near me, just in case they’re a ghost. Can you imagine what that’s like?” I didn’t wait for his answer. “You get sort of frozen at the moment just before death, so some of you are easy to spot. If you’d died in the bath, you’d be naked and wet, so if I see a fat man streaking towards me down Oxford Street I can avoid him pretty easily.”

Justin snorted and I gave a half smile. “But what about the guy in the business suit? Is he a ghost?” I went to straighten my duvet. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

Justin grinned, a bit too smoothly for my liking. “I’m easy to talk to.”

“No, you aren’t.” I retied my ponytail to busy my fingers. “I don’t like you and you don’t like me.” Blood was seeping through my jeans; my vein wasn’t closing fast enough. I moved to my wardrobe and selected a skirt. I pulled it on over the denim then pulled my jeans down underneath. Justin watched, fascinated.