The Weight of Souls (7 page)

I ran across the decking on my toes and stood outside the French doors. In the growing darkness my reflection appeared in the window. It was as if my own ghost had come to warn me to stay out. I put my nose closer to the glass and peered past my pale face to the room beyond. Before my breath fogged the window I saw a sitting room; uninhabited, cold and dark.

I flexed my fingers, shook my head and inserted the paperclip into the lock. Quick as I could I turned it, then I found my little metal nail file, slid the tool into the key hole and began.

Sweat made my grip uncertain and the roaring blood in my ears almost stopped me from hearing the pins fall into the housing. The hair on my arms rose and my back prickled. I was certain I was being watched.

Despite my mother’s rule to appear as if I belonged, I had to look over my shoulder. Movement caught my eye and my breath caught. Frantically I pulled my tools free, and tried to look like as much like an ordinary visitor as possible.

I heard no challenge. When my heart stopped hammering I realised that I’d reacted to my own movement reflected in the mirrored sculpture. The only audience I had was the cat who was peeing loudly in the gravel. Nice.

I rolled my shoulders, inhaled and pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead; then I started again.

The final pin clicked into position. I took a deep breath and turned the file. The plug rotated, the lock snicked open and I pulled my tools free.

My hand shook on the handle. I added enough weight to push it downwards. The patio door swung open on thankfully silent hinges and I stepped into the house.

My shoes squeaked on the tiled floor and I froze. I pulled the door closed behind me, tucked my tools away and rubbed my arms. The house was cold. Very little light followed me in from the garden and the room was grey with shadow and shade. A piano stood in one corner and two large, overstuffed sofas faced a well-stocked drinks cabinet. A crystal decanter distilled the dim light and turned it into a tiny constellation.

Carefully I tiptoed to the doorway and peered around. There was an alcove opposite me displaying an empty vase almost as tall as I was and to my left was
a carpeted dining room. It too was quiet. I sped past the large rectangular table and ornate chairs and cracked the door open.

Voices made me hold my breath. Then I recognised a familiar theme tune. She was watching
EastEnders
.

I poked my head around the door and faced a long hallway. Doors flanked black and white tiles that led all the way to the front entrance. Light came from beneath only one, the farthest away from me.

I retreated back into the alcove and glowered at dead guy. “I’m going to wait here. Tell me when she falls asleep and I’ll Mark her.”

“You’re not going to confront her? I need her to know who’s doing this to her. That bitch ruined my life.”

I ground my teeth. “She
ended
your life. I’m here to get justice, not to let you go on a rant. If you want a medium, go find one.”

The suit opened his mouth.

“Just forget it. I’m not risking myself so you can go on a power trip. You’ll get your revenge. So go. Get the alarm code so I can get out of here later, and don’t come back till she’s asleep.”

 

The stairs were carpeted and the carpet was thick; my shoes only whispered on the pile and the stairs supported my weight uncomplainingly. At the top I swung around the nearest wall and leaned against it. All the doors up here were closed, as if the house had been shut up for a holiday.

The suit was standing outside the only one that was slightly ajar.

“She’s in there?” I mouthed.

He nodded resentfully.

“You’re sure she’s asleep?”

He nodded again.

I slipped into the room and found the middle-aged woman passed out on the bed. She was snoring and her eye-mask had slipped so that only one eye was covered. A bottle of pills lay on the nightstand next to her. I edged closer. By the look of what she’d taken I could start playing the trumpet and she’d sleep on.

One arm lay on top of the covers, fingers twitching in sleep. She snuffled as if she could sense me, but did not move.

A twinge of sympathy wormed in my chest as I held my hand above hers. She hadn’t gained much from her dark deed. But I’d been Marked and it was her or me. I pressed my hand to her palm as if we were holding hands. She mumbled again, pulled away and rolled over. Her eye-mask slipped all the way off and her blackened hand flopped over her face in its place.

“Sorry.” I couldn’t prevent the apology from slipping out.

The suit opened his mouth but I ignored him and slipped out of the room. He’d have his revenge and if she was as reclusive as he said, no one would even know.

 

7

 

SO DISAPPOINTED

 

Dad had fallen asleep at his desk again.
The Tale of Oh-Fa
lay open beside his microscope. If I took it I could get it back in place by the morning. I ached at the thought of actually reading the words that my mother had once spoken. Automatically I picked it up and opened it to the front page. The familiar sentences danced in front of me, drawing me in.

 

The journal of Oh-Fa, translated from the Chinese by his daughter, Oh Yehao
 

 

Entry the first
 

 

I have consulted the I-Ching. That is how I know my son will be born on this date. The fact that I will not see him until he is near walking is a source of great pain. But my heart’s ache is unimportant; our family needs this salary.
 

Today we begin working on a new grid so maybe we will find the sign the Professor seeks and this interminable misery will end.
 

I sit on my tiny camp bed to write. The overseer I call Sunbird, because of his bright red hair, permitted me to use these old requisitions once he witnessed my industriousness. Not all of the company work so hard. Even now, despite the brutality of the sun burning through the tent, I see the lankiest of them still fast asleep, one arm slung over his face, knees off the end of his too-small bed. The others have gone for breakfast. The last of them stumbled and cursed into the glare only moments ago. Only he and I remain, one too lazy and the other too excited to eat.
 

I am tempted to waken him, but the last time I did so, he attacked me and today I am happy to let him lie.
 

Today I become a father.
 

First bell is ringing, calling us to work. I must go too. Still it occurs to me before I put down this charcoal that hours in different lands flow inversely. Although it is early here, in Egypt, it may be late at home. I wonder if I will feel different once the time comes.
 

Is it possible that I am already a father?
 

 

A wave of exhaustion rocked me and I stroked the soft paper, almost pitying the man whose story had begun with such hope but ended in despair. One more entry and I would waken Dad.

 

Entry the second
 

 

A miracle has occurred. The discovery has been made and, incredibly, I myself was the one to make it. As I brushed sand aside, just as I have done a million times, the visage of a dog’s head on a man’s body resolved itself from the sand. It was just as the Professor had described.
 

The Sunbird overseer was the first to notice my shock. Sand puffed around him as he slid to a stop by my feet, barely able to believe after all these months of failure. Then he wheezed his way to the Professor’s tent, calling for our employer who swiftly emerged with his wiry daschund, Titus, dogging his heels.
 

Due to an excess of coffee and lack of hygiene, the Professor’s teeth have become dark yellow. The colour ensures that his tombstone incisors are the locus of his narrow face. When he reached me, he bared these decayed markers and leaned so close to the stone that his breath shifted fine dust around the dog’s carved muzzle.
 

“The jackal,” he breathed. “At last.”
 

Then he had the company clear a four-metre space around the cell where I had been digging. Once we had laboured to board back the sand and provide a canvas shade, he banished us.
 

Several card games have now sprung up and I have returned to our tent.
 

I cannot help but wonder if the ancestors are smiling on me. Today all my dreams will come true, I feel it.
 

 

What an idiot; if only he could see what was coming. With difficulty I pulled my eyes from the text. There was no point taking the book with me, I’d be asleep before the end of the next page and if Dad noticed it missing he’d never trust me enough to let me have Mum's notes.

I placed it carefully back down with a sigh and nudged him awake. “Dad?”

Groggily he sat up and pulled a document off his face. Smudges of ink blackened his chin and his wedding ring had dented his cheek.

“You should be in bed.”

“I was waiting for you.” His shoulders cracked as he stretched. “You’re still in your uniform. You haven’t been home before now?” He focused on his watch with a frown. “This is ridiculous. You have school in the morning.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting it to take this long.”

“It – another ‘murderer’?”

I nodded with an inward groan, waiting for Dad’s lecture on hallucinations. But he just turned to his microscope with a sigh.

“I don’t know what to do any more, Taylor.” His hand rasped over his stubble. “I can’t control you.”

I swallowed. “About that…”

“What?” He narrowed his eyes.

“I have to give you this from the school.” I handed him the rumpled letter. “You need to sign it and write a comment so I can get it back to Mr Barnes tomorrow.”

“What is it?” Dad put his glasses on to read and I let the letter speak for itself. “You attacked a boy in the playground?” His shoulders dropped and his hair fell into his eyes; I couldn’t see his reaction.

“It was Justin Hargreaves, Dad. You know what he’s like.”

“I know you don’t like him.” He shook his great head, took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “This has to stop, Taylor. The path you’re on doesn’t end well.”

“He started it.”

“The letter says it was unprovoked. I’ve had enough, Taylor. I’m going to have to ground you for the weekend and as of Monday you have a curfew. I expect you in the house, doing your homework, by 8pm every single day.”

“But–”

“It’s reasonable, Taylor.”

I rubbed my bare hand. It wouldn’t be too bad to stay in all weekend; thanks to Mum the ghosts couldn’t haunt me inside the house.

I nodded and as Dad scribbled a note on the letter I wished, not for the first time, that my parents had allowed me to be home-schooled once the curse had struck. If I stayed at home I wouldn’t have to risk encountering ghosts at school and I wouldn’t have to put up with Justin Hargreaves. But Mum had wanted me to have a normal life. I closed my eyes and thought of her once more.

 

“I have you and your Dad to keep me sane. You need friends; people your own age. You need to have time to think about pop music and clothes and – yes – boys. Otherwise...” Her eyes darkened and I know she was thinking about her own mother, who had killed herself when I was a baby. She shook herself then. “Anyway, you have to be on the lookout.”
 

“I’m always on the lookout for the ghosts, you’ve told me.”
 

Mum shook her head. “When your ancestor agreed to our curse, those of his line that bore it were each promised a great love. It's our reward and a way for Anubis to ensure the legacy gets passed on. Somewhere out there someone is waiting for you. That’s who you need to look out for – and you can’t do that if you never leave the house.” She sighed. “Also, Taylor, your dad doesn’t believe in the ghosts, so there’s no way he’ll agree to home-schooling to protect you from them.” She ruffled my hair. “You have to stop thinking of the departed as the bad guys. They’re souls seeking justice and we have the honour of being able to give it to them. Try and have a normal life.” The ruffling hand turned soft. “Look forward to finding the love of it. And in the between times, be proud of what you do for the dead.”
 

 

Dad folded the letter and rolled back from the table with a groan. “I’m just so disappointed in you, Taylor.”

 

8

 

LUCKY DAY

 

There was an odd atmosphere in the school corridor and it was unusually quiet for a Monday morning. Hannah was just ahead of me. I couldn’t suppress a grin as I watched her kiss her fingers and press them to the Dean Winchester poster that decorated the inner door of her locker. She was so in love with him.

With a sigh she slammed the sticky door until the latch caught, then started to walk on. I stopped her with a shout that felt strangely out of place among the whispers that dogged my heels.

“Hey, Tay.” Hannah gave me a tight smile and chewed the purple tips of her hair. “Did you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“There’re policemen in Mr Barnes’ office.” She cut her eyes in the direction of the closed door.

“So?” I stowed a few books from my bag and glowered at Justin’s dogs, who were blocking most of the lockers. “They’re probably here for a safety talk or something.”

Hannah shook her head. “I saw them arrive; Mr Barnes was surprised to see them.”

“Oh. Then it’s probably drugs.” The idea brought a smirk to my lips and I glanced at the obvious candidates: James and Harley.

Hannah kicked her locker door with thick soled shoes. “Something isn’t right.”