shadows and stones - an original fiction series of gothic, horror, dark fantasy

Twenty-four hours. Often, time flies, but when you’re waiting for it to pass, it takes forever. I feel like a child anticipating Christmas morning, unable to sleep from excitement, yet unable to do anything else to pass the time. Ursula distracts me for a while, working in the kitchen, but when I only succeed in breaking a bowl, she sends me away as useless. Indeed, with my left arm in a sling, there isn’t too much I’m good at. I can’t even shape away the time.

Sometime after noon, the doorbell rings. I answer it to relieve my boredom. A familiar looking man is standing there, in worn, yet clean work clothes. With a shock, I recognize him as the cottager who lives near the vampire lair. I go pale. Did he find Wolfgang Dieter’s body in his cemetery? Why has he come here?

“Pardon, Miss, but is there an Edward Ratheson hereabouts?”

“He’s my Uncle, but he’s in London at the moment. Could I help you with anything?” How can this man be here now, out of the blue? And how does he know Edward’s name?

“Well, Miss, we found this auto,” he points to the little car I drove last night, “parked down the lane from our cottage. The papers inside say it belongs to Mr. Ratheson and show this address. Would you know if it was stolen or something, Miss?”

I completely forgot about the car after escaping the vampires last night. Of course, someone would find it eventually and wonder to whom it belonged. Thank God, I left no trace of my activities inside the car. But, how can I explain it – my mind is racing for a believable story when Ursula pushes past, taking the man’s hand in a generous shake.

“Bless me, you’ve found it, you wonderful man. One of the lads borrowed it last night and got himself drunk in the city. Came wandering in on foot this morning with a sore head and no idea where he’d left the auto. I gave him a day to find it, and he’s out now searching all the nearby ditches. If he comes by your home, tell him it’s been returned and to get himself back here, will you please?” Ursula speaks so fast the man can’t even open his mouth to respond. Gratefully, I listen to the skilled tale she weaves.

“Now, you can hardly walk home again yourself, can you? Since I don’t know you, you can’t be from nearby. Eva dear, go in the kitchen, fetch my coat and bag and one of the cakes from the counter, if you can manage it all with one hand.” Turning back to the man, Ursula doesn’t break stride for a moment. “I’ll drive you home myself and we’ll bring the cake as a thank you to you and your wife, you are married, aren’t you?” I hear her go on as I race to the kitchen.

By the time I’ve returned, Ursula has taken down the man’s name and address so “the Master can thank you properly when he returns.” She relieves me of the coat and bag with a wink, then takes the cake which I managed to balance against my sling. “This one is the Master’s favorite car, if the fool lad had lost it or done it harm, the Master would tear strips out of him for sure. Eva, if your cousin wakes before I get back, let him know where I’ve gone.”

With that, Ursula pulls out and down the long lane to the gate. I feel more exhausted after witnessing her performance than I did after flying from here to the cottage. Sinking down on the doorstep, I watch the dust of the car recede in the distance. Laughter bubbles up from deep inside, and I let it go, enjoying the first moment of pure mirth I’ve had in a long while.

“What is so funny, and where is Ursula? And what are you doing sitting here with the front door wide open?” Rath is standing behind me, but I only laugh more in response to his questions and slap the step beside me, inviting him to join me. He does, and I see he is looking much better, the color has returned to his skin, and he no longer looks exhausted. The cut on his wrist is almost invisible.

“Where is Ursula?” he repeats in sulky tones. “I’m hungry.”

“Don’t be petulant, Rath.” I finally manage to say. “She’s off cleaning up another repercussion of my recent mistakes, but I’ll make you a sandwich and tell you all about it.” He scowls, but rises again, giving me an arm up.

“So long as you don’t use that disgusting brown spread of yours.”

“I wouldn’t waste a drop of it on such an uncultured palate as yours,” I retort. Winding my right arm through his, I lead Rath into the house and to the kitchen. We are siblings again. I realize I’ve missed these interchanges over the months, when I separated myself from him in my absorption over Iain’s ashes. “I’ll never do it again,” I mutter.

“Give me peanut butter? I should hope not.”

“That either,” I answer, but I don’t explain what I really meant.

In the kitchen, I eye Ursula’s carefully laid out ingredients and fail completely at determining what she was planning to make. Unfortunately, my search for bread turns up none. A pan of dough is rising, but that won’t feed Rath now.

“How about an omelet? There’s plenty of ingredients for that.”

“Can you cook something that complicated?”

“You’ll find out, won’t you?” I don’t catch his mumbled answer, but I’m sure it was unflattering. As it happens, Daddy was a wonderful cook, better than Mama, and even she would say so. He taught me how to make an omelet when I was only five. I remember standing on a stool so I could reach the stove top, and his big hand engulfing mine as we used the spatula together to flip it closed.

I slip the finished omelet onto a plate and stand beside Rath as he takes his first bite. He takes a second bite before venturing his learned opinion to me.

“Not bad. Still, I won’t be replacing Ursula with you any time in the near future.”

“Fine, next time you’re hungry and she’s gone you can just starve.” I turn my back on his lack of gratitude to clean up my dishes. “Bastard,” I mumble. Either Rath failed to hear me, which I don’t for a second believe, or he has chosen not to dignify my insult with a reply.

I’m only halfway through scrubbing the pan, difficult to do with one hand, when Rath comes up from behind me, taking the scrubber from my grip. “I’ll finish that, why don’t you go see if there is a hockey game you can scream at or something.”

Rapidly, I do the math. “It’s only 6 a.m. in the States, Rath. I sincerely doubt anyone is playing hockey right now.” Still, I move to leave anyway. Why not let him do the dishes and get his hands wet for a change? Wet?

“Rath!” I look back in concern, but my only reward is a chuckle on his part as he flicks water from the sink to my face.

“I’m hardly going to fall in the sink and drown, Eva. In two thousand years I’ve learned to deal with water in small amounts – otherwise no one would ever come near me. Now get out of here.”

Yet another thing I hadn’t thought of before. I suppose I always realized Rath wasn’t likely to take long hot baths, but even an immortal shapeshifter has to get clean somehow. Oh well, Rath’s hygiene habits are hardly something I wish to ponder for very long. Throwing myself on the couch in the sitting room, I groan when my eye catches the clock. Only 1 pm. Another 15 hours before I can see how Iain is doing. Idly, I channel flip on the TV. Unfortunately, I learned a long time ago that good television programs in England are outnumbered by lame ones about 20 to 1. In sheer desperation, I stop on a movie I’ve already seen before and allow myself to veg.

At some point in time, I must have fallen asleep. When I awake, Rath is parked in his favorite chair in front of a roaring fire. He doesn’t notice me wake, enrapt as he seems to be in the book he is reading. It’s the Peake novel I left lying on the table the other day: “Gormenghast.” Fortunately, my bookmark is still sticking out of it, but I’m dismayed to note he is already well past that point.

Glancing at the clock, I grimace. Only 7:45 pm. More than 8 hours left to kill. The TV is still running, though I notice the sound has been turned off. Sitting up, I stretch to get my blood flowing again – then realize, in surprise, that the sling is gone and my left arm is feeling normal again.

“Ursula left your supper in the oven. She says to be careful with the arm, although it seems to be healed just fine.” Rath doesn’t even look up from the book as he speaks.

“When did she take the sling off?” I ask in wonder. Had I really been that deeply asleep?

“You’ve been as unconscious as a boulder for hours. You didn’t even twitch when she checked it.”

It feels so good to stretch both arms that I do it again. There are definitely advantages to being partly human. A little cold, I move closer to the fire, spotting the teapot and two cups laid out on the table. I’m not hungry enough for supper, but a warm drink would be wonderful. Pouring some tea into the clean cup, I take it with me as I kneel on the hearth. For a while, I watch the flames dancing around the wood, then I look over to watch Rath read. A rather intimate comment Romany made comes back to me.

Setting my cup on the hearth, I go to Rath’s side. As usual he doesn’t acknowledge my presence. Then, I reach over and run my fingers down the side of his face, his neck, and to the point on his chest where the collar of his sweater lies.

“If you’ve never met her before, how did Romany know?”

Rath went stiff when my fingers touched him, now he turns slowly to look at me, questioning. “Know what?”

“That your skin is soft, like suede.” I see a slight blush in his face. It’s only there for a moment, but I swear I saw it.

“I said I never had sex with that woman, I never said I hadn’t met her.” His tone is definitely meant to end the subject. Turning back to the book, Rath continues reading as though I haven’t interrupted at all.

“Don’t you dare leave me with just that, Rath.” I growl, but he ignores me.

Temptation comes over me to take the book away, but I realize it won’t do any good. He’ll tell me about Romany some day, but it won’t be today. Frustrated, I go pout in my room.

After an eternity of doing nothing, I’m rewarded by the clock changing its digital face from 4:59 to 5:00. Finally, 24 hours have passed since Rath left Iain in the cellar. I don’t waste time with running, but change into a bird as soon as I’ve opened my door to the hallway. Zipping to Rath’s office, I take my own shape once again in front of the cellar door. I notice, briefly, another bookshelf blocks the tower entrance and all signs of my rampage have been removed.

A pile of clothes sits by cellar door. I take them, understanding Rath put them here for Iain. God willing, my friend will need them now. My hand is shaking as I open the door. All the way down the stairs, the torches are lit. Did Rath come here recently to prepare the way, or did he leave them burning from last night? It must be recent, I think: they don’t appear to have been burning long. He must have checked to be sure Iain was ready; Rath wouldn’t have let me down here if something had gone wrong.

I head straight for the room where all of this began. There, on the stone sarcophagus, Iain is lying. A blanket covers him from just below his shoulders; still, I’m embarrassed as I approach.

“Iain?”

“Aye, lass.” His voice is soft, tired sounding.

“Here, I brought you some clothes. Do you need any help?” I tentatively ask.

“No, lass, I think I can manage.”

As he starts to sit up, I turn away to give him privacy. A month ago, I held his head in my arms, cradled like a child, and thought nothing of it. Now I feel as awkward as I would be around a stranger. Behind me, I hear the rustle of fabric and the drawing of a zipper. After a few minutes there is silence.

“You can turn now, lass.”

I do, and am almost overcome by a need to laugh. While by no means anorexic, Iain is more slender than Rath, whose clothes these obviously are. The sweater is hanging on him like a sack, and the neckline, far too wide for him, is slipping down one shoulder. Meanwhile, only his hand keeps the pants from dropping to a heap on the floor.

“You didn’t bring a belt, did you?” He asks with a grin, and I can’t hold it any longer. Together we laugh ourselves out, dissolving the awkwardness. Carefully, Iain hoists himself onto the sarcophagus, and I join him there. This close, I can see a bright red line circling his throat. The joining line, I suppose. I try not to imagine what it had been like, retreating into the mundane.

“I’m afraid Rath supplied the clothes.”

“Wonder why he didn’t bring them when he came with the blanket earlier?”

“More humiliating this way?” I hypothesize. Iain nods in agreement.

“Aye, he would think that way, wouldn’t he? No doubt he left the belt off with the same reasoning.”

“Probably.”

Hesitantly, Iain takes my hand. For the first time in over a year, I feel the touch of his fingers, cold and dry against my skin. “Your brother told me what you did, Eva, and what you went through. I’m sorry I made you suffer like that.”

“You didn’t do anything, Iain. The fault was all mine. If I hadn’t been selfish and arrogant, a lot of pain could have been avoided. I gave you hope I shouldn’t have, and made you suffer because I was too stubborn and too proud to ask Rath for help. You were the victim, Iain, please don’t apologize.”

“Can I thank you then?”

I shake my head.

“No. It was Rath who did it all in the end, you can thank him.”

“I already have, lass. Part of me was sure when we came down here, that he would finish me off, despite what he’d said. When he laid my head on this thing, I thought it was the end, but he just poured my ashes out of that box you’d been carrying and placed me up against them. He never said a word the whole time, not even when he cut his own wrist open to put the blood on me, Eva, not even then. When the blood hit me, it was like a dense fog coming down, I couldn’t say or even think a thing, not until it was all over, and – by then – he was gone. But an hour or so ago, he came with the blanket, to make sure I was fit for your eyes, no doubt, and I thanked him then.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘I’m not doing this for you, little vampire, so don’t waste your gratitude. Thank my sister for giving a damn.’ Then he proceeded to tell me, in great detail, exactly what he would do to me if I didn’t thank you properly, if I thanked you improperly, or if I did anything at any point in my remaining lifespan that hurt you in anyway. It was very graphic.”

I can well imagine. “I guess I’d better let you thank me then. We wouldn’t want to upset him.”

Hesitantly, Iain asks, “Do you think a wee kiss would be considered inappropriate?”

“Not at all.”

Carefully, Iain leans over, putting his lips on mine. They are strangely cool, unlike those of a living being, yet I’m not repulsed by the sensation. It’s a short kiss, a friendly one, one Rath could not object to.

“I’ve been wanting to do that a long time, lass.” Involuntarily, I blush. To cover the embarrassment, I pull him to me in an enormous hug.

“And I’ve been wanting to do this.” Beneath the huge sweater, I can feel Iain is only skin and bones. Rath was wise to have chosen clothing that would hide Iain’s emaciation, despite their blow to his dignity.

“Aye, lass, this is nice.” Abruptly he yawns, dawn must have already begun.

“We need to find you a better place to sleep today – you are not staying down here another minute.”

Iain throws me that goofy grin again. “Now, I was hoping you’d say that. Even with old Simon’s head gone, I can’t say as this would be my favorite room in the house.” I roll his pant legs up, so they won’t trip him, then lead the way out of the cellar. Before I let him out, though, I check to be sure daylight is not starting. The horizon outside is visible, in a slight pink glow. We need to hurry. Rath is still reading “Gormenghast” when we find him in the sitting room. As usual, he doesn’t look up.

“Rath, I’m taking Iain to my room to sleep today. He is not remaining in that cellar.” I’m rewarded with a glare that I suspect has more to do with the interruption than what I’ve said.

“He is most certainly not staying in your room today. Martin has boarded the windows of the third room on the servants level. He can sleep there. Now, get him to bed before I have to clean his ashes out of the carpet.”

Eagerly, I grab Iain’s arm to lead him away, but he holds me back. “Sir?” he says to Rath.

“Yes.”

“Simon being returned to the others is as much my fault as Eva’s, and whether you are willing or not, I’m going to stay here until he is back in that cellar, or destroyed for good.”

“I suppose I’ll never get rid of you, then,” is all Rath says before turning back to the book.

Recognizing the statement as both acceptance and dismissal, I pull Iain towards the main stairs again. This time, he follows willingly. Through the window on the landing, I see the pink has spread; any second now the first edges of the sun will be peeking up from behind the hills. We run towards the servants’ stairs, taking them two at time.

On our second try, we find the right room. It’s almost as small as a closet, but there is a clean bed and the single window has been thoroughly boarded over. No sunlight will threaten Iain here. I give him another quick hug before pushing him towards the bed.

“See you tonight,” I say before closing the door. A little out of breath from rushing, I lean against the wall. I hear Iain moving, then the bedsprings compress as he settles for the day. I hadn’t expected him to offer to stay, and I never would have foreseen Rath would allow it. Yet, it makes sense somehow. Where else can someone like Iain, who is not enough of a vampire to live with them, nor enough of a human to return to normal life, really go?

Rath is waiting for me when I reach the landing. I see concern in his eyes. Thinking the concern must be for Iain, I give Rath a reassuring embrace. “He made it safely. Thank you, Rath. I promise I’ll never doubt you again.”

“Be careful, Eva,” Rath whispers in my ear. “Love is a dangerous thing when you are immortal.”

Surprised, I pull away. “I’m not in love with him, Rath.”

“All the same, be careful,” he says, then goes back down the stairs, leaving me alone.

Shaking my head, I go to the window at the end of the hall and watch the remainder of the sunrise. As beautiful as a painting, the colors streak across the horizon, mingling with one another along the fringes. A sunrise just like this greeted the beginning of this long ordeal so many months ago.

“I really screwed things up, Mama, but they turned out all right anyway.”

Almost, I hear her whispering, “I knew they would,” but it’s probably just the breeze against the window.

Return to part vi: evensong

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episode i: journey into darkness - episode ii: tea party - episode iii: awakening
episode iv: the book of grief - episode v: paterfamilias - episode vi: breaking points
episode vii: the dark of the mind - episode viii: decisions
episode ix: momentary distractions - episode x: exorcising demons i
episode xi: porcelain visions - episode xii: the nature of jackals
episode xiii: exorcising demons ii - episode xiv: the invitation
episode xv: body & soul - episode xvi: mothering sunday
episode xvii: imbalance of power - episode xviii: interlude
episode xix: between life and death

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