B00JX4CVBU EBOK Page 2

  A candle on the coffee table between the seats flickered into life, its flame jumping from the wick.

  Brooke gave a little smirk. ‘Hey, calm down fire girl.’

  Ember felt her face flush, and knew her eyes had probably gone from orange to red. She wanted so much to slap that smirk off Brooke’s face—with a flaming hand. ‘Shut up, Brooke! You watery …’

  Brooke sat back in her chair with her arms folded. ‘What, Em? Watery what? Is that all you got?’

  Celeste rose and put her arm around Ember, turning her toward the door. ‘Let’s you and I go for a walk, huh?’

  Ember shook free from her sister. ‘Just … just leave me alone.’ She made sure the large old door slammed loudly behind her.

  *

  Ember stayed in her room for an hour or two reading and calming down, before she remembered she’d left the fruit and vegetables she had bought earlier in the day in the car. After retrieving them, she took the basket and its contents to the kitchen.

  Chloe and Brooke were putting away the dishes from lunch.

  ‘Hi Em,’ said Chloe as Ember entered the room, ‘we missed you at lunch.’

  Brooke dropped the tea towel she’d been wiping dishes with onto the bench and without a word started to walk from the room.

  ‘Brooke …’

  Brooke halted and glared at Ember. Ember wanted to say sorry, but more than that she wanted Brooke to apologise as well. All she was getting from her sister was a raised eyebrow.

  Ember exhaled loudly, and waited another moment. ‘Nothing …’

  Brooke smiled, shook her head and stalked out of the room.

  ‘God damn it,’ Ember said through gritted teeth.

  Chloe opened her arms. ‘Come here you.’

  Chloe’s hug felt so good. Ember loved her big, all of three years older, sister. She and Chloe had always been close, helped she guessed, by how they were the odd ones out in the looks department. Celeste, Brooke and Skye all had similar blonde hair and pale skin. Ember’s red hair defined her from the others. And Chloe, slightly exotic Chloe, had an Indian appearance.

  Apart from the old Skye, Chloe was really the only one who gave Ember unconditional love, and therefore received the same from Ember in return. Celeste, the mother-hen of the group, always kept a little distance between herself and her sisters. While Brooke and Ember … well they had never been close. The others put it down to Ember being a fire elemental and Brooke water; they were bound to clash. Ember put it down to Brooke just being a constant bitch. And then there was Skye, the little girl who wasn’t, the little girl who hadn’t spoken, or even smiled, in over three years. Before Skye’s accident she and Ember had been not just sisters, but best friends.

  Ember pulled away from Chloe’s embrace. ‘Thanks Chloe. I needed that.’

  ‘You and her …’ Chloe shook her head.

  ‘I know. I know.’

  ‘You shouldn’t let her get under your skin Em. She knows what buttons to push to annoy you.’

  ‘But she never stops pushing them, that’s the thing,’ said Ember.

  Chloe lifted a pile of plates into the cupboard. ‘You should do what I do. When Brooke’s in one of her moods, tune her out. Imagine she’s not even there.’

  Ember said nothing. Tuning out Brooke would be like trying to tune out a tornado. She grabbed a glass from the bench and filled it with water.

  ‘Thanks for the fruit and veg,’ said Chloe. ‘You didn’t do the other shopping?’

  ‘No. Not after seeing the Sk … the guy who wasn’t, couldn’t have been, never was a Skorn.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ said Chloe, leaning on the kitchen bench, ‘how about I come shopping with you tomorrow, and we’ll see if we can’t spot that Skorn guy again? I’ll go buy some bottles of wine and visit the bakery, while I’m there.’

  Ember finished her glass of water, and placed the empty glass on the sink. ‘Thanks Chloe. We’ll do that. It’ll be nice having you there. OK, I’m going to hang out with Skye for a while.’

  ‘Sure. Make her smile OK?’ Chloe said as Ember left the room.

  Ember found Skye in her corner of the Great Hall, lying on her bed. She was filling in a colouring book with a blue crayon, the only colour she used.

  Ember sat down on the girl’s bed. ‘Hey there Skye-high. Whatchadoin?’

  Skye looked up at Ember, and tucked some white-blonde hair behind her ear. But of course didn’t say a word.

  ‘Sorry about before. Fighting with the Brooke-head.’

  A tiny part of Ember had hoped using her and Skye’s old secret nick-name for their sister would induce a smile. No luck, of course. But Ember gave a small gasp when the little girl climbed off the bed, stood in front of Ember and gave her a hug. Oh how Ember wished it wasn’t an eight year old version of her sister she was hugging though. When, three years ago, in the midst of a battle, Scathers had enveloped Skye for over a minute, forcing the nineteen year old woman to revert back to an earlier self in shock, they had also taken away a large part of Ember’s world.

  Ember felt tears sting her eyes. ‘I miss you Skye,’ she said into the girl’s shoulder. ‘I miss you so much.’

  *

  Turner knew he was procrastinating by going grocery shopping on a Wednesday afternoon. But what was the point of being a freelance computer programmer if it meant he couldn’t take time off whenever he liked? He twirled his green shopping bag around his finger. Living the dream Turner, living the dream.

  He strolled the ten minute trip from his flat to the centre of town with his mind still on the girl from yesterday. Before talking with Derek, Turner had been sure he’d seen the old lady transform into a young woman, but now he wasn’t so sure. It was as if Derek had planted false memories in Turner’s head. Damn it! On High Street he passed by Derek’s computer shop and noticed the little sign in the glass door: ‘Out to Lunch.’ Turner was relieved his friend wasn’t in. He didn’t really want another conversation about hallucinations or ‘delusional perceptions’ as Derek kept calling them.

  The street was busy with shoppers, mostly elderly or young mothers, as it was midday in the middle of the week. Once or twice Turner had to step out of the way of women with large pushers.

  He was going to do his shopping at the Tesco around the corner, but first popped into the Wilby Fruit & Veg. Just in case. There were a few shoppers in there, but no magic girl. After a quick look around he left without buying anything, just like yesterday.

  Once at the supermarket, Turner grabbed a small trolley, and noticed as he wheeled it through the vegetable section its front right wheel didn’t touch the ground properly and spun around in a mad pirouette. This small town Tesco was not up to the standard of supermarket Turner had been used to when he lived in London. Its aisles were narrower, its ceiling lower with its metal beams showing, and although the shelves were well stocked there wasn’t the range of products you could find in the larger city stores. He pushed his unruly trolley around trying to avoid the things he was trying to eat less of: frozen pizzas, chocolate biscuits, pop and so on. He had finally succeeded in grabbing some potatoes and bananas, and now headed to the pasta aisle.

  A strange feeling came over him as he approached the pasta and rice aisle. His head felt cloudy, and the only thing he could think of was the red hair of the girl from the Fruit & Veg Mart. When he turned the corner into the pastas, he saw why; she was there! She was in her old lady form, wearing the same green dress and white cardigan, head down, scrutinising pasta sauces at the other end of the aisle. Turner’s pulse jumped. His hands squeezed the trolley handle. He stared, he looked away, and he looked back.

  She was here!

  His heart pounded. He wanted to get close enough so she would transform into that girl again. She hadn’t looked in his direction yet, so taking a deep breath, head down, he pushed his trolley up the aisle. He had no idea what he was going to say when he got there, especially if she turned into a young woman.

  About ten feet away the old
lady looked up, and spotted Turner. Damn! Her eyes went wide, and she spun her trolley around so quickly she almost bumped into a fat middle aged woman with a shopping basket over one pudgy arm. The fat woman began to talk to the old lady, so Turner took the chance to creep a bit closer, until he was just a few feet from the two women. There! It happened; she had transformed into the girl again! Turner was so pleased to see that red hair and slim body he wanted to do a little dance, but instead pretended to be interested in the pasta sauces on the shelf.

  ‘Mrs Ashton! Fancy running into you! Stocking up again?’ came the voice of the fat woman.

  ‘Oh hello, Mrs Winslow. Yes, yes, you know how it is, don't like to make more than one trip into town a month if I can help it.’

  ‘You should get someone to do the shopping for you. Someone younger perhaps? It must be hard for someone of your years …’ said the fat woman.

  Turner’s gaze was on the jar of tomato and basil sauce in his hand, but his ears were on the conversation behind him. His nose wrinkled at the syrupy tone of Mrs Winslow’s voice.

  ‘Yes, yes. I mean no, I enjoy the shopping really. Excuse me, Mrs Winslow I need to keep going …’

  Turner saw his chance, and taking a deep breath, turned and said to the girl, ‘Uh, excuse me,’ he began, ‘I saw you at the pasta sauces, could you … uh, recommend a good one?’ Turner mentally face-palmed. Jesus, what a stupid line!

  The girl's eyes widened, and without a word tried to push past both Turner and Mrs Winslow, who now stood arms crossed, staring hard at Turner.

  Mrs Winslow snorted through her nose, which wrinkled upwards, pig-like. ‘What do you want from Mrs Ashton young man? Are you after her money or something?’

  ‘Mrs Winslow!’ said the girl.

  Turner was confused. ‘Money? No. What?’ Trying to ignore the old busybody, he noticed the girl had a dragon tattoo beneath her left collarbone and said, ‘I like your dragon by the way …’

  Turner wasn't prepared for what happened next. The girl jumped as if zapped with an electric prod, and leaving her half-full trolley, scurried off down the pasta aisle.

  Mrs Winslow’s left eye twitched madly and she went red in the face. 'Help! Help! Get the manager! There’s a pervert here! Security!'

  Several other shoppers started walking towards the commotion. Turner had no idea what was going on. His head whipped between the bellowing fat lady and the retreating young woman. This is why I don't try to pick up girls, he thought.

  The girl had reached the front of the store. Turner realised with a shock she hadn’t reverted back to an old woman. ‘Wait!’ he yelled, and ran after her.

  ‘He's after old Mrs Ashton's money!’ Mrs Winslow yelled from behind him.

  The girl strode quickly to the store entrance. Turner raised his hand, palm out. ‘You can't leave!’ Incredibly, she stopped; the sliding doors wouldn't open.

  The girl stepped back, and then forward again trying to make the doors open to no avail. Abruptly she spun on her heel and glared at Turner, her eyes wide and fierce. She then flung her arms together as if pulling giant curtains closed. Packets of pasta and rice erupted from the shelves. Turner ducked and covered his head, just as a loud crash came from the front of the store. Someone nearby screamed, and from further away in the store the cry, ‘Get down! Get down!’

  Turner rose up on his knees to see the girl walk over the blown out remains of the front sliding doors, and run into the car park.

  ‘Was it a bomb?’ asked an old man who had been standing next to Turner, but who now knelt on the floor. He grasped at two long strands of spaghetti that stuck out of his neck, like some misplaced insect antennae. His hand came away smeared with blood. ‘Oh,’ he said faintly, ‘neck spaghetti blood,’ and fainted to the ground. Turner dived and grabbed the old man’s shoulders just in time to stop his head from hitting the floor.

  When he gently lowered the old man’s head onto the tiles, Turner noticed the mess. The old man was covered in pasta and rice, and there were piles of packets, boxes of rice and pasta strewn across the floor. Turner wondered how he had escaped being struck by anything. For although the shelves around them were empty, where Turner had been standing there was an empty circle, completely devoid of even a grain of rice.

  A state of chaos gripped the supermarket. People pointing, yelling, running. Many had tentatively began to gather around the remains of the front doors. Half a dozen customers and staff now stood around Turner and the old man on the floor.

  Turner’s head spun. Shopping. Potatoes. Pretty girl. Old lady. Pasta and ... bang? Something astonishing had just happened, but for the life of him he had no idea what it was.

  ‘That's him! That's the terrorist!’ Turner looked up to see the fat old woman stab her chubby finger at him. He hardly knew her, but Turner already hated Mrs Winslow. A lot.

  *

  Ember ran across the car park, startling people who had never seen an octogenarian sprint like that. Chloe, who had been sitting in the Land Rover disguised as the male gardener, was already running towards Ember. ‘What the hell is going on, Em … Mrs Ashton?’

  ‘No time, Chloe. Skorn! Get in. Drive!’ Ember ran past her sister to the car and yanked open the passenger door.

  She was so glad her sister didn’t stop to argue, but jumped straight back into the driver’s seat. Within moments they sped from the car park, just narrowly missing a woman pushing a stroller, whose scream of abuse could be heard even over the screech of the tyres. Safely out onto High Street, Chloe, eyes straight ahead, knuckles white on the steering wheel said, ‘A Skorn? You sure this time?’

  Ember leant hard back into the seat, and let out a long breath. ‘Yes. No. I think so. It was the same guy, and he saw through my fell. He saw through my fell, Chloe! And he had powers. I’ll tell you all about it when we get home.’

  ‘Jesus, Ember. You better be right. You completely blew your cover back there.’

  Ember winced and tried to think of anything she could have done differently. She put her head in her hands and then pulled her hair back from her face.

  ‘I know. But I had to get out.’

  Chloe patted her sister’s arm. ‘If it really was a Skorn, thank God you did. But using our powers in public is a big no-no remember. Your story had better be good—or Celeste will tear you apart.’

  Ember bit her lip and thought about how her eldest sister would react to all this. An angry Celeste. On reflection, the Skorn at Tesco’s didn’t seem so bad.

  *

  Ember could tell Chloe was worried by the way she sped down the long driveway.

  Chloe punched the steering wheel softly. ‘You realise if what you say is true, we will probably have another Scather battle on our hands?’

  Ember closed her eyes. ‘I know, I know.’

  Nobody answered their calls of hello as they walked through the house. Ember and Chloe found the other three sisters out the back of the manor house. They sat on picnic rugs in the shade of a large elm.

  Ember and Chloe exited through the sunroom and walked down the back steps.

  Celeste waved. ‘Over here.’

  Celeste sat, leaning against the tree reading, Brooke was lying on her stomach with her legs in the sun, and Skye was stretched out on the other rug, drawing a picture of a rabbit, surrounded by a scattering of blue pencils.

  Ember marched across the short green lawn to the edge of the rugs and put her hands on her hips. ‘I was right!’

  Brooke mumbled into her arm, ‘What are you screeching about?’

  Ignoring Brooke, Ember spoke to Celeste. ‘The Skorn. I saw him … it again.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Brooke.

  Celeste frowned, and placed a brown leaf in her book as a bookmark. ‘Chloe?’

  Chloe placed an arm around Ember. ‘I think it’s something. We should listen to what she has to say.’

  Chloe sat up straight. ‘OK, Em. Tell us about your Skorn.’

  ‘What about Skye? Should we talk somewhere else?�
�� asked Chloe as she and Ember sat down next to the little girl. Ember placed a hand on Skye’s back.

  ‘Maybe hearing about Skorns and Scathers will shock her back,’ said Celeste.

  ‘Celeste!’ said Chloe.

  ‘What? We’ve tried everything else. Look,’ said Celeste, as she counted on her fingers. ‘Our twenty-two year old sister is a mute eight-year-old girl. She can’t fight. We are not a full Vordene. Skorns bring Scathers.’ She ticked off the last finger on her left hand. ‘So, if we fight, we’re done for.’

  ‘I can still fight. And there are four of us,’ said Ember.

  ‘As a foursome we’re hardly stronger than as individuals. We need the power of the five. Without Skye we aren’t really a Vordene—we haven’t been for over three years.

  Chloe looked at her hands. ‘Maybe it’s time we …’

  Celeste shook her head, her gaze intense. ‘No, Chloe. We’ve talked about this. We are going to give it another year. If Skye doesn’t come back to us by then, that’s when we start talking about the succession.’

  Yeah, thought Ember, ‘succession’ meant babies. And apart from Chloe, none of them were ready to go down that road quite yet.

  ‘But we might not have a year if Ember’s right,’ said Chloe, bringing the conversation back on track.

  Frowning, Celeste turned to Ember. ‘Tell us.’

  Ember took a deep breath. ‘It was the same guy, but this time in the supermarket. Chloe was waiting for me in the car. I started the shopping, as Mrs Ashton of course, but then I saw him in the rice and pasta aisle, looking at me all weird again. Just as I was about to get the hell out of there I ran into old Mrs Winslow.’

  ‘Ugh,’ said Chloe.

  ‘Yeah. She started carrying on like she does, then the guy comes up and asks me about what sauce I like or something. Mrs Winslow accuses him of being after my money, but the guy ignores her and get this … compliments me on my dragon tatt.’

  Celeste leant forward. ‘What?! He saw through your fell?’

  ‘Yep.’ Ember brushed hair from her face. ‘So I ran … well walked quickly to the front doors. Then, he yelled out “Stop” or something and the doors wouldn’t open.’