Читать книгу Sons of Angels - Rachel Green - Страница 17

Chapter 10

Felicia started walking.

Even without shoes the few miles back to her flat was easy, though she tried to keep to the paved areas and grass verges rather than the gritty tarmac. She soon fell into an easy lope and from there it was all the more natural to run. Besides, running barefoot was becoming popular these days and she was less likely to draw attention to herself.

Where had the hours gone?

She thought about her lost time. She had no recollection between the hospital and the club, or between the club and meeting the vampire. It had never occurred to her such things really existed. Was she really a werewolf? Was she going to rip off her blouse and kill people in tight trousers every full moon?

She couldn’t bear to think about it. Why couldn’t she just go back to her normal life? Would that be so hard?

It was for Julie. She’d been driven mad by her gift. Felicia gave a bark of laughter, startling a woman waiting for an early bus, who looked with disgust at the bare-footed runner. What of her supposed grandfather, Taliel? An earth-bound angel was even harder to believe in than a vampire.

In order to understand any of this, she had to go back to the beginning. How far back was that? Was it when the girl bit her last Friday or was it when her grandmother had an affair with an angel? Weren’t angels supposed to be sexless? Or was it earlier than that?

She sped past a man with an Alsatian, which shrank back against its master’s legs growling, and another problem occurred to her. How were Harold and Mr. Jasfoup going to react to their basement tenant being a mythological killer?

When she arrived at her flat, using the spare key she hid under the dustbin to get in, she collapsed on the sofa. Those missing hours hadn’t been spent sleeping. She was physically exhausted.

Felicia set her alarm for mid-day and allowed herself to sleep, drifting into dreams of claws and blood. She awoke to the alarm, slamming her hand down on the clock so hard she crushed it. Felicia rubbed sleep from her eyes, disorientated that the sun was high in the sky already. With a jolt she realized she could see the numbers without her glasses or contact lenses. Her vision had returned to twenty-twenty.

Her answering machine was blinking with several messages. The first gave her some relief. The manager of the night club had her purse and clothes. She could hear the ripple of amusement in his voice as he asked her to collect it at her earliest opportunity, bringing some identification with her. That meant she wouldn’t have to cancel her bank and credit cards and wouldn’t have to fit new locks on her flat and gallery.

The second call was designed to make her feel guilty. “Felicia?” Her mother’s voice echoed through the room. “I don’t know what happened yesterday but it was wicked of you to leave me in...that place...with no way of getting home. I had to ask this nice lady to give me a lift. She works for Mr. Raffles, apparently. She said she’d seen Julie and the policy could be released.” There was a long pause, at which Felicia assumed the machine would click to the next message, but her mother’s voice returned. “I think we need to talk.”

The machine clicked and replaced her mother’s voice with the sonorous tones of Taliel. “Your sister is no longer safe here.” The short message was replaced by the long tone indicating the end of the tape.

Felicia called the hospital and managed to speak to the matron to arrange a consultation with Julie’s specialist in the morning. That’s as much as she could do, short of forcibly breaking her out. She remembered her car was still there as well.

She phoned the bookshop.

Mr. Jasfoup answered in a clipped tone. “Alexandrian Gold.”

“It’s Felicia here. I’ll be late opening the gallery tomorrow.”

“Oh? Nothing untoward happened, I trust?”

“No. Something good, actually. I’m getting Julie released from the hospital. She’s well enough to come home.”

“Excellent news.” Felicia could hear him chewing something. “I’ll pass that on to Harold for you.”

“Thanks, Mr. Jasfoup.” Felicia hung up.

She stared at the phone for a minute and sighed. Her mother’s message had to be answered in person. She called for a taxi to take her first to the night club and then to the hospital to collect her car.

* * * *

When Felicia got to her mother’s, Patricia appeared on the landing at the top of the stairs. She was immaculately dressed but still wearing her robe. “Hello, Felicia dear. Have you finished work already?”

“Mum.” Felicia craned her neck to talk. “You know I don’t open the gallery on a Monday. What did you want to talk to me about?”

“It’s about yesterday and what you saw.” She looked to her left. “Oh my God!”

“What?”

“There’s a fire...” Her mother glanced down at her then back toward the bedrooms. “Darling?”

Felicia stared in numb horror as her mother took a step backward into the air above the top step and tumbled, almost in slow motion, down the remaining seventeen to the first corner, her arm breaking it with an audible crack on the newel post.

Her left leg suffered a similar fate when the banister prevented it from following its twin into a cartwheel. By the time Patricia hit the wall and rolled gracefully down the last ten steps to the polished oak floor, she was in a perfect position to twist her neck a full ninety degrees, snapping like a carrot stick in cheese dip.

Patricia opened her eyes and climbed to her feet, dusting herself down and straightening the tweed skirt that had become twisted in the fall. “That could have been nasty.” She rubbed her elbow. “I shall be surprised if I don’t have a bruise or two after that.” She stepped forward. “Did you say you’d made some coffee?”

Felicia managed to form a few coherent thoughts. “But you’re...” She pointed to the corpse. Patricia turned round and sighed. “Perhaps I won’t bruise, then. That was nastier than I thought.” She bent to look at her body more closely. “Not bad for sixty-seven, though that eye shadow doesn’t work at all. Why ever didn’t you tell me, dear? I feel such a fool, wearing blue all these years when it obviously didn’t suit me.”

“I...I wouldn’t have wanted to hurt your feelings. You always took such pride in your appearance.”

“It doesn’t cost much to be well turned out, that’s what my mother always used to tell me.” Patricia looked at her daughter. “You should take that advice yourself, dear. It doesn’t pay to let yourself go. Jumpers are a shortcut to sloth, I’ve always said. Now dry your eyes, Felicia, tears are not becoming and they’ll leave your skin all splotchy. Do you have any moisturizer with you?”

“Um, no, Mother.” Felicia dug in her shoulder bag for a tissue. “I only use it at night, really.”

“There’s some in my bedroom, on the nightstand. Help yourself. I won’t be needing it any more. It’s funny really. I always took such care to make sure that the stairs were well polished. I wish I hadn’t now.”

“What’s happening, Mother?” Felicia dabbed her eyes and wiped her nose “Are you a ghost? How is it I can see you?”

Patricia left off scrutinizing her body and returned to her daughter. “I don’t really know, dear. I’ve had as much experience with this sort of thing as you have.”

“What did you see that made you fall? You said there was a fire.”

“I thought there was.” Patricia peered upward. “I could see flickering coming from your old room. That’s where Elizabeth slept last night.”

“Elizabeth? Who the hell is Elizabeth?” Felicia tried to grasp her mother’s arm to spin her around but her hand met with empty air.

“She’s the woman who gave me a lift home. She works for Mr. Raffles. She saw Julie and told me the policy had matured.”

“There is no policy on Julie, Mum. I checked.”

“I don’t know, dear. You’ll have to ask him.”

“Isn’t there supposed to be a tunnel or something? A bright light to go into?”

Patricia looked around. “I don’t see one. Do you?”

Felicia shook her head. “There’s a sort of shimmering over there, above the stairs. Is that it?”

Patricia followed her gaze, her eyebrows flattening as she peered into the gloom. “Perhaps. It’s getting brighter. Oh!”

The shimmer grew into the figure of a burning man with flickering orange wings held above and behind his body. He looked at the corpse at the bottom of the stairs and then around the hall, his gaze fixing on Patricia.

Patricia tried to push her daughter. “It’s a demon. Run, Felicia, and don’t look back.”

Felicia hesitated. “What will you do?”

“I’m already dead. What more can it do to me?” Patricia’s mouth hardened. “Now, hurry.” She tried to push Felicia to the door but had as much success in touching as Felicia had had with her.

Felicia looked up. The figure had reached the top of the stairs and was beginning to descend.

Her mother turned. “Run. Remember my advice on dressing for the occasion and don’t forget to moisturize.” She began to walk toward the creature. “My will is in the top left hand drawer of the bureau, and make sure that your uncle Stephen doesn’t get his hands on the bank accounts. Don’t sell the plaster statue of Dionysus, and look after my orchids.”

“Mum!”

“Go.” Patricia shooed her away and faced the fiery man. “Get out of my house. You’ve no business here.”

As Felicia opened the door, she could hear the crackle of fire as the flames took hold of polished wood.