The Chrysalis Key, page 26
He scoffed, looking away from her. “You know we are bound by blood. There is nothing more to be said. He has felt you. He is coming.”
Beatrice knew it was not the blood of family her father was talking about.
A twinkling chime sounded through the house, and everyone in the room, except her father, looked at the front door in horror. “No Father, please!” Beatrice cried. “Give me a chance to run! To—”
He did not meet her eyes. “It is too late.”
Draven tore himself away from Miriam and opened the front door. Beatrice stepped backwards, looking left and right for her exit. But it was useless. She knew that right at this minute, any attempt to escape was futile.
The door swung open, and the Red General stepped from the dark of the night into Malhaven Manor.
Beatrice had seen drawings of him in books, but it could never have prepared her for the reality of his form. His dark presence. Miriam and Draven shrunk back into the wall.
He wore a robe seemingly woven with shadow that rippled and whispered as he moved. His pale, faceless head was turned toward Beatrice, the red, glossy lips parted slightly, the wisps of black hair plastered across his scalp. Around one of his wrists, a gold cuff led to a thin, gold chain, which snaked behind him leading to the tiny, cowering figure of a small black boy in a dirty, brown smock, a matching golden cuff glinting around his neck.
Beatrice squeezed her eyes shut in disgust, wondering if this little boy was one of her parents’ procurements. She felt the shape of the General’s Power, and it reached out towards her, the tainted tendrils of corrupted energy stroking her psyche. She felt, with dismay, the enormity of it. She was no match for him. No one was. He stalked toward her, one arm outstretched, invisible eyes led by the enormous source of Power growing in her belly.
He stood in front of her now, close enough to make her choke on his sickly-sweet scent. Beatrice opened her eyes, rooted to the spot by terror, disgust and disbelief. The Red General placed a hand on her tummy, and she felt bile rise up in her throat. A searing heat split through the skin on her belly. He had breached her mental protections as if they hadn’t even existed. As if they were open gates, free for him to enter. Then the pain was gone, replaced by a dull ache. She recoiled from him, stumbling backwards. In a daze of disbelief, she lifted her blouse and saw that a red handprint was now burned into her skin. Marking her as his. Marking her child has his. Darkness curled around her heart, and it weighed her down like a boulder tied around a drowning body.
She looked up to see the Red General turn towards her parents. He tugged on the chain, and the small child, eyes blank, stepped forward.
“Such Power you have hidden from me, Malhaven,” came the sweet voice. “No matter,” he continued. “You have made up for it. And twins…. Oh yes…”
Beatrice took a step back in horror, her head snapping towards her mother, who gaped back at her. “Twins?” Beatrice mouthed soundlessly. That was why her Power had grown so rapidly. Two infants grew within her.
Beatrice looked back at the General, who spoke again. “Twin infants of a sorceress,” piped the child. “What a treat for me. I will return for them at seven months gestation. You will be rewarded greatly.”
The Red General and the boy child vanished.
A strangled sob left her, and Beatrice covered her mouth in despair. She stumbled toward her parents.
“He will take them from me, Mother.” Tears fell freely, her voice crumbling under the realisation. “He will take them before they are born, that is when they will give him the most Power.”
Her mother shook her head, trembling, her face wet, but said nothing.
“You won’t let him take them will you, Mother?” Beatrice’s voice broke as she gripped her mother’s forearms, sagging with under the weight of her parent’s silence. “Mother? Father?”
Her mother’s face contorted into a grimace of pain, and she closed her eyes as she gripped her daughter’s arms in return, shaking her head.
But still she said nothing.
Her father turned on his heel and left.
Beatrice Malhaven watched Deagon Jolt crawl through her window for what seemed like the hundredth time. He bounded over to her and swept her up in a kiss. She laughed, pressing a hand to her belly.
Deagon pulled back from her, his arms still around her waist, regarding her with surprise.
“You’re different…” He searched her face. “Your Power is… huge. I could sense it from outside.”
Beatrice stepped out of his embrace. “Look closer,” she breathed.
Deagon appraised her form, his eyes scanning her from top to toe. His gaze stopped at her lower stomach.
“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no.”
She rushed over to him, clutching him close to her. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m happy about it, Deagon.”
She looked at him in his stricken eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “We should have been more careful. Can we—”
She placed a hand across his mouth before he could complete his sentence. “No,” she said firmly. “These children are ours. They are here to stay.”
Deagon took a deep breath that moved his shoulders. “Twins? Are you sure?”
She nodded firmly. “I am.” She hesitated. “There is only one problem.” She looked at her feet. “He…he sensed me. He came to the house.”
Deagon froze on the spot as if ice encased his entire form. “No.”
She looked up at him. She lifted her shirt where the imprint of his hand had been burned into her skin.
“This can’t be happening!” he said, blinking in horror. “Did your parents—”
She shook her head, her nostrils flaring, not meeting his eye. “They will not help me.”
Deagon’s Power flared, angry and wild. “I — we—” But he knew as well as she did. What could they do against one of the seven Generals of Darkness? He stepped forward and took her face in his palms, tilting it face to meet his gaze.
“You changed the way I see the world, Bea,” Deagon breathed. “Everything is different because of you. I won’t let them hurt you. Not your parents. Not the Red General.” He brushed a glistening tear from her cheek. She looked up at him and into her silver eyes he saw the haunted, faraway look of one who carried forbidden knowledge.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice catching. “What are you not telling me?”
“One of my babies must have the foresight,” she whispered. “I see whispers of images sometimes.”
“What did you see?”
She shook her head. “I cannot say.”
Deagon brushed a thumb against her cheek. “Beatrice Malhaven, I will love you forever. At whatever cost.”
She looked up at him then. Her eyes like moonlight on a grave. “It’s just as well,” she whispered. “The cost might be a great one.”
31
Julia
Julia pinched the end of her nose, the wind whipping through her hair as her mother sped down the street.
“You look awful, where are your clothes?” Caroline De Clemont’s face was screwed up in profound distaste.
“I—”
“Whose clothes are you wearing? Is that that boy’s?”
“Mum—"
“You’re such a disappointment. Your father is in a state. Imagine if this got in the news. I’m going to ring the editor at the paper as soon as we get home and give him another donation. Honestly…”
Julia stared out the window as her mother continued to chatter non-stop. Breakfast Creek was a sea of purple Jacarandas and stilted wooden Queenslander houses. They passed a palm tree by the milk bar on Howard Road, and she was briefly reminded of Chrysalis Island. She wanted nothing more to get back to how everything was. Her mother’s emerald bracelet flashed in the morning sun, and Julia pressed her fingers against her eyelids. She’d seen eyes that green once. Eyes that shone in the most beautiful face she’d ever seen.
“—and Principal Sangria—"
“What?” interrupted Julia sharply, turning to look at her mother.
“Your new principal.” Her mother said, tossing her hair in a way that unnecessarily shook her ample chest. “He’s quite a looker, isn’t he?”
“Stay away from him, Mother!” exclaimed Julia, now panicking. She twisted her hands into Hugh’s Transformers t-shirt. Julia had been catching her father with other women since she was five. She had gone straight to her mother with the revelation, expecting her to be furious or teary. Instead, her mother, the mayor’s wife, had taken that as permission to do the same. Only she was cleverer about it. Julia had only caught her once. Her mother was the type of woman who got what she wanted from men. And men were more than happy to obey. And as long as both her parents kept up appearances, neither batted an eye at each other’s indiscretions. But this one man was a different matter entirely. He was actually dangerous. Otherworldly dangerous. “Promise me you won’t talk to him, Mum. I mean it.”
“Don’t be silly, darling. He’s a gentleman!”
“He’s not!”
“Watch your tone, young lady. Don’t think you’re distracting me from the real issue here. You missed your fitting and dance practice. Don’t you care how it makes us look?”
“I do care, Mother, I tried to get back quickly, I really—” Julia slammed her mouth shut. What was she actually saying?
Her mother glanced at her and frowned as they turned into their street. “What do you mean, ‘tried to get back’? Was someone holding you against your will? Was it that tall boy? Or the bigger one? Oh, I will—"
“No, Mum, no. That’s not what I meant!” Julia’s squirmed in her seat as they passed mansion after mansion. Her mother gave a cheery wave to Charlotte’s dad, Mr Montgomery, reading the paper on his front porch. But as soon as he was out of sight, she cast Julia a glare. “What are you saying, Julia? What are you hiding?”
Julia fell back against the black leather seat and rubbed her eyes.
“Don’t rub your face like that!”
Julia’s hands fell into her lap, and she glumly looked up at their mansion, the regal, white queen holding court at the end of the cul-de-sac. And then she saw the truck in the driveway.
“What is that?” Julia’s voice caught as she the name of the company on the side of the truck. She sat bolt upright.
“If you had been here, you would have known,” came the curt reply. “We are moving.”
“What?” Julia gaped at her mother. But she was only given a scathing look in return.
“The bank is after the mansion. We need to adjust our finances,” her mother lifted her chin in the air. “Don’t ask your father about it, he’ll get upset.” She cleared her throat. “We…just need a little time to sort things out, then we’ll be right. A little time in regular suburbia will do us some good.”
But Julia did not believe that for a single second. And she knew her mother didn’t either.
32
Melanie
Tara Kapoor zipped out of Hugh’s Street in her white Audi, her lips pursed in a straight line, her finger tapping impatiently against the steering wheel. “I can’t believe you would do this to us, Melanie!”
Melanie sat on her hands and lowered her head to gaze at her dirt-streaked bare feet. She hadn’t had time to put shoes on when they’d escaped the Asimov’s house.
“That you would do this to your Nani, to me. How selfish can you be? I don’t think for a second I believe that story that boy told us.”
“Mum, I—”
“What? What could you possibly say to justify running away for two days? Two whole days!” She thumped the steering wheel as they stopped at the intersection. She ran her hands through her short, black hair.
Melanie put her arms around herself, placing her hand on the mark Henry had given them all, as if it would give her some support. What could she say? “What Hugh told you was true.”
Her mother scoffed and shook her head in disbelief, pursing her lips, and said no more.
With her arms pressed around her, the burn on the inside of her elbow, where the blind man from Marrow Avenue had snatched at her, stung. She unwound her arms and rubbed at it unconsciously, getting the sudden urge to turn in her seat and look out the back window. The flow of traffic behind them seemed normal, except Melanie felt anything but.
Since they had returned to Breakfast Creek that morning, she had the intense feeling that she was being watched. At first, she had thought that it was the residual paranoia of being chased by first the Red General’s men at school and then the blind man at Marrow Avenue and then again the men who set the Asimov’s house on fire. But the feelings had persisted. A shadow on the side of the eye, a shifting movement, felt behind her. And then, a cold, musty breath on the back of her neck. A chill rippled through her body, and she froze, listening intently to her surroundings. It couldn’t really be anything…. It was just the swoosh of the car as it moved through traffic and her mother’s irritated movements. Mr Greenbone had told them that Breakfast Creek was protected. Nothing dark could get through. They were supposed to be safe.
The knowledge of the existence of Chrysalis and the other worlds had changed everything for her. She did not want to be back here, where life went on its lazy, meandering way to certain doom. There were further possibilities to this life that she had never considered. Things that made life worth the effort. Worth living. And then she’d had that dream about the cavern with the White Lady, and it had stuck in her mind like a thorn in soft skin. Dreams didn’t often stick around so firmly. It was if it had been a real memory, and it had actually happened. Everything was so crisp, the detail phenomenal. She inhaled the humid air and realised she wanted to go back. She could go through the lake portal at any time, Rose Asimov had said. But what good would it do when she would just forget it? She didn’t have the Power as far as she knew. But in her weird dream she had been given another path. The path of the White Lady. It was scary and new, but all good things were. That’s what her mother had always said, anyway. And Nani always said that the Goddess always looked after her children and showed them the right path. All you had to do was believe in yourself. And Dad had taken his own path. He had broken off from them, left them behind to run a successful business in the city with his new girlfriend. He’d had to leave them behind to do that. For the last two years, Melanie had blamed him for abandoning her and cheating on her mum. But now her position on that was wavering. He wouldn’t have been able to run his business here in Breakfast Creek. He’d had to leave to find his dream. Even if it was without her and Mum.
The world of Breakfast Creek was nothing like the other worlds. And yet here she was, pulling into their white, concrete driveway, her Nani’s marigolds blooming like tiny, fiery suns under the living room window.
She got out of the car and slammed the door shut, heading into the house without waiting for her mother. She had barely reached the porch when Nani burst out the front door in a pressed, white sari.
“Thank the goddess you’re safe!” she was swept up into an all-encompassing hug, and for the first time, Melanie realised how stiff her own body was. She sagged in her Nani’s arms, and even though she was smaller than Melanie, the old woman’s reedy muscles kept her in place as she whispered an old Sanskrit prayer. Finally, she released Melanie, only to grab her face and peer into her eyes. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”
“She’s fine,” came her mother’s cardboard voice from behind them.
“I’m fine,” Melanie said quietly, looking away from Nani’s intense gaze. “Just very tired, please can I go to bed? I didn’t sleep at all last night.”
“Of course, of course,” Nani ushered her inside. “Do you want to eat? I can make poori…”
Melanie shook her head, her lids heavy. “Please, no.”
Her mother was silent behind her. Melanie turned and looked at her mum’s work scrubs. “Are you going to work?”
“Yes,” she replied curtly. “Some of us understand our responsibilities to others.”
Melanie looked warily at her own feet again, rubbing one against the top of the other. The smell of incense filled her nose. They had been praying for her, no doubt. Guilt claimed her like a sticky venom welling in her belly. She swallowed. “I’m sorry, Mum.”
Her mother exhaled heavily.
“You’ve really changed this year. You know that, Melanie? What happened to you?”
“Let her rest,” Nani urged. “She looks like she’s going to fall over on her feet!”
“When I come back,” her mother warned. “You will tell me everything.” She went straight back out the door.
Melanie turned towards her room, glancing at Nani, who nodded encouragingly. “Go, go,” she shooed.
Melanie trudged to the bathroom, hearing the faint sounds of Nani cooking. The air smelled of her signature masala, the blend of spices she made in an ancient grinder by herself. Melanie had been weaned on that spice blend, and the familiar smell grounded her. She splashed her face with water and took a long drink. Her mouth quirked up at the taste. The water at Chrysalis had tasted so differently. It was sweet and fresh where they’d gotten it out of the stream that came from the mountains. The water here tasted metallic and false like a grainy photocopy. She wiped her mouth and took a shower, eyes sweeping the white tiles of their bathroom in stark contrast to the deep, dark cavern of her dream. Would that be the replacement of her memories of the fantastic now? After the knowledge of Chrysalis faded from her mind, would her dreams be the only part of her brain to remember, giving her sweeping stories she’d put down to an overactive imagination? A fantasy? Once she’d finished, she sighed, slouched into her room, and closed her curtains. The sunlight streaming through was abruptly cut off, and she revelled in the dark. She put Hugh’s Labyrinth t-shirt carefully on her dressing table and pulled on fresh PJs, and frowning slightly, Melanie fell onto her starry, purple doona. She rubbed her sore elbow, thinking vaguely. There are some things that change you forever, Mum. The divorce changed me, and now something else has changed me too. Before she knew it, she was asleep.
