Thistle Witch, page 11
part #1 of Anaïs Blue Series
‘I don’t see anything, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to wander around out there.’ He glanced over her shoulder towards the opposite end of the alley. ‘Let’s find a place to hide for the night. I would feel more comfortable moving in daylight.’
Anaïs nodded grimly. ‘I agree.’
‘Stay here,’ he commanded gently.
She dipped her head in affirmation. Prince slid along the wall again, this time in the other direction. There, with no streetlight to provide illumination, the darkness was absolute. She couldn’t tell how far the alley went or whether it even terminated. She heard the tinkling of glass breaking and a door being forced. There was a loud scraping and a creak. Moments later she heard him shuffling back towards her.
His face appeared out of the inky blackness centimetres from her own. She caught her breath in surprise.
Prince whispered in her ear. ‘Let’s go.’
She let him take her hand. His cold grip sent a chill through her once again and she fought the urge to shiver.
A few metres down the alley was an open doorway. He guided her inside. Broken glass crunched under her feet. He closed the door softly behind them. She heard him drag a heavy piece of furniture across the floor. He fumbled around and then she heard a click. A single compact low energy light bulb hung from a strand of wire in the centre of the room. It grew steadily brighter until it illuminated the entire space, a small room.
She could now see the door. A small pane of glass next to the handle was missing. Shards of glass lay scattered on the floor. There was a small table near the door. The rest of the room was empty except for a two-seater couch and an office chair. They were in a small reception room. It appeared abandoned and disused. An old blanket lay on the couch.
She lay on the couch, pulled her knees up to her chest and curled into a tight ball. Prince drew the blanket over her up to her chin. He sat on the table near the door, reached over and flipped the light switch. It took some time for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they did she could just make out his silhouette in front of the glass door. Occasional flashes in the sky outside lit him up from behind.
She closed her eyes and soon fell asleep. She dreamt. Her dreams were filled with the vivid image of a giant, red-eyed dog running towards her. The image repeated itself over and over. Something blocked the dog from actually getting to her. She didn’t feel fear, more a kind of fascination, until it eventually stopped trying to reach her. It was then that it opened its mouth and the fear flooded in. Between its razor-sharp teeth she saw that it had the forked tongue of a snake. It flicked menacingly at her. An iciness hit her and froze her entire skull. The dog wheezed and hissed in a deep tone.
‘Anaïs?’
SLEEP
Prince watched her toss and turn on the couch. She was truly petite, a little ball of flesh curled up under the blanket. He wanted to hold her again. The embrace had felt good. Curiously, it felt familiar, holding a child so tightly in his arms. He sensed it was an experience he’d had before. Now that he had felt it again, he missed it. He wished he could place the source of the original feeling. It had come from being with someone else, someone very much like Anaïs. It made him think of her, the one. Could it be she was also lost and alone, maybe an orphan?
And what of Anaïs and her parents? Where were they? Surely somewhere out there a father existed, and a mother. Why had they deserted her? He didn’t know enough. Maybe, if he knew more, he could help her find them, and then he would find what he was searching for.
He was still looking. He was always doing that. He searched his thoughts but the image of the one like Anaïs wouldn’t come. Was it really a child he was looking for? Maybe he was wrong. He wasn’t convinced. It was definitely a somebody, not a something. It was driving him mad. He patted his forehead with his fingertips. He knew the memory fragment was there somewhere. It was buried deeply, hidden away, but it was there.
Be patient, he told himself. It will come.
Anaïs cried out in her sleep, yelping like a puppy.
It snapped him out of his thoughts. Other, more serious concerns filtered into his head. He didn’t like what was going on. It disturbed him. The man and the dog; had he seen them somewhere before? He couldn’t be sure. How his memory tortured him! What were they after? Was it just her or something more? Now that he had helped her, had he also put himself at risk? What or who they wanted was immaterial; they were dangerous. He and Anaïs must not get caught.
If he had been alone it would have been easier to escape. He was used to staying under the radar. She was a new addition to the equation, a responsibility. She complicated his very existence.
Furthermore, he sensed she hadn’t been in this position before, in real danger. They had kept her so well hidden. They had been clever. Now she was exposed and couldn’t avoid detection as easily as before.
One thing was certain. The man and the dog were still out there somewhere looking for them. He and Anaïs no longer had freedom of movement. Not that it had really been the case before. But now they were the hunted. And the hunted need to hide. From now on, they would always be looking over their shoulders.
Anaïs stirred again on the couch. She grunted and kicked. The blanket slid to the floor.
He went to her and laid a hand gently on her forehead. There it was again. The familiarity. What was it? She shuddered under his touch. He withdrew his hand. Her face contorted. She kicked and tried to scream.
He softly spoke to her. ‘Anaïs?’
Her eyelids flipped open. Fear filled her eyes and plastered itself across her face. She looked straight through him. She was still deeply asleep. She stared long and hard. Her eyelids fluttered, and then she closed them and was silent. Her body relaxed and she sank back into the couch. Her breathing became slower and deeper. It regulated itself.
He drew the blanket back over her and left her, satisfied that the nightmare was over. He went back and sat on the table. For the rest of the night she slept soundly. He watched her and mulled over the strange sensation he had felt when they had touched. Who had made him feel the same way?
WHISPERS
Have you ever thought you heard someone calling your name? More than likely someone was calling your name. Perhaps it was a relative or friend passing by on the other side of the street. Or perhaps it was a stranger calling someone with the same name. Or possibly it was some other noise floating on the wind which emulated the sound of your name. More than likely it was none of these things. Maybe it was a shade.
Shades instinctively know the inner workings of the human mind. Many of them have spent an inordinate amount of time mulling over the stuff between their own two ears. Particularly if they have lived a long existence as one of the living. This knowledge is necessary if you wish to influence others. But having mountains of knowledge won’t help you if you don’t know how to use it.
Some shades have terrible memories of reality. The longer they are in a shadow state, the less they can recall from the real world. It is best if a shade can get out of their state of uncertainty as quickly as possible. Too much of the wrong knowledge can be detrimental, especially if then and now become muddled. They can become convinced of a false reality. After all, if you think you know it all, you’re not going to be very open to working out what you should be doing. Sifting through memories requires an open mind.
Shades need help, but are capable of planting thoughts in other people’s minds. Have you ever been busy doing something and then, out of nowhere, thought, I should be doing that? You drop what you’re doing and follow the mental command. You feel obliged to do it.
Influence works on many levels. It’s most successful when something is hinted. Influence doesn’t work if it’s too obvious. Subtlety is the name of the game. It’s nearly impossible to convince someone to do something against their will if you broach the subject head-on. This is where practical knowledge plays an important role. Tact is something that can only be learnt with experience. You have to do it over and over until you find what works best. There are general rules but, apart from that, you will need an intimate knowledge of someone to get them to truly do something against their will.
The dead have the power to influence. They know exactly how to approach someone. Especially if that someone is a person they have dealt with in life. Through past experience they know when and what to say. Timing is as important as what is said. This is why the command ‘Go do that now’ works. Shades, who have an intimate knowledge of someone, can see their window of opportunity coming up. They know exactly when to jump in and send a command. They know when to manipulate. If a string of directives can be achieved you can almost guarantee having control over an event. It’s not a simple thing and does require planning. A good deal of practise also does not go astray.
Anaïs and Prince were novices. They knew nothing. They had no inkling of the power that they possessed as a combined force. They were volatile weapons that could go off at any moment.
THE INQUISITOR
Where was she? Not only that, who or what were the others?
He suspected the old man was a shade. If so, then he had given himself away. That was a mistake. But then, maybe not. Shades were constantly changing appearance. They were hard to track. You could only catch them if they weren’t aware of you and you still had the element of surprise.
He had lost that now. He didn’t have the benefit of camouflage as they did. He had certain powers, but still had much to learn. He was still serving his apprenticeship.
The shade wasn’t dangerous. At least, he didn’t think so. If it gave itself away again he would know what to do. What concerned him more was the other one. Something had knocked him off his feet. It was strong, so powerful it had floored the dog. And the animal was not easily brought down.
The beast had its great head in his lap. The weight of it was substantial, its skull solid and heavy like a lump of granite. The Inquisitor ran his fingers slowly through the deep fur around its neck, trying his best not to raise its stale smell. It growled softly, rumbling like distant thunder. He leant back on the bench, his spine cracking as he straightened it.
He watched the drunken party-goers carve unsteady paths across the square. It had been a long night and he was tired. He’d had enough of the festivities. Although, at one point, he had been tempted to join in, he had held his guard. He had a job to do. He had permitted himself one long, strong scotch. It had burnt a line of white heat down his gullet and warmed his belly. It had helped him get through the bitter cold which was growing as dawn approached. He wished he had another now.
The dog kept him warm. It was, after all, a hell hound. They were the best blanket ever invented. It looked up at him with its bloodshot eyes. He wondered if they mirrored his own. He needed sleep. He would permit himself an hour of rest and then he would continue the search.
He looked around the bench. She had sat here. Through the slats he checked if there was any evidence on the ground beneath it. There was nothing.
He sighed. He didn’t have anything to go on. After some rest he would retrace his steps and fan out from the square. They had disappeared quickly. She couldn’t be far away and had to be hiding close by. She was a child, small and fragile, and would need rest. He had the benefit of age and could stay active for longer. At this moment, though, he was exhausted. Now he had to rest as well. The dog would keep watch. He hoped a policeman wouldn’t come and ask him to move on. That would wake him. However, he felt fairly certain he wouldn’t be disturbed. It was New Year’s Day and he wouldn’t be the only one curled up on a park bench. The police would turn a blind eye to anyone not stirring up trouble. They had better things to do.
He had little choice. Without rest he would be useless. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. An hour was all he needed and then he would be able to think clearly again. The dog was restless. He stroked its great head and let his own body relax. Even the pungent smell of cinders under his nostrils didn’t bother him. He was too tired.
‘Shh,’ he said. The dog settled.
Good.
Soon she would be waking. Soon she would be on the move. Then they would be exposed. Then he would find them.
NEW YEAR’S DAY
Her eyes snapped open. She looked around the room, taking a moment to recall where she was. Prince was still sitting on the table. He stared blankly at the wall behind her. He hadn’t moved and held exactly the same position as before she fell asleep.
Anaïs cleared her throat and barked at him light-heartedly. ‘Hey!’
Her voice wrenched him out of his stupor. He shook his head to clear it. The sound of another voice directed straight at him was still new and at first took him by surprise. He dropped his eyes and looked down at her. He smiled, his words sounding in her head.
‘Hey yourself!’ he said.
Anaïs frowned. ‘Have you been there all night?’
‘Of course. I have nowhere else to go, do I?’
She pursed her lips. ‘I wouldn’t know about that.’
He shuffled uneasily on the table and looked at her timidly. ‘Even if I did, I’d still prefer to be here. I like being around you. You remind me of someone.’
‘Really?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Who?’
He sighed and wrung his hands. ‘I don’t know exactly, just somebody. I wish I knew who it was.’ He paused and cocked his head. ‘I was kind of hoping you could help me.’
‘I don’t see how I can really help.’ Anaïs sat up on the couch and pulled the blanket snugly around her waist. ‘I know nothing about you.’
Prince looked solemnly at the floor. ‘Then we share the same problem. I also have no idea who I am.’
‘Don’t you remember anything about yourself. I mean, before you died?’
He peered at her from under his lids and then dropped his eyes to the floor. ‘Only little things. I think I remember my mother. She was quite a big woman. She was always around, even when I got older.’ He sniffed. ‘I’m pretty sure I also had a brother. The odd thing is I can’t remember his face or any details about him at all; almost as if he was never there.’ He drew a circle with his foot in the dust on the floor. ‘One thing keeps coming back to me. I remember being blinded by lights, like I was being interrogated. Also, there seemed to be lots of people around me, always. I was never completely alone. And the people, they were yelling and screaming, making lots of noise.’ He paused, contemplating the memories ‘Most of all, I remember the noise.’
Anaïs caught a glimpse of the real him in his reflection in the window beside him. His hair was dark and wavy, his face fatter, and he looked a lot younger. She stood on the couch. There was a large mirror on the wall behind her.
She beckoned him to come over ‘Can you come here for a minute?’
He nodded. ‘Sure.’
He slid off the table and padded across the room to her. She pulled him closer then turned to the mirror. She looked past her own reflection and over her shoulder at his face.
‘You look different in the mirror,’ she said.
‘Really?’
‘Yes. It’s odd. Your reflection in the window is hazy.’ She turned to face him. ‘Your face is much clearer when I look at you in the mirror. In the window it ripples like a reflection in water.’
‘That’s interesting, but I wouldn’t know. For me there’s no difference. No matter where I look I see the same reflection.’
Anaïs turned once more to the mirror. ‘Your face is familiar. I can’t quite place it, though.’ She scrutinised his reflection. ‘You know, I think perhaps you were famous.’
‘Ok.’ Prince grinned. ‘That’s good. It should make it easier for us to work out who I am.’
Anaïs shot him a serious look. ‘Us?’
Prince looked at her worriedly. ‘You are going to help me, aren’t you?’
Anaïs grinned and nudged him in the ribs. ‘Of course I’ll help you. I was only joking. You saved my skin, remember?’
Prince nodded grimly.
She squeezed his arm and a chill ran up her own. ‘I’m sure that any notoriety you have will help us work out who you are. Unfortunately, it’s not our only problem.’
Prince studied the look of concern on the little witch’s face and his thoughts returned to the events of the previous evening. ‘Yes, you’re right. We have another, much bigger problem.’
OUTSIDE
Prince stuck his head outside to check if the alley was empty. There was nobody. Only the sound of sporadic thuds: the occasional distant burst of a firework. The sun was creeping down the alley. It wasn’t even really daylight yet. It was just the darkness receding. The black turning to grey.
They had to find another spot while it was still early. It would be best to keep moving until they found something suitable. Now that she had lost her hideout they needed another place of sanctuary. But where could they go? He felt useless. He was as lost as her and didn’t know how to help. It wasn’t necessary for him to have shelter like her. He was dead and didn’t need a roof over his head. The thing that sheltered him, his disguise, moved around with him.
They slipped out into the alley and began walking. It was cold and she took the blanket with her, wrapping it tightly around her torso and over her head like a greatcoat. All the while he checked for other signs of life, looking around every corner before entering another street. The streets were deserted. Before long they stepped out onto a main road. Shredded paper, the torn wrappings from thousands of fireworks, covered the ground everywhere. Layers of it were intermingled with broken glass and coated in early morning dew. The predominant colour was red. It ran through everything like veins. Splashes of it sprung out from the blues and whites. There was even a hint of purple.
