Mist & Whispers (4 page)

‘I wish I could, Iain,’ she began to cry. ‘But I don’t know how we can save it. I just wish it was me that found the Weaver’s books; things could be so different now.’

‘Were they his only work?’ he asked with great effort.

Anya’s mind began to race. ‘I don’t know, I hadn’t thought about it. He could have written others that haven’t been found yet... Do you think there could be more?’

‘It’s worth – a
–
a look. What is – there – to
–
lose?’ He was slipping further away with every word. The monitors around them started to make alarming sounds.

The nurse came back over and checked on him once more. She looked at Anya and whispered, ‘Stay with him.’

‘Anya,’ Iain whispered.

‘Yes?’ she answered, her voice cracking as she spoke.

‘Clouded paths...’ His eyes closed slowly then opened once more, looking straight at her. ‘Answers are always found along – clouded – paths.’ He kissed her hand softly and a moment later he was at peace.

W
HEN ANYA FINALLY
left Iain’s house, she went and sat by the lake. Time eluded her as she stared at the reflections of the ducks rippling across the water.
A young family picnicked on the bank, laughing and smiling as their baby boy toddled across the grass, chasing after a puppy. It seemed unfair somehow that Iain could be gone and the earth was still spinning, just the same as before, like his life and death hadn’t made any difference to the world.

She thought about what Iain had said just before he died. She didn’t understand what he’d meant by clouded paths, but his wish for her to save the bookshop was clear.

The thought that the Weaver might have written more books had never entered her head before today. Could James George have missed something when he searched that old manor house?

Anya took out her phone and dialled Michael’s number.

‘What?’ Michael answered shortly.

‘There’s no need to be like that, Michael,’ she snapped back, her body tensing at his tone. ‘There’s obviously an important reason I’m ringing you right now, why do you always have to – ’

‘Woah, calm down a second,’ he cut in, dropping the hostility. ‘What’s happened? Is it Iain? Has he...’

She took a breath and closed her eyes. ‘About an hour ago.’

‘Anya, I’m so sorry. I know how much you looked up to him.’ This was the first time in weeks that he’d spoken to her sincerely. It was comforting to know that, despite it all, he was still there.

She dried her eyes for the hundredth time and cleared her throat. ‘I need to speak to Stephanie, have you got her number?’

‘I don’t actually, but I know where she lives, I dropped her home once – I could take you if you like?’

She wasn’t sure if that was a good idea right now. Her feelings were all over the place and actually seeing Michael felt a bit risky. ‘I think it’s best if I go alone. Can you text me her address?’

‘
BUT HOW DO
we know he even wrote any more?’ Stephanie said later, scratching at her pink leopard-print nail polish.  They had been talking over a cup of tea, Anya revealing her thoughts on finding more of the Weaver’s books.

‘Well, we don’t, but imagine if he had and we were the ones who found them, w
e’d
have the exclusive rights then,
and
millions of customers lining up to order them! Come on, it’s not like we have anything to do. Scott’s is closed and we haven’t got jobs to go back to. Short of a lottery win, this is our only chance to save the bookshop!’

‘It’s sweet you mean so well, but we have to be realistic. Even if we did find more Weaver books, what’s to say Wade wouldn’t sell the bookshop anyway? He’s a forty-six year old surfer who spends more time out of the country than in it. He’s never married or had children; he’s not going to want a bookshop to tie him down.’

‘We could look after it for him. Please, we have to at least try.’ She could hear her own desperation but couldn’t stop herself.

Stephanie stopped playing with her nails and looked at Anya, her eyes narrowing. ‘What is it about Scott’s that makes you want to save it so much? Seriously, there are, like, hundreds of bookshops in England and yet you want to work in this one for the rest of your life? There has to be a reason why a sixteen
– ’

‘I’m nearly seventeen.’

‘ – Okay – why a nearly seventeen year old wants to spend every day of her life in the same ancient little bookshop?’

It was true, there was a reason, but Anya had only ever shared it with Michael and Iain. This truth was the only reason Iain had given her the job in the first place. She didn’t like to share why; people already looked at her strangely, like a baby bird with a broken wing or an unwanted pest, depending on what version of her truth they had heard.

‘Everyone around here knows I was abandoned as a baby, right?’ Stephanie nodded. That much was old news. ‘The newspapers launched a campaign to find my parents, but nobody ever came forward.’

‘I know, but what has that got to do with Scott’s?’

‘Well, when I was found, there was a book inside my moses basket –
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
. Tucked inside the cover was a note from my mother. It didn’t say a lot, only
“To Anya, love Mummy.”
The note was written on the back of a receipt. She bought the book at Scott’s the day the home found me.’

‘O. M. G! Anya, I had no idea!’

‘Scott’s is the only place where I know my mother has been. It’s my only clue as to who she is; who I am.’

Stephanie’s expression was sympathetic.

‘Please don’t look at me like that.’

‘Sorry,’ Stephanie said, looking down at her finger nails again. ‘So, where do we look for these books that only
might
exist?’ A touch of hope warmed her tone.

‘Well,’ Anya said, getting a little excited, ‘that house they were found in is called Erimus Hall. It’s near Middlesbrough – I
Googled
it. It’s only two hour’s drive from here. We could be there and back before the night is out.’

Stephanie’s thumb slipped across her nail and dug into her cuticle. She gave a frustrated little hiss of pain then stuck her now-bleeding thumb in her mouth. ‘Ony fin dough,’ she said, removing her thumb so as to be heard more clearly. ‘Neither one of us can drive, and, like, I can’t see you asking Michael to drive us, what with you two not talking properly.’

Anya’s enthusiasm deflated. She knew it would be awkward asking Michael for help, but if it was their only chance, she was prepared to take it. She was about to agree to let Michael take them when Stephanie sat bolt upright, a little light suddenly appearing in her eyes.

‘Tim! Tim might take us! It’s his last day at uni today; I’m sure I can convince him to take us if I offer to make him breakfast in bed tomorrow.’

Anya had only met Tim a few times before at the bookshop. He was Stephanie’s boyfriend, and they were the total opposites of each other. Stephanie had even said once ‘
he’s the yin to my yang’
. Where she was only 5” 2’, Tim was a towering 6” 3’. She had perfectly straight hair whereas Tim’s was a mass of dark corkscrews falling this way and that, and from what Anya could tell, he was an introvert, but Stephanie was larger than life.

Stephanie called him on his way home from the university where he studied geography. He wasn’t too happy about the spontaneity of it all, but the offer of bacon and eggs in bed had the deal clinched. They planned to leave as soon as he arrived home.

WITH THE DIRECTIONS
punched into the sat-nav and a stop off for drive-through burgers, Anya, Stephanie and Tim began their journey to Erimus Hall.

‘Oh Steph, I got you a little present today,’ Tim said in his deep but mild voice. ‘It’s in the glove box.’

Stephanie opened the glove box and pulled out a black carrier bag with Chronicles printed across it in regal capitals. ‘O.M.G, Timmy! You’ve been funding the enemy!’ she said, pouting moodily.

‘I thought you’d want to read it, and unfortunately it’s the only shop you can buy the Weaver’s books from. I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear.’

Anya thought it sweet that he sounded so worried about upsetting his girlfriend. ‘Which one is it?’ she asked Stephanie.

‘
The Gift of Time
,’ Stephanie replied. ‘Just as well really, I bought
The
Vampire’s Kiss
earlier...’ She cringed in wait of the others’ reaction.

‘Oh! You hypocrite! You’re just as guilty of
funding the enemy
as I am then!’ Tim mocked, playfully poking her in the ribs with one hand still firmly on the wheel. Stephanie made that girly giggling sound most pink-loving girls make, and tried to grab his hand. It was kind of cute, even though Anya would never make such a sound herself. It struck her just how diverse a single species could be.

‘Well, like you said,’ Stephanie went on once Tim’s hands were back at ten and two. ‘It makes total sense to read them. Plus, I hate being out of the loop!’

‘I wouldn’t worry,’ Anya said. ‘I’m guilty too. I bought
Phoenix Tears.
It’s still in my bag from yesterday. I haven’t read it though.’

They chatted as they drove, the woman behind the sat-nav filling the gaps between the small talk. Her directions were questionable at times. In the middle of a bridge along a busy A-road, her robotic voice told them to
“turn right and board the ferry.”
Had they have taken the sat-nav’s advice, they’d have plummeted to their untimely deaths and had to have been scraped off the road below.

AFTER TWO HOURS
of A-roads, they found themselves driving along a country lane, both sides of which were lined with hundreds of little coppicing trees.

‘It should be on the left here somewhere,’ Tim said and they all peered out the window.

‘Just there,’ Stephanie called out, pointing at a small clearing ahead.

They drove a good mile down a winding road until they were met by a large bank. Tim decided it was far too steep for his clapped-out Fiat Tipo
–
it was running on borrowed time as it was – so they parked up beneath an old oak tree and got out.

The sky was a sea of amethyst and white, the clouds rolling in like foamy waves sweeping the shore.  The sun set in the distance. A cool breeze danced through their hair as they made their way to the top of the bank. The mud was dry and crumbling underfoot, and as they passed a plaque on the stone wall that read
ERIMUS HALL,
Anya felt a shiver course down her spine. She got the feeling someone was watching her. There was no one else around, but the closer they came to the derelict building, the harder it was to shake the sensation.

Their pace slowed when they neared the entrance to the manor. There was evidence James had been there; on the ground beside the door lay a bundle of brittle ivy that had been ripped down from around the big double doorway. Bits of it still clung to the walls here and there.

Stephanie looked at Anya. ‘After you,’ she said.

Anya took a deep breath and wondered if this was such a good idea after all. Deserted houses as creepy as this one were usually the centre of the kind of horror stories she’d grown up hearing at the home before lights out.

‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ Stephanie asked, and gave Anya a nudge.

Anya took her phone from her pocket and lit up the screen. Holding it out in front of her like a torch, she stepped through a thin string of cobwebs and through the aged oak doors.

The lobby, even in its decrepit state, was a sight to behold. The ceiling peaked where a wooden chandelier hung, draped with dusty cobwebs and real candles, burnt right down until the wax had dripped from them, like waterfalls frozen in time.

A balcony on the first floor ran along three sides of the square room. Among the railings, dozens of bird nests housed pigeons while others were deserted, abandoned like the manor itself.

In the four corners of the room stood stone statues, each on a pillar and depicting a different mythical creature. Beside them on the left was a dragon. On the right, a griffin stood proud, its eagle stare fixed directly on Anya, making her feel every bit the intruder she was. Ahead on the left reared a unicorn and ahead on the right perched a phoenix, wings spread like wildfire. From the base of each pillar a groove ran in the stone floor, right into the centre, where a large round black limestone was set. The limestone was engraved with a mesmerizing labyrinthine pattern, at the centre of which was a tiny black hole.

The walls were stained with damp spots and the windows were thick with dirt, allowing hardly any light into the room. Even under the glow of Anya’s phone, everything was black with dust. Furnishings were sparse and had been subjected to the same treatment as the ivy by the front door.

They set about searching the room. Beside a grandfather clock stuck on a quarter to ten, Anya found an empty old trunk with a muddy hand print on its side.

‘Look at this,’ Anya said, holding her hand against the print. ‘Do you think this could have been the Weaver’s hand?’

Stephanie and Tim studied it with the same fascination as Anya. The hairs on their arms tingled as the wonder of Weaver’s possible presence overcame them all.