Resurrectionists (52 page)

“The girl . . .?”

“The one your parishioners want me to drive out of town. Is she like her grandmother? Does she have the Gift?”

“She’s nothing like Sybill. Sybill was cunning, deceitful, and quite openly out to get us. This young woman may be curious, but I don’t think she means us any harm. And I believe she will return home soon.” The Reverend didn’t know for certain why he was protecting the girl. He put it down simply to not wanting another death on his hands.

“But does she have powers? Does she have

the Gift?”

The Reverend nodded reluctantly. “I believe so, yes.”

Flood steepled his crepey fingers against each other and rested his chin upon them.

“But I don’t think –”

“Shh,” Flood said curtly, “I’m thinking.”

The Reverend shifted from one foot to the other. Flood never asked him to sit down, didn’t even have a spare chair. Minutes ticked by. He assumed dawn was breaking somewhere above them, not that Flood would ever see it down here in his dark chamber. Finally, the doctor spoke. “I don’t think we need worry about the girl.”

“No?”

“Sybill knew things because one of my Wraiths told her. But the traitor was dispatched back to the grave, and my remaining two subjects are quite loyal. There is no way the young woman can find out anything.”

“But if she came here . . . in spirit as you say . . .?”

“It’s a matter of a simple protection spell, like the one over the cottage.” He shifted in his seat, grew more animated. “Of course, it’s
her
spell, a fresh spell, not Sybill’s. That’s why the Wraiths could not gain access.”

“Are they still trying? The villagers wanted her scared out of town.”

Flood shook his head. “No, they have given up.”

“But if she doesn’t leave soon . . . I mean . . . the villagers have demanded that I ask for her to be killed if she’s not gone by the end of this month.”

“It’s no matter. I’ll have her killed if that’s what they want. You know that I look after the villagers.”

“I don’t want her killed. There could be an investigation, her family would come, the media –”

“There are ways that do not look suspicious. A slip, a fall on the clifftop . . .”

“But . . . she doesn’t deserve to die. She’s no harm to us.”

Flood waved his hand dismissively. “The graveyard would only be improved by the addition of fresh young flesh. If they want it done, I’ll arrange it.”

“Can’t we just scare her off? Can’t we try –”

“She will not be scared off!” Flood boomed. Then, more quietly, “She has proved that to us. It may be she will come to regret her obstinacy. However it goes, I now know that she has been here and I can protect myself against her return. We have learned something this morning, Reverend. That’s the most a man can hope for, to learn something new each day.”

He stood, moved forward and placed a hand on the Reverend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to get you out of bed, Linden. Thank you for coming.”

The Reverend tried not to recoil from the doctor’s touch. “Goodbye, Dr Flood.”

“Take the lantern with you. It’s rather too bright and it hurts my eyes.” Flood handed him the paraffin lamp. The Reverend used it to light his way to the stairs and out into the weak daylight.

It seemed Maisie had only just got back to sleep when the phone rang and woke her again. She heard Sacha pick it up and was pulling on her dressing gown when he knocked lightly on the door.

“Maisie, Adrian’s on the phone.”

“Thanks,” she said opening the door. “Sorry to wake you again.”

“It’s fine. It’s after six. I’ll go make us some tea.”

She went to the lounge room and picked up the phone, trying not to yawn. “Hi Adrian, what’s up?”

“You tell me what’s up.” Hostility.

“Adrian?” She felt guilty even though she hadn’t done anything. As though her intentions had been broadcast to him across the miles.

“Is Sacha staying there?”

She looked over her shoulder, hoping Sacha wasn’t near by. “He’s just here for a couple of days. You suggested it yourself. You didn’t want me to be alone.”

“That was before I knew.” It was unlike him to be so angry. Usually Adrian was even-tempered until the last possible moment. So what had set him off?

“Knew what? Adrian, what are you talking about?”

“I ran into Sarah Ellis today in Coles.”

Sarah. Cathy. Realisation. “And?” Trying not to sound guilty.

“And she said that you told Cathy you were in love with Sacha.”

“That’s ridiculous. I never said –”

“And that you were bored with me.”

Such a confusion of emotions took hold of her she could barely stop her knees from shaking. Awful guilt for what she had said. Desperate fear that she had hurt Adrian. And savage anger at Cathy. She sat down and breathed deeply.

“I didn’t say those things.” Not exactly like that, anyway.

“What did you say, then, to make her think that?”

Next decision: how much to lie? Perhaps going all the way was safest. “I said nothing like it. I don’t know where Cathy got the idea from. Probably out of her own demented imagination. She and Sarah probably cooked it up between them – Sarah always fancied you, you know.”

Adrian fell silent a few moments.

“I’m going to fucking kill Cathy,” Maisie said.

“Don’t swear, Maisie. You know I don’t like it.” At least he sounded like he had cooled down a little. Not much, just a little.

“Well, how dare she say things like that to her sister?”

“Just come home. I’m sick of this. I’m sick of you being so far away and I don’t trust that Sacha guy. Just come home.”

“Not yet. I’m still –”

“Nothing that you’re doing there should be as important as being home with me.” He sighed.

“Maisie, I know this sounds terrible, but I’m not even sure if I can trust you any more.”

“Me? What have I done? I’ve done nothing.”

“You’re just so reluctant to come home. And where would Cathy have got her ideas about you and Sacha from? I mean, even if you said nothing, maybe she can sense something between you, I don’t know. And he’s sleeping there . . . I really don’t like it.”

She could hear Sacha moving about in the kitchen. She dropped her voice to a harsh whisper. “Well, I really don’t like being told what to do.”

“Come home.”

“Soon.”

“When? Give me a date.”

“No.”

“If you don’t give me a date, I’ll come over there and get you.”

“Let me think about it a couple of days.”

Again, Adrian fell silent.

“Adrian?”

“I hate that you have to think about it. I hate that I’m not more important to you.”

“Oh, Adrian.” She could feel tears pricking her eyes. “You
are
important to me. You know I love you. This is just something I have to do. Please try to understand.” She brushed an untidy curl out of her eyes. “I’m not like you.”

“Are you like Sacha?”

“Don’t even ask that. That’s a really dumb question.”

Sacha entered the room then, set down a mug of tea in front of her. She wondered how much, if any, of the conversation he had heard. She gave him a strained smile.

“I’ll phone you Friday,” Adrian was saying. “And you’ll tell me what day you’re coming home.”

Although she hated it, she felt too guilty to disagree. “Okay.”

“I’ll speak to you then.”

“I love you,” she said.

“Yeah. Bye.” A click and he was gone. She replaced the receiver and sat back in her chair.

“Is everything okay?” Sacha asked.

She shrugged. “Fine.”

“Lovers’ tiff?”

“No. Everything’s fine.”

“Drink your tea. There’s a nice layer of snow out there, and you did promise me you’d build a snowman with me.”

She nodded, tried to look cheerful. “Okay, sure. After breakfast and a shower.”

“When the sun comes up.”

If the sun came up. At eleven o’clock, a heavy cloud layer kept full daylight at bay and threatened more snow. Somehow, despite her misery and anger, Maisie managed to get herself rugged up sufficiently to go outside. Sacha tried his best to keep the conversation light as they assembled a crooked snowman, and Maisie did her best to answer his questions and smile from time to time. But her heart was sick in her chest. Sick because Adrian had been hurt. Sicker because Cathy had betrayed her confidence. And sickest because she had to go home. She’d always known she’d have to go home eventually, but the longer she put it off, the easier she could pretend that this cool, damp journey into intrigue and psychic powers and desire was never going to end. Her joints ached with knowing that she had to return to her old life; as much as she loved Adrian, she didn’t want to go back to him. Not yet.

“Is there an old hat or something in Sybill’s cupboard?” Sacha was asking. “Something we can put on his head?”

“No,” Maisie said. “I threw out all the old clothes on the first day. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. He can stay bald.” Sacha’s eyes were bright and his cheeks pink from the cold. “Maisie, if you’re not up to this, we can just go back inside.”

“No, it’s fun.”

“Just which part of it are you enjoying?”

Maisie shrugged. “I . . .” Oh no, she was going to cry. She hated crying. “Damn,” she said, palming her eyes with her gloved fingers.

“Maisie?”

“Damn,” she said again, tearily, lowering herself to the ground and sitting on the snow. “Damn it. Damn it.”

Sacha crouched beside her, reached out to touch her cheek. “Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice cracking over her tears. “It’s all stupid.”

“It’s not stupid to feel something. Why are you crying?”

“Because Adrian and I had a fight and he wants me to come home, and I don’t want to go home,”

she sobbed.

He put his arms around her and rocked her

gently. She pressed her face into his sleeve and cried like a baby.

“Why don’t you want to go home?” he asked in a soft voice.

“Because I’ll be there forever.”

“Not necessarily. You’ll travel again. You might move somewhere different.”

“Home’s not just a geographical place.”

“Oh. I think I understand you now.”

Already the urge to cry was retreating, and now she felt foolish. She sat back and wiped her eyes. “Sorry. Sorry to be so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. Maisie, why do you think it’s stupid to cry?”

She shrugged, wouldn’t answer.

He stood up, helped her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

“But it doesn’t look like a snowman yet,” Maisie said, surveying their work. It looked more like three misshapen blobs on top of each other, with poorly positioned twigs for arms.

“We can finish him another time.”

Later that evening, after a few more idle attempts to find the fourth diary piece, Maisie stood in the lounge room gazing out onto the snowy front garden. Their snowman cast a shadow in the dark, standing sentinel out the front. Sacha was watching television, but keeping one eye on her. She knew she’d been distant all day. Not just for Adrian’s sake, but for her own. Her desire for Sacha was more than half her problem, and having him there, being so concerned and caring, was compounding her misery.

The phone rang and Maisie sat in her chair to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Maisie, it’s me.” Cathy. Maisie felt her temperature rise. But Sacha was sitting right there watching the TV, and she was hardly going to reveal the details of the conflict in front of him, seeing as how he was so thoroughly implicated.

“Hi, Cathy. How’s uni?”

“Good. How are you going? No more scary stuff?”

“Not really. Couple of weird dreams.” She could hear that her own voice was strained over the top of her anger.

“Well, do you want to come to York for a few days? Get away from it all?” Cathy asked. “I’m getting lonely again. When classes start I’m always reminded that everybody else has friends and I don’t.” She laughed lightly. Innocently. With no idea how despised she was.

“Sure, hang on.” Maisie covered the receiver with her left hand and turned to Sacha. “Sacha, can I get a lift to Whitby with you in the morning?”

“Of course,” he said.

“I’ll be there tomorrow morning,” Maisie said to Cathy.

“Hang on. I’ve got a class tomorrow morning. I thought you might like to come down on the

weekend.”

“I’m busy on the weekend.”

“Okay, I’ll be back in my room by about three o’clock. Meet me then?”

“Sure.” Maisie relished the chance to let Cathy have the edge of her anger.

“And you’ll stay a couple of nights?”

“I’ll see how I feel.”

If Cathy sensed something was wrong, she didn’t let on. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Bye.” Maisie hung up.

“Going to see Cathy?” Sacha asked.

“Yes.”
Going to sort her out.

“That should be fun.”

“Yeah. Heaps of fun.”

Because she was in York hours earlier than she needed to be, Maisie found herself wandering around the shops looking for a present for Adrian. She knew it was a peace token, a way to ease her own guilt, but it suddenly seemed very important that she prove to him that she loved him. It was only when she whipped out her credit card to spend £280 on a black suede jacket for him that she realised just how guilty she must be. She didn’t even have a job to pay her credit card bill with when she got home, but all those worries could wait. Alleviate guilt now, pay later. She found a post office, packaged the gift up and sent it airmail to Australia with a hastily written note:

Adrian,

I saw this and couldn’t resist it. Love you
heaps, always and forever. M xxx

Maisie spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around frosty York, planning in her head what she was going to say when she saw Cathy. She had never been particularly good at confrontations. But Cathy had it coming to her. By ten to three, when she walked up to Cathy’s place, she was a wreck. Angry, tired, frustrated, teary again. What was happening to her? Evil spirits couldn’t make her leave the house but an argument with Adrian could turn her into a gibbering mess. The front door was ajar so she let herself into the boarding house and walked up the stairs to Cathy’s room. Knocked at the door.