The Gorgons Gaze # 2 (Companions Quartet) (16 page)

This common sense explanation pleased him.

“Yes, it does. I hadn’t thought of that. Take it away with you then.” She got up, eager to make her escape. “But, Connie?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t you want to know about the bike?”

In her excitement, she’d forgotten all about the main purpose of her visit.

“Of course—sorry. Did you manage to fix it?”

“It’s as fixed as it’ll ever be. It’ll take you around town but not on the Tour de France.”

“That suits me fine. Thanks, Uncle Hugh.”

Connie sat on the floor between her bed and the window, hidden so that her aunt would not see what Connie was doing if she put her head around the door. It was getting dark. Connie put her bedside lamp beside her and sat in the pool of light with the papers spread out on the rug. Hugh’s chest had yielded a totally unexpected treasure. She had thought that she would have to arrange another
trip to the Reading Room, but here in Suzanna’s handwriting was a draft of another chapter—and Connie hadn’t even had to brave the snake to find them.

She began to read.

It was nearly midnight when she finished. Her legs were numb from sitting on the floor so long, but far more uncomfortable was the knowledge that she had just absorbed. She had learned that universals were by no means immune to attack if a creature so willed it—as Suzanna’s rough illustrations rather too vividly showed with their images of people being stabbed, trampled, burned, frozen, and torn apart by an assortment of ravening mythical creatures. Universals could be electrocuted by a storm-bird’s lightning, turned to stone by the gaze of the gorgon, paralyzed by the cold grip of stone sprites, gored by a great boar, even driven to madness by the siren’s song. Their only hope was either to raise their shield in time or make a safe bond with the creature. But a bond had to be entered into by mutual agreement—no help if you were under hostile attack—and the shield was only as strong as the universal that wielded it—that defense could be breached if strength failed.

She’d had a close escape last year, Connie realized. The sirens had wanted to encounter her and so had forged a complete connection that had done her no harm. Had they wanted to attack, she would have drowned, knowing nothing on her first encounter about closing her mind
with the universal’s shield. She was lucky to be alive.

Col arrived in the wood in good time on Saturday night because he had first arranged to have supper with his mother. He’d spent more time with her over the summer than he had during all the last six years. He couldn’t honestly say he felt any more relaxed in her presence, but he did have a sense that she approved of him—unlike his father, who these days did nothing but moan about how his son was turning out.

“He’s jealous,” said Cassandra, threading some mushrooms on a stick and placing them over the fire. “Don’t think I don’t know that he doesn’t want me anywhere near you.”

This was probably true, but Col didn’t feel he should even enter that debate as he still did not want to take sides between his warring parents.

“What’s Evelyn Lionheart like?” Cassandra asked suddenly.

She’d heard the rumors about Dad then, thought Col.

“Dunno really.”

“Is it serious?”

He wished she wouldn’t grill him like this. He felt like the mushrooms slowly roasting over the fire.

“Dunno. Dad hasn’t said.”

She smiled and shook back her long hair. “No, he wouldn’t. I pity her.”

Argand peeped out from Col’s jacket, lured by the scent of the food. Cassandra threaded a mushroom off the spit and threw it to her. Deftly, Argand caught it in her jaws and swallowed it still piping hot.

“Magnificent creature,” said Cassandra appreciatively.

“I s’pose being in Sea Snakes you’ve had quite a lot to do with dragon riders?”

“Never had much time for them, but as for the dragons…that’s different.”

She leaned over and gently caught Argand’s front paws and pulled the dragonet into her arms. She stroked the smooth golden scales, hissing between her teeth.

“If it weren’t for the wings, she’d almost be like the young of a golden-haired gorgon.”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

Cassandra nodded. “She lives in the Pacific and Indian oceans, spawns with the yellow-bellied sea snake, highly poisonous.”

“Spawns? I don’t understand.”

Cassandra smiled mysteriously. “Few people do. The gorgons live symbiotically with their snake species.”

“Symbiotically?” Col knew he’d heard the word but was not clear what it meant.

“It means when two creatures join to live to their mutual advantage—the gorgon hosts the young, the snakes become part of the gorgon.”

“And your gorgon?”

“She hosts the adder.” Cassandra drew her diamond-patterned cloak closer around her and Argand. A cool, light rain had begun to fall. “She incubates the eggs, and they hatch into new hair.”

Col tried not to shudder, but the thought was putting him off his supper. He checked his watch.

“So you’re still meeting Connie at nine then?” his mother asked carelessly.

“Yeah, I hope so.”

“I told them you were. They want to meet her.”

“Who does?”

“The gorgon.”

And her snakes, Col added silently.

“Well, I s’pose I could ask her if she’s interested. I mean, she’s here to meet Argand really.”

“But this is no weather for a young dragon to be out in. Why don’t I take her to the cave? You can bring Connie there. Send her in on her own so you don’t meet the gorgon’s eye by mistake.”

“Well, I dunno.…”

Argand crooned happily in Cassandra’s arms.

“Look, she’s a lazy little thing.” Cassandra laughed. Her laugh was brittle—he would’ve said “nervous” if his mother ever felt anything as weak as that. “You can tell she’d prefer it. You can’t have been intending to let them meet out in the open—there are far too many people.”

Col cast around for an excuse. He’d been looking
forward to having Connie all to himself—and Argand, of course. This unforeseen expedition sounded very complicated. “But what about the climb?”

“I’ll leave you the rope that I use.”

“Well, okay, I suppose I could—”

“Good, that’s settled.” She handed him a mushroom kebab. “Now tell me about Skylark.”

Connie had chosen Saturday evening to make her bid for freedom because Godiva often listened to concerts on the radio, sending Connie up to bed early so she would not be distracted. At seven, Connie knocked on Uncle Hugh’s door.

“Hello, my dear.” Hugh was whittling a piece of flotsam into a dolphin.

“That’s beautiful.”

“Thank you. It’s for you, you know. Birthday coming up at the end of the month, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I have.” She’d almost forgotten that September was already here—her summer vacation had disappeared down a tunnel of lessons and lonely spells in her room. “Uncle, would it be okay if I took the bike out for a little before it gets dark?” She crossed her fingers behind her back as, whatever the consequences, she knew she had no intention of returning before the light was completely gone.

“I suppose so.” Hugh fished around in his waistcoat
pocket. “Here’s the key to the gate—the bike’s not locked. Promise you’ll not go far?”

Connie’s hand was outstretched, the key dangling over it.

“Of course, I—”

“Hugh!” The door banged open and Godiva stood on the landing. Even now, she dared not cross the threshold. “What are you doing?”

Sensing trouble, Connie grabbed the key and tried to duck around her great-aunt, but sharp fingers caught hold of her hair.

“Ouch!” yelled Godiva as the hair spat sparks at her like an angry cat. She let go but seized Connie’s arm instead. “How dare you!” she bellowed.

“Now, now, Godiva, don’t frighten the child. She hasn’t done anything wrong. I just said she could go out on her bike for a little while.”

“Not done anything wrong!” exclaimed Godiva, shaking Connie in her fury. “Then how do you explain this? I went to check on her and found them in her room.” She held out a fistful of crumpled pages.

“Now, I say, don’t do that!” said Hugh indignantly, trying to take the papers from her before she did any more damage. “I said she could have those to look at.”

“You don’t know what you gave her, do you?” breathed Godiva. “But I bet you that she knew the moment she laid eyes on them.”

“Know what? Connie thought it might be something to
do with heraldry—mythical beasts and all that.” Hugh looked puzzled.

Godiva seemed on the point of saying something but held back. “I’m afraid it’s much worse than that, Hugh. It’s exactly the kind of stuff they have been polluting her mind with in Hescombe. I didn’t know we still had it in the house—I thought I’d destroyed it all.” She turned on Connie. “You must break this, my girl, or it’ll break you. It’s like…like an addiction. You must not indulge in even the least daydream or you’ll tumble all the way back into your pernicious habits.”

She addressed herself to her brother again. “She is certainly not going anywhere tonight.” She pried the key out of Connie’s fist and handed it back to Hugh. “I see now that I have been too lenient with her. It’s time I attacked this problem root and branch. Connie, follow me.”

With sinking heart, Connie traipsed after her great-aunt to her bedroom. Her aunt marched in and turned to face her.

“It starts here—tear these things down now!” She pointed with a trembling finger at the posters.

Connie gaped. “But why?”

“They are nourishing your delusions—they must go.”

“But I can’t.”

“Then I will.” Godiva reached up and ripped the unicorn poster from the wall, sending pins ricocheting around the room.

“No, please, don’t!”

But Godiva was merciless. She tore all the pictures down and crumpled them into a ball.

“Dump out your things.”

Connie sat down on the chest, determined to defend her photo album from Godiva’s assault. “No.”

“Get up!”

Connie shook her head. She was furious. At that moment, she wished she had some power—a gorgon’s gaze or a siren’s song—to strike down her great-aunt. “Just because you don’t want to be a companion to the wood sprites, doesn’t mean I have to be like you!”

Something snapped inside Godiva. Her eyes were lit with a mad fury.

“There are no such things as wood sprites,” she hissed, her spit flying into Connie’s face. “Now move!”

When Connie remained sitting, Godiva seized her by the arm and pushed her to the floor. Her claw-like hand dove into the chest and pulled out the album. She held it high above Connie’s reach, ripping the pages out one by one.

“Poison…filth…lies!” she shrieked, stamping on the picture of Scark, the seagull killed by Kullervo. Connie tried to snatch it back but Godiva crushed her fingers under her shoe. “You are not to touch—not to think—not to mention anything about the cursed Society ever again, you understand?” She bent down and swept
up the crumpled paper from the floor. “This trash goes on the bonfire. You—stay in your room until I say you can come out.”

As a parting shot, she took the shell from its place on the windowsill and stormed out of the room.

Connie stood in front of the bare walls, nursing her bruised fingers, and burst into tears.