Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The gargoyle doesn’t tackle me to the ground, and I take off. He let me go. Phew. He has a lot more going on than dealing with me, and maybe with my face covered, I’ll be unidentifiable.
The explosion was centred around those buildings. The sandy surface of the road quickly changes, and returning to the tarmac, I increase my speed and head for home.
Will Dad be gone? Did I miss him? Did he leave in the car to go get me? I turn the corner to my parents’ house—and stumble.
An odd little whine rattles in my throat like I’m some wounded animal.
My hand shakes as I open the front door. The old Victorian has seen better days. The single-glazed windows rattle with lousy weather, and the wind whistles through the gaps. In winter, it gets so cold in the house that frost covers the inside of the glass.
My parents do what they can; Dad paints the wooden window frames every summer, and the house is so clean that even with my nightmare brothers, you could eat your dinner off the mustard tiles in the hall.
The fear bouncing around inside me dims just a little. I pull off the hat—strands of my hair crackle with static—and I remove the tea towel, stuffing them both into my pocket.
The front door creaks, and I make sure to leave it open, nice and wide.
Like a beacon, the ward surrounds the entire house.
I pull it back to shield only the basement area and the bottom stairs.
I then pour magic into a prepped chunk of obsidian.
The illusion charm forms quickly; it shapes itself into a simple spell to make the basement appear empty and dark.
For effect, I add a few things: creepy, unbroken cobwebs, a thick layer of dust coating the stairs, and a few haphazard boxes.
At a glance, the basement door will appear like it hasn’t been opened for years.
The stairs creak under my weight. When my coat moves, I get a whiff of my body odour—the stink of fright clings to me.
My ankles throb and my calves ache. This night feels never ending, and my emotions are all over the place, flickering from fear to despair to relief.
My adrenaline level is so high I feel like I’m still running.
I’m home. I shuffle through the door, my eyes flitting around the space.
Tears prick, and a lump forms in my throat. They’re all safe.
The homely basement glows with warmth. Mum is rooting around in a cupboard and Dad is reading a book. Nan is asleep on the chair.
My two brothers seem entirely unconcerned.
They’re taking full advantage of staying up late, sitting on beanbags in the corner, each with a handheld game console—some Nintendo thing; I’m not sure without looking at the logo.
They’re both whisper arguing. They’re identical except for the hair.
Aleric’s red hair is a little longer than Ledger’s, and he keeps stealing my dad’s hair-care products.
Fate, the two of them are spoiled. They’ll be disappointed when the battery runs out of those things, but I guess it’s keeping them quiet.
A lot of the tech we have is pre-locked up.
Though we still have new stuff, it’s just tricky to get, and it’s not like we’re flush with money—or we wouldn’t be if it weren’t for me selling my magic.
We cannot use the cash here in town; that would be raising a red flag. The money is for when we get out. Life is hard here.
“Kricket, I thought that was you. Were you born in a barn? Why didn’t you close the front door?
” Mum meets me, her hands on her ample hips, and she looks me up and down with a critical eye.
Her strawberry blonde hair sticks up like she’s been running her fingers through it all night.
Mum leans forward and kisses my cheek; the move instantly softens her harsh words.
“I’m glad you’re home.” She pokes me. “Now go and close the front door.”
I have no idea how she can tell the door upstairs is wide-open—it must be some strange internal mum sense, I guess. I clear my throat. “I have a good excuse for why it needs to remain open.”
Mum’s gaze narrows as I go to shuffle around her. “Shoes, Kricket.” She tuts. “Honestly, girl, you are a mess.” If she could get away with stripping me down to my underwear like she did when I was little, I’m sure she would. She points at my legs.
I glance down at my ash-covered feet and legs. My toes wiggle within my dirty trainers. I don’t want to remove them in case we have to leave in a hurry, but the stink eye my mum is throwing wins the battle.
Deal with the most significant danger first.
I huff out a weird, manic chuckle and drift back to the bottom of the stairs, toe off the trainers, and hang up my coat.
Behind me, Mum moans to my dad about the front door and shoes being left on.
I hear born in a barn more than once. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
This normalcy is jarring. My head dips as I tamp down the urge to cry.
Yeah, this is all so normal. They are the exact same people they were when I left for work, and I’ve irreparably changed. We didn’t just live the same hour.
And now I must explain what it’s like outside.
They know about the explosions and the Pied Piper spell, but bad things are easy enough to dismiss if you haven’t seen them yourself.
Ignorance is bliss.
Keeping a death grip on my bag, I head for the sofa, stopping to kiss Nan on her soft, papery cheek when she smiles at me sleepily.
I perch on the edge. My fingers play with the bag’s strap, and my left knee jiggles.
I don’t know where to begin. I’ll have to start at the beginning and tell them everything.
Mum returns, holding a loaf of bread in one hand and a jar of peanut butter in the other. She smiles. “Do you want something to eat?” She has this smug light shining in her eyes, and I can read her like a book.
She’s excited. Mum is so bloody chuffed she was right about things going wrong.
She huffs about the room. Tidying little things here and there.
She’d planned and waited for this very moment, and now, with her stores of peanut butter and the secret basement refurb—it used to be only useful for coal storage—all the nagging at my dad has been worth it.
Her foresight is coming to fruition, and she’s so bloody happy.
I bet she didn’t think it would turn out like this.
I wish I could sink into the settee. I don’t want to do this. Crap, she’s going to feel so bad. I rub my face. It’s gritty with ash.
Mum tilts her head to the side. “Your face is all red.” She smacks my hand away from my face. “Did you use that horrid cream again?” She leans in close.
“No.” My voice is a husky whisper. “The smoke outside is heavy with magic. I used a towel covered with salt water to protect my airways. I’ll heal it in a minute if it’s so bad. I have something important to tell you.”
“Something important to say? More important than closing the front door? You can’t leave it open like that, Kricket.
I hope you don’t do that at your flat—” Mum loses track of what she’s saying as her eyes drop, and she stares at my wrapped arms. “When did you get so many spell ingredients? You shouldn’t be wearing them outside like that. ”
“I had my coat on. I was covered. I have to wear them, and at this point, it doesn’t matter who sees me.” Raising my voice to get everyone’s attention. “Please come and sit. I need to tell you some things about what’s going on outside.”
“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. Does anyone want tea?” Mum huffs and drifts off to fiddle with a camping kettle.
“Yes please,” I croak while everyone else shakes their heads.
With tea, everything will be all right.
My feet curl into the rug that covers the bare concrete. The rug’s old. It’s probably from the ’70s, pink with little splodges of white. You can even see bits of paint where my brothers have played down here and caused a mess.
My brothers stop their games, and Dad marks his page and slumps next to me. The old sofa dips and I roll slightly into his side. He throws his arm across my shoulders and kisses the top of my head.
“I thought you were waiting for me. You said you’d hide and keep safe.”
Nowhere is safe. I wince. “It became too dangerous to wait.”
Dad nods, accepting my explanation and giving me a side hug.
How do you tell your family that things have gone from bad to horrendous? How do you put it into words? I worry they won’t believe me. If they don’t believe me, will they get themselves hurt checking out what I’ve told them? They tend to be pragmatic.
“Mary, leave the girl alone and come and sit down,” Nan scolds from her chair.
Mum is still complaining to herself about my face and the wide-open front door as she heats the hot water on a small camping stove. We all wait until she returns with a mug for me and one for herself.
“Thanks, Mum.”
“I added sugar. You’re looking a little red and washed out.” She’s not going to let my red face go, is she?
Dad leans forward. “Tell us, pumpkin, what’s going on.”
I swallow, eyeing my thirteen-year-old brothers, who flop on the rug.
My parents aren’t going to like it, but I’m not pussyfooting around.
They need to know. “The Peacekeeper Station and the Academy have been attacked.” I stare at the steaming mug I grip in both hands.
“I’m sure most of the gargoyles are dead. ”
There is a click of lips as my mum opens her mouth, and Nan makes a noise of censure in her throat.
I lift my eyes to see Mum snap her mouth closed.
I start from the beginning and explain what I’ve seen and what I’ve done. When I describe what happened with Chloe, my voice cracks. But I keep going. Dad stops me to ask the odd question, and Nan watches me with an intense, sad expression.
Watching the fear rise within my family is taking its toll.
“So you showed the gargoyle your magic and then ran off?” Mum asks. Is that what she got from that entire monologue? I shrug.
Her face goes red.