TWENTY-FIVE VISITORS
TWENTY-FIVE
VISITORS
T he Sarumbourne Wellbeing Centre is just a short walk from the city centre, not too far from the Seven Angels. The building is pretty fancy. The original manor house sits centrally, and two smaller modern extensions flank each side.
The driveway curves off from the busy road, and there’s a circular fountain right in front of the entrance. As we walk up, there’s a family piling into a taxi.
Right above the entrance, a sign reads: Sarumbourne Wellbeing Centre: Where Peace of Mind Lives.
A date, carved in the brick above the sign: 1857.
Tariq and I reach the entrance just as the taxi pulls away.
‘Are we really doing this?’ Tariq says.
On our way here, I outlined my idea to him.
Katie might have some knowledge about the summoning and the Dark Friars’ agenda.
Earlier, seeing Lucas jogged my memory of Heather Willet – the other Keeper, who no one seems to really talk about.
Heather may have the ability to reach out to Katie.
If she can establish contact, Katie might be able to share what she knows with Heather.
‘We can’t even be sure Katie will know anything,’ Tariq continues.
‘In the courtyard Draven said Katie escaped them. She’d been missing for days.
What if the Dark Friars had her captive?
When I saw Katie in my dream, she was a mess, and her wrists looked sore, like she’d been tied up.
What if she’d been with them the whole time she was missing? What if she overheard something?’
‘I get it, Liam. I do. But what about Heather? We don’t know what condition she is in mentally. She might not be able to help, and she might not even have her powers anymore.’
‘But there’s a chance, right?’
Tariq shakes his head. ‘It’s slim.’
‘Then we have to try, Tariq. Or we could just go back and leave it to the Guild…’
‘Fine, but we’re doing it my way. If things get messy, we’re out of there immediately.’
I nod, and we head for the entrance. I know that this is a long shot, but if there’s even a sliver of hope that we could find out more about what Draven and Layla are up to, I’m willing to take it.
The reception area is smaller than I’d imagined.
It’s modern and well-lit, and it seems like they stripped away most of the original features.
In the middle of the room, there’s a square seating area with some potted plants and magazine tables, and a water dispenser to one side.
The walls are bare except for a lone leaflet rack right next to the oval reception desk.
‘Can I help you?’ a grey-haired lady behind the desk calls out.
‘Er… yes,’ I manage to say as we move closer.
There’s a man pacing back and forth in the corridor. He’s wearing a lanyard that says ‘Here to keep you safe’ in rainbow colours. Tariq notices him too, and then he clears his throat.
‘We’re here to see Heather Willet,’ Tariq says.
The receptionist peers over her lenses. ‘Are you family?’
‘Uh, no. Friends.’
The receptionist resumes her task. ‘Family only.’
‘We’re family friends,’ I say.
She takes off her glasses, and it’s like she’s ready to detonate at any moment. ‘Am I not making myself clear? No friends. No family friends. No family pets. Just family.’
‘Okay, we get it.’ Tariq starts pulling me away from the desk.
‘What are we going to do?’ I whisper.
‘I don’t know. Maybe we should just go?’
I’m not giving up that easily. I head back to the desk and put on my best smile. ‘Hi, can I get a brochure?’
She slides a booklet from a drawer and slams it on the counter. ‘Have a lovely day.’
Charming. She acts just like my aunty Orla when Mum forces her to spend Christmas with us.
I grab the brochure and start flipping through it, heading back to Tariq. He looks confused. ‘What are you doing?’
‘If the Guild are keeping Heather here, surely they’d give her the best room.’
I flip to a page that’s titled ‘Suites’ and point to the first room listed. ‘The Archer Suite. According to this it’s the biggest and most luxurious. It’s on the first floor, overlooking some gardens out the back. And look!’
I point to the red badge stamped on the image of the room that reads: Currently unavailable .
Tariq looks impressed by my deduction. ‘And how are we supposed to get past Miss Sunshine over there?’
I gesture toward the pacing man halfway down the corridor. ‘Maybe we can sneak past them?’
Tariq doesn’t answer; instead, his focus is all on the water dispenser at the opposite end of the room. His face is suddenly all intense.
‘What are you doing?’ I say.
‘Just wait.’
I follow his line of sight. The water in the dispenser is bubbling. A moment later, the whole thing begins to shake, like there’s a tiny earthquake.
The receptionist hurries over, calling for backup.
Tariq’s focus doesn’t waver. The water level in the dispenser begins to rise, inch by inch.
The man from the corridor comes running over to join the receptionist. He tries to steady the machine, but it’s no use.
‘Move,’ Tariq whispers, his eyes never leaving the water dispenser as he guides us toward the corridor.
The water in the dispenser keeps rising, reaching its limit, and I can’t believe Tariq’s still managing to manipulate it from this distance.
For a split second, everything goes silent. Then, a bang. The dispenser explodes. It’s like a water balloon gone rogue. The receptionist and the security guy are soaked, and they’re both shouting hysterically.
That was amazing.
Tariq grabs me, and we start running for the staircase.
This side of the building is way more in keeping with its Victorian roots – none of that flashy modern stuff we saw down at reception. It’s eerily quiet. There’s no one around. We take a left down another long corridor and finally find the Archer Suite. I knock on the door and we wait.
Nothing.
I reach for the brass handle.
‘Wait. We can’t just barge in,’ says Tariq, pulling at my arm. ‘I still don’t think this is a good idea.’
‘Well, we won’t know unless we talk to her, right?’
Tariq nods.
I give the handle a tug, but it doesn’t budge. ‘It’s locked.’
‘Not a good sign.’
‘I’ve got this.’ With a deep breath, I yank the handle. It suddenly collapses, some inner mechanism snaps in the process. ‘No longer locked.’
‘Look at you, Mr Incredible.’
The door creaks open and we step inside.
There’s a short hallway leading to a spacious living area.
A flowery double bed graces one end, while two sofas and a coffee table occupy the other.
Arched windows showcase a neat lawn and sprawling trees, with a winding river at the bottom.
I can even see part of the cathedral in the distance.
‘Heather?’ I call.
‘Who’s there?’ a voice calls from behind a closed door, making us jump.
I hesitate. Tariq shrugs.
‘I’ve already told you lot I don’t want anything for lunch today,’ the woman’s voice booms from what I assume is the bathroom. ‘I’ve only just… I know. The tiles have always been white apparently… I’ll be out in a moment.’
Tariq and I exchange puzzled glances.
‘I don’t know. Stop talking now. I have guests,’ the woman says.
‘I think we should leave, Liam,’ Tariq says.
There’s the flush of a toilet and the door opens. A woman emerges, and she’s nothing like what I imagined at all. She’s young, not Tariq and me young, but younger than my mum. She flicks her mane of long, curly brown hair behind her shoulders as she inspects us.
‘Oh. You gents are new,’ she says.
‘Are you Heather? Heather Willet?’ I say.
‘Shhh. Not now,’ Heather says to something next to her I can’t see.
Tariq shoots me a ‘we should go’ look. I ignore him. ‘My name is Liam, and this is Tariq.’
Heather suddenly shifts her attention to the side of the room as if someone else is present. My skin prickles. Behind me there’s nothing.
‘We’re not part of the staff. We’re just visiting. We wanted to talk to you,’ I say.
Heather’s gaze seems to pierce through me, as if she’s looking beyond.
‘Sorry, I’m a little distracted today,’ Heather says, before taking a seat in one of the armchairs. She pulls herself up into a ball, resting her chin on her knees. Her long floral dress covers her bare feet.
I take a seat opposite her. Tariq remains standing, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on Heather.
‘We thought you might be able to help us?’
Heather tilts her head. ‘Help you? With what?’
‘Well, there’s some information we need from someone, but the thing is—’
‘They’re dead?’
Tariq’s expression mirrors my surprise. ‘How did you—’
‘It’s the only reason anyone visits me,’ she says, rising from her seat.
‘So, you can help us?’ Tariq says.
Heather begins fluffing the cushions on her perfectly made bed.
‘No. I won’t let any more in.’
‘Any more?’ I say.
Heather freezes. She bends down and peers under her bed. ‘Where are you? I don’t want you here!’ she says, her voice tinged with panic.
Tariq’s hand is suddenly on my arm, urging me to stand. ‘We should go,’ he whispers.
‘We can’t. She can help us.’
‘I don’t think she’s in her right mind.’
‘What other choice do we have? Do you know another Keeper who can communicate with the dead?’ I say.
Heather’s just a few feet away, her eyes fixed on us with intense curiosity. Moving closer, she extends her hand like a child reaching for a cookie jar.
‘Keepers,’ she says.
Tariq and I exchange a glance.
‘Which ones?’ she asks, her eyes glistening.
‘Which ones?’ I say. Her sudden shift from confusion to what seems like joy is unexpected.
She smiles, her hooped earrings bouncing above her shoulders. ‘Which Keepers are you?’
‘I’m the Third, the Elementa,’ Tariq says, still on edge. ‘Liam here is the First, the—’
‘The Auctus,’ Heather finishes, her gaze shifting toward me with renewed interest.
Heather reaches out to both of us, lightly caressing our pendant chains. Tariq shifts uncomfortably. But I don’t think we’re in any danger now; there’s something different in her eyes. For a moment, it seems as if tears might escape.
‘I will help you,’ she says, pulling out her own pendant.