Chapter 14 Augustin
Hannah: Smokey Bacon crisps. Smiths Scampi Fries. Baby carrots. Club Orange biscuits. Terry’s Chocolate Orange Minis. Jaffa Jonuts. Hobnobs. Twiglets. More of that delicious garlic pizza bread. Jammie Dodgers.
If you get all of these, it will go PART WAY to making it up to me. Have you sold any of my scarves yet?
RAIN ASSAULTS MY PEACOAT AS I hurry from the market, laden with every item on Hannah’s extensive birthday make-up shopping list, plus a couple of scraggly-looking Sambucus nigra I rescued from the plant display.
Of course, Hannah wanted to come with me tonight, but I had to tell her no.
Again. I hate myself for it. I used to bring her into the village as a baby.
But I had less to fear when she wasn’t mobile and there weren’t any vampires or Nevermore Coven members around.
Last night, I noticed Komal’s friends Beth and Celeste skulking around outside my cottage.
This is Celeste with the strange and distinct scent, and the same Beth who thinks her pole studio rebuild should be rushed through the planning process, even though that building was a death trap and a fire risk, proved by how quickly it burned to the ground.
This happened after I saw the Nevermore Coven watch us leave the bookstore.
They have their eyes on me. They probably think I’m the husker.
I can’t risk them finding out about Hannah, so she has to stay inside tonight, away from the windows.
I glance through the sheets of rain towards the campaign posters we put up to replace the ones Komal ruined.
Hannah and I had great fun on her birthday skipping around the village before the bookshop opened for the evening, jumping over puddles where the stormwater had overflowed and plastering every community noticeboard with a list of my campaign promises.
Someone – I can’t imagine who – has defaced every single poster. Again.
In one of them, stink lines emerge from my body. In another, I’m holding a flame-thrower and burning a pot of Gorilla Gardener flowers.
Of all the childish, petty…
I drop my shopping on a sheltered park bench and stalk around the green, tearing them down. Komal mocks me from one of her posters, where she’s holding a wooden gardening stake. The slogan reads: “STAKE YOUR VOTE ON KOMAL”.
Oh, yes, because I’m a vampire. I get it. Yes, very funny.
If Komal Ahuja wants a doodle war, she has one.
I take one of Hannah’s markers from my pocket and draw a couple of fangs over Komal’s shoulder. I add a speech bubble that says, “Cute, but needs more bite.” I’m about to tackle the next poster when I notice the light on in the tourist office.
Interesting. I thought she wasn’t going to give in to the evening hours.
I wince at the now familiar tightening around my heart, as if it’s held in an invisible fist. I should speak with her about the posters. I should explain what she saw from the window of the bookshop. I should convince her, somehow, that I’m not the husker, so she stops watching me.
The Conclave representatives will arrive tomorrow, and I’m growing more concerned that Komal’s involvement will put her in danger from Kael, Dante, or the husker. She shouldn’t risk her life for the sake of pride.
And I should also politely request that she no longer deface my campaign posters.
I can be polite, even when my heart feels like it’s been doused with lemon juice.
As I pick up my shopping and stalk across the green, my breath catches in my throat.
None of this is normal for a vampire. I read about two conditions that might explain my symptoms. But I haven’t drunk fresh blood recently, so it can’t be blood bloat, and I’ve newly polished my casket and checked for borers, so coffinitis seems unlikely—
My hand freezes on the door handle.
Komal isn’t alone. She sits on one side of her desk, head resting in her hands, eyes fixed on a handsome man opposite her, who talks with such wild gesticulations that he knocks a model aeroplane off her desk.
Komal dives out of her seat, catching it before it crashes to the floor.
The man doesn’t appear to notice. There are open takeaway containers between them, and I notice the distinct smell of hummus.
She’s on a date.
The air rushes from my lungs.
I am unwell. Maybe it is coffinitis.
I should turn away, but something compels me to slip into the shadow of the porch.
With my vampiric hearing, I don’t have to strain to listen to their conversation.
There’s a clatter as a second model aeroplane joins the first, but Komal’s date still doesn’t appear to notice, and he certainly doesn’t slow down.
“The app is so simple. It keeps people on track with their fitness goals. BurpeeSurprizz – with two z’s, because z’s are the new r’s – will send you a push notification randomly during the day.
It locks your phone until you drop and do twenty burpees.
It’s verified via GPS and biometric data, so you can’t cheat—”
“What if you’re in the middle of driving or performing heart surgery?” Komal asks as she helps herself to seconds.
“Doesn’t matter. It takes dedication to look this good.” He gestures to himself. “What’s your favourite way to work out? I’d like to train together with my wife.”
My wife.
The words stir something dark and feral inside me.
This must be the man Komal’s father has chosen for her. Normally, I respect Chirag Ahuja’s choices, but this man? This blustering show-off? This is who he thinks Komal wants to be with?
But maybe I’m wrong. Komal is always off rock climbing or hiking or doing some other adventurous exercise. Maybe this twit is exactly the kind of man who can tame her. They would certainly look beautiful together…
“It would be difficult to work out together,” Komal says sweetly, “since the only exercise I do is dancing naked in the forest during dionysian rituals and tearing the limbs off any man who wanders in unawares.”
Or maybe not.
I cover my mouth to stifle a laugh. But Komal’s date doesn’t appreciate her humour.
“Dancing isn’t the most effective exercise. It puts stress on your joints, and the cardiovascular benefits aren’t as good as other exercises. You should join me at my gym. I’ll have you doing pull-ups in no time—”
At the suggestion that Komal get all sweaty in gym shorts with this… this preposterous poseur, my stomach churns harder. I glance down at my watch, the one Hannah chose for me. I should be getting home, but I have to stay, just to make sure she’s…
Behind me, voices greet each other. Celeste and Dora have locked up their shops and meet on the green for a gossip.
If I move out of my patch of shadow, they’re sure to see me.
Likewise, I can’t cross the door of Komal’s office, or she’ll see me.
I’m now trapped. Celeste’s voice catches my attention.
“—isn’t taking the risk seriously, but I’m concerned Beth may be right about him being the husker. He absolutely lost his shit that night at Sanctus – the same night that Alyra was killed.”
Does the Nevermore Coven know about that night? Now they think I killed those people. That’s why they’re spying on me. They must fear I’ll hurt Komal.
If I show myself now, skulking around her office, I’ll only confirm their suspicions.
So I retreat further into the shadows, clutching Hannah’s treats tightly, and listen, catching pieces of both conversations.
“—would have given over to hunger by now,” says Dora. “I’ve been working my own magic, searching for answers. So far, I see no reason to suspect him—”
“You should come on a hike with me this weekend, I’ll tell you more about my app ideas. I’m currently developing RageCycle, which is like Peloton but it only plays extremely loud metal music so people go harder, and Spottyr, which is like Uber but for gym spotters—”
My stomach seethes.
“What in Ishtar’s name is a gym spotter?” Komal asks, her voice muffled from eating. “Is that like birdwatching for fitness, where you hide in the bushes outside gyms and try to collect sightings of different fad diets?”
Her date’s voice darkens. “Are you making fun of me?”
“I would never,” she says in a sickly-sweet voice, one she often uses on me. That voice usually sends me into a blind rage, but tonight, when she’s using it on him, it makes my heart soar and my skull float off my shoulders. “I’m just not really into exercise. Sorry.”
She is definitely making fun of him. And she’s lying. Is Komal… not enjoying this date?
Why does that knowledge make my chest cave in?
Her date huffs. “When people say they don’t like exercise, what they really mean is that they don’t like discomfort.”
Komal nods vigorously as she reaches for her drink. “Yes. That’s it exactly. What did you think I meant?”
“Komal, I am CEO, CTO, CFO and Chief Guru of my company. My plan is to build a fitness tech empire. I’m going to be very rich and influential in the wellness space, and I need a wife who can embody the spirit of BurpeeSurprizz-with-two-z’s alongside me.
From the amount of high-calorie food you’ve consumed in the short time we’ve been together, it seems like your father lied to me about your level of commitment—”
“Oh, no, I’m sorry.” Her tone changes instantly to another voice I recognise.
The voice Komal uses when she’s bending over backwards to make someone happy, even when it’s a terrible idea.
It’s a voice that always sets my teeth on edge because it’s not who she is.
“Papa is no liar. I was being silly before. I do exercise—”
“Hello!” I step into the doorway, my heart jackhammering against my ribs. “I’ve got a delivery for Councillor Ahuja.”
What are you doing?
Get back into your hiding spot this instant!
But my body won’t obey. For some absurd reason, I’m determined to ruin Komal’s date, since she won’t do it herself.
At the sight of me, Komal’s body goes rigid. “Durant? What are you doing here?”
Behind me, I hear Celeste exclaim as she and Dora see me.