Alchemist (3 page)

She met Conner at
the foot of the stairs. “I take it you found nothing.”

“Nope, you?” but
she already knew the answer. If there had been someone there would
have heard the commotion.

“There’s no one
here. If there was, they’re gone.”

“Nothing had been
touched and there’s no scent either. What about down here?” she
asked, making her way into the living room and flicking on the
light.

Conner shook his
head. “Nah, nothing’s been touched.”

Terry relaxed, the
blade disappearing into her arm once again. “You must just not have
shut that door properly.”

Connor shook his
head. “Sorry, I should have double checked.”

“It’s alright.”
Terry said, waving away his apology. She flicked on the light as
she walked into the kitchen. She glanced around cautiously and then
resumed what she had been doing before the lightning strike; taking
the dishes to the sink. “I’m just glad the place wasn’t robbed
while we were out.”

“Yeah.” Connor
agreed, looking at his watch. “Listen, I better go.”

“Aye, no bother.”
She wiped her hands on a tea towel and went to show him out.
“Thanks for coming to see me anyway.”

He smiled as he
stepped out onto her doorstep. “It’s ok. It’s just nice to get to
talk to you properly for a change.”

She laughed.
“Talk? We didn’t get to do much of that.”

“Well, maybe next
time. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye.” She smiled,
waving and shutting the door behind him.

Terry locked it
and sighed, realising how tired she was. Heaving her tired bones
away from the door, she headed upstairs and back to her bed.

******

Guests were still
arriving at the party despite the late hour. Lyle Jones’ fifty acre
estate had always been a magnet for the wealthy socialites looking
for a drink and a wild time. Lyle was vain in his company. He was
old enough to be a father and old enough to know better, yet he
often trashed his own home just to show his peers a good time.

Despite his gaunt
figure, high cheekbones and greying hair, he always lived in the
moment and partied like a man half his age.

Sitting in an arm
chair which had been pulled out into the court yard along with
several other items of furniture Lyle sipped from a bottle of beer,
overlooking the party atmosphere that folded before him. Two
speakers had also been pulled out onto the lawn, to the end of
their extensions and the courtyard had been turned into a makeshift
dance floor.

Drunken men and
women danced about, other stumbling into one another from
intoxication. One man lay flat on his back some distance away,
asleep. Toward the end of the garden, where the lights began to
fade Lyle could just see the outline of a drunken couple going at
it.

He took another
long gulp of his beer and relaxed. He felt tired. Two parties in
two nights had left him rundown. He looked around. The young blonde
woman who had desperately been trying to get his attention earlier
on had vanished. Usually he would be happy to oblige to any hot
woman who gave him a hint of attention, but this night he was in no
mood for it. His stomach gurgled loudly, causing him to wince for a
moment. “Shut up.” He mumbled to himself before drowning the
complaining organ with some more beer. But the liquid did nothing
to quell his appetite. Instead, he found himself beginning to size
up the meat that walked past. Catching himself, he rubbed his dry,
tired eyes. “I must be hungry.” He told himself aloud.

I
must be if these fools are starting to look like
snacks
, he thought. Sitting the bottle aside he stood
and headed to the kitchen. He side stepped two girls who were
leaving the room and continued on in.

He opened the
fridge door, to have it shut again by someone’s hand. He looked
around to see the young, hot thing, leaning against it with a
charming smile on her face and a seductive pose. Lyle shut his eyes
for a second before he could bring himself to talk to her. “Can I
get in there please?” he asked politely.

“Are you hungry?”
she asked, moving in between him and the fridge.

“Yes.” He
said softly.
Please, move.
His
stomach gurgled again.

“Then why not eat
me? I’ll fill you up.” She said, running a finger down his
chest.

That’s not a bad idea.
But he knew he would
regret it if he did. Humans were very grisly. “Maybe later.” He
smiled, carefully gliding her aside. Opening the door, he peered
inside the fridge to see what he could scoff.

The woman pouted,
stung. “What is the matter? Do you not like me or something?”

Lyle peered round
the door. “No of course I do.” He turned his attention back to the
fridge, picking out a plate full of cling film covered
sausages.

“Then what is
it?”

Lyle bit into one
of the sausages and between chews said, “I’m not feeling to well
this evening.” He turned away, taking the plate with him.

She sneered,
trailing after. Stepping in his way, she blocked his path. “You
don’t look ill.”

He shook his head
while he licked his greasy fingers. “I get weird cravings when I’m
sick.”

She was not
convinced. She gave the sausages a funny look. “If you eat all
those you’ll make yourself even worse.”

He couldn’t help
but laugh. “No, trust me, it won’t.” Pushing passed her; he left
the kitchen, leaving the young woman raging.

“Lyle.” said a
voice in the distance.

“Uncle Lyle.” It
came again, this time closer.

“Terry.” He
mumbled without having to open his eyes. His voice sounded hoarse
and dry and distant. He tasted vomit. The daylight stung his eyes
when he opened them. Wincing, it took a few seconds for his niece
to come into focus, standing over him. He forced a tired smile.
“Morning.”

Terry smiled back,
taking his hand and pulling him up. The world spun for a moment as
he came up into a sitting position. “Ah.” He moaned, his head
aching from the sudden movement. He reached up and pressed a
calming hand against the trouble spot.

“Rough night?” she
asked.

Lyle surveyed the
carnage. Everyone had gone but the mess had not. “You would think
when you had a party the least guests could do would be help you
tidy up afterwards.”

“No one would come
to your parties if they were expected to do that.”

Lyle laughed
through the taste of vomit and a stuffy head. “What can I do for
you?”

Terry shrugged.
“Nothing, I don’t need a reason to come round and visit you do
I?”

He smiled back.
“No not you.” He stumbled onto his feet, his arms flailing in
circles as he struggled to catch his balance.

Terry nearly had
to offer him a helping hand but at the last second he caught his
footing. “I’m okay, thanks.” He said, waving her away. He dug his
hands into his pockets and stretched his back. Then he squinted at
the sun. After a few seconds he looked at Terry and asked, “What
day is it?”

“Sunday.” She
supplied.

“Yeah...” he said,
seemingly lost in a daze for a moment. He wiped his eyes again. “Do
you want a cup of tea or something?” he offered.

“Nah, your
kitchen’s a mess.”

“There’s plenty of
food and drink in the fridge...when I checked last night anyway.”
He shrugged.

“I hadn’t looked
but I’m not hungry, thanks.”

Her uncle gave her
a long look.

“What?” she asked,
feeling uncomfortable.

“Nothing, it’s
just unlike you not to be hungry.”

She looked around.
“Thanks, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“How are you
anyway?” he asked as they began walking towards the mansion.

“I’m good, thanks,
just the usual, yourself?”

“I have a
headache, my legs ache and my mouth tastes like sick.” He smiled.
“But besides that I’m fine.”

“You only have
yourself to blame.”

“I’m starving
though.” He admitted realising his stomach felt empty again. “I ate
a whole plate of sausages last night and I still feel like I’ve not
had anything in days.”

Terry could
sympathize entirely but only gave an understanding nod.

“You know what is
weird though?” Lyle said, looking at her as they carried on.

“What?”

“It’s been worse
lately these last couple of weeks.”

This caused her to
raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah, must be all
the alcohol.” He pressed a hand against his stomach as it
churned.

Terry grinned in
amusement. “I sometimes wonder what dad would say if he saw you
like this.”

“I’m on holiday I
can do what I like. He is also not here, which helps.”

“Holiday?” she
gave him a queer look. “That’s a great name for exile.”

Lyle laughed but
it ended in a dry, spluttering cough. Once the spasm in his throat
had subsided, he said, “We will go home some day, don’t you worry.
Even though the Southlands said that they would destroy all the
trans-portal machines.”

“Actually, that’s
one of the reasons why I wanted to talk to you.”

The smile faded
from his face as he stopped and turned to face her. “What is
it?”

“Someone tried to
open two portals last night near my house.”

“Did anyone get
through?”

She shook her
head. “I don’t think so. Connor and I found some burned grass but
there was no sign of anyone.” She hesitated. “But I’ve been having
a funny taste in my mouth for a few days now. I think they’ve tried
a few times.”

Lyle’s eyes
narrowed. “Why did you not tell me this earlier?”

She shrugged.
“Because I’ve had it before a few times over the years and it’s
always been a false alarm. But last night was different, it was
really strong and I could actually feel the electrical charge.
There was a bolt of lightning not far from my house.”

Her uncle’s
expression grew grave. “It’s strange that they would try to come
through so close to where you live. I think you should stay here
tonight.”

Terry nodded.
“What are you thinking about doing?”

He shook his head,
thoughtfully. “I’m not sure yet. Not until we know who it is who is
trying to get through.”

“You could always
phone the others. Rufus would be able to help” Terry suggested.

Lyle stared at her
disapprovingly. “No, Rufus, made his feeling clear to me a long
time ago.” He said, walking past her.

Terry followed.
She, her uncle and Conner once had been part of a group of seven
during the time of what became known in the underground as the Age
of the Uprising. They had fought together. But after the death of
Rufus’s wife Katy things began to break apart.

Lyle had not
spoken to Rufus in nearly eight years and Faye, even longer. These
days it was only her, her uncle and Conner who ever kept in touch.
She felt regretful when she ever thought about it. They used to be
a team. These days she felt like she was all on her own.

Ghosts

A thunder peel
cracked and forks of lightning raced across the night sky.

There was another
and then another, sending forth a brilliant white streak from
horizon to horizon. It only lasted a moment, but that time was long
enough to light the entire world. Then it was over, silence
returning to the night.

But this had been
no ordinary storm. Something had landed on the side of the
mountain. Masked by the veil of shadow, it slowly stood, stretching
its ghostly limbs, flexing its hollow fingers.

The starlight that
pierced its hollow form slowly vanished, until a solid figure stood
where once there had only been shadow. It tested its feet across
the rugged rock, having not felt the touch of ground against its
toes for an age. Its skin prickled as it was touched by the cold.
Then it turned to glance at the moon, revealing a glimpse of its
identity to the world.

His face was long,
his cheekbones high and his features fair. But his eyes were wide,
maybe a little too much. He stared at the moon, its pale glow
gazing back, tracing his features, casting him in a white light, as
if he were a ghost.

Losing
interest, he held out his hands, flexing his fingers once again.
They were solid this time.
Real
. He ran them through his hair, savouring the
touch of each strand. Satisfied, he looked to the sky and the touch
of the moon and starlight pierced him once again. A flock of
shadows danced off down the mountain side, as quick as a bird,
disappearing over the black wilderness beyond.

Assassination

Rufus Trotsky was
a rich man. In fact he was loaded to the teeth. But his
multi-million pound mining empire did little to fill that void deep
within. He sat alone in his office, gazing out at the stunning
vista below.

The sunny days
never seemed to end in Los Angeles. That fact alone annoyed him;
while he enjoyed a sunny day as much as the next person, day after
day of rays and unrelenting heat got on his nerves. There seemed to
be no seasons, no distinction between one time of year and the
next. It made him feel like he was trapped inside a bubble.

He squeezed the
yellow stress ball in his palm gently, more out of entertainment
rather than to cope with the pressures of work. He sighed, turning
away from the brilliant view beyond the pane. Sitting the stress
ball to one side he lifted his pen and returned to work. Just as
the tip touched the contract before him, the phone rang.

“Yes, Rachel?”

“Sorry to bother
you sir but Mr Crombie has arrived.”

“Thank you Rachel,
send him in.” Hanging up, he shuffled the papers and put them in a
drawer. Standing, he straightened his tie and lapels before making
his way around the desk to welcome his visitor.