Solace & Grief (2 page)

‘Don't know, Miss Daisy.’

‘You didn't cut the words out?’

‘No, Miss Daisy.’

An uneasy pause settled over the kitchen. Solace felt the hairs on her arms stand up. Something wasn't right. The problem with Luci – or, rather, a strange consequence of the many problems with Luci – was that she never lied about her misdemeanours, primarily because she didn't see them as such. The time she'd broken the arm of a boy twice her size, she'd gone straight to the school principal to tell him Jerome was bleeding, but that he deserved it for being a tool. Whenever she changed the clocks, she adamantly told Mrs Plumber that it needed to be done or the monsters could get in, and not to fuss so much. Honesty was her one constant compulsion, no matter how crazy it made her sound. It now suggested her innocence.

Annamaria was off the list, too – she'd been out all night and in any case, cutting up shirts was hardly her favoured means of getting attention. Which left Leonie; but Leonie, as both adults and Solace knew full well, would never voluntarily touch a pair of scissors, let alone under cover of darkness. So who had cut the shirt? From the corner of her eye, Solace saw that Miss Daisy was having similarly troubled thoughts, although Luci remained oblivious, munching happily through her carbohydrates and fruit preserve.

‘Miss Daisy,’ Solace found herself asking, ‘what did the words say?’

Her house-mother closed the fridge before answering.

‘“You don't belong here”,’ she said, unscrewing the milk. ‘Cut right across the back. My favourite shirt.’ She sighed, shaking her head. ‘I'll have to ask Sarah if she heard anything. I was out like a light last night.’

Somehow Solace managed to nod, but her stomach had turned to glue. Numbly, she swallowed the rest of her water, smiled at Luci and left the room, staggering only a little.

You don't belong here
.

All day, Luci's chatter rarely strayed far from the Mystery of Miss Daisy's Shirt, as Annamaria had gleefully dubbed it. The girl was inordinately amused by the whole incident, having been removed from the list of suspects after Mrs Plumber found her going-out clothes wadded up in the laundry and reeking of cigarettes. Trying to question Leonie had been a drama in itself: as gentle as Miss Daisy had been, the mute girl had shrieked at the very mention of scissors and spent the next two hours curled up in the linen cupboard, whimpering softly.

Neither woman asked Solace. They didn't need to.

Denial or not, it was clear that Mrs Plumber still suspected Luci, keeping an even closer eye on the girl than usual. Nonetheless, the day played out like so many others, unremarkable except for the manner in which it had begun. Eventually, Leonie emerged from her hiding place and made a large plate of plain cheese sandwiches for all and sundry. Annamaria argued with Miss Daisy, flung a mug at the wall and stormed out to spend the afternoon with Blake, her thoroughly-disreputable-but-not-as-bad-as-the-lastone boyfriend. Luci watched cartoons, played with her toy horses and, despite Mrs Plumber's eagle eye, set fire to several old magazines in the bathtub.

Solace, for her part, re-read a couple of favourite books, transitioning from lounge to bedroom depending on which was the quietest. It wasn't until late afternoon that she sat up, stretched, and asked permission to go for a short walk. Miss Daisy waved her on, casting a knowing eye heavenwards. In addition to bleaching her skin, exposure to too much sunlight made Solace dizzy and weak, as though she'd just stepped out of a really hot shower. Being innately contrary, however, she made a point of going outside each day, usually after twelve.

Stepping through the kitchen door, she smiled to feel the cool change on her skin. The wind had dropped, leaving behind the sharp, prickling atmosphere of rain to come. The sun was low in the sky, staining the streaked clouds sherbet orange, cat-tongue pink and bruise purple, all clashing with the dark, distant jags of the Sydney skyline.

As soon as she began to walk, Solace felt muscles relax she hadn't known were clenched. Why should the words disturb her? Truly, she
didn't
belong at the group home, and never had. The sudden obviousness of the thought struck her like a poorly swung tennis racquet. Why hadn't she seen it before now, really
seen
it? Her anger at Kelly had been one thing, her youthful frustrations another, but in all that time, why had nothing ever changed? Why were there foster homes for everyone but her, whose only trauma had come from being ruthlessly mired in one obscure corner of the system? Why had Mrs Plumber and Miss Daisy never let her go?

Breathing hard, she quickened her pace, fists balled angrily by her sides. Solace was far from usual – perhaps a small part of her thought that she was also more than human – but that didn't mean she was stupid. Like a premonition made flesh, the skin at the top of her spine began to tingle. Evidentially, perhaps, there was no connection between her dream, Miss Daisy's shirt, and her unusual life in the group home, but intuitively, as she strode though the gathering dusk, Solace Morgan knew otherwise.
Something weird is going on,
she thought,
and what's more, it's been going on for seventeen years. I've been kept here for a reason – blinded to it – only now, someone's trying to let me know. And,
she added, shivering,
if that's true, then they've broken into my house and my dreams on the same night. Which ought to sound crazy. Except for the fact that I can bend metal. Except for the fact that sunlight makes me weak. Except for the fact that if I sit still and concentrate on a quiet day, I can hear conversations from two streets over. Except for the fact that my teeth are wickedly sharp.

Except that I'm a vampire.

That last admission brought her to a dead halt. She'd been walking quickly on a kind of furious, random autopilot, so that now, jolted back into the world, she found herself in a narrow, one-way lane. There were no house-fronts here – just bins, bricks and roller-door garages facing off at the rear of two parallel streets. Night was still coming on, but the shadows fell thick and deep, like layers of mourning silk. A clammy chill started to form on Solace's pale skin, the evening cool no longer so welcoming, while overhead, a lingering streak of pink sky struggled against the oncoming wash of cobalt. From somewhere close behind her, a cat yowled. Solace jumped, whipping her head around. The base of her neck began tingling again. This time, it was a warning.

‘Run,’ she whispered, but her feet refused to move.

Slowly, she turned back to face the alley, and felt her heart lurch.

Someone was there.

The stranger unfurled languidly from where he'd been hidden behind a brick outcrop, elegant and slow. Solace strained her eyes, but even though her vision was preternaturally acute, she couldn't tell anything about the figure except that it was a he and relatively lean: in all other respects, it was like looking at a silhouette. The man took a step forward, two, three; even as he advanced on her, his features remained hidden. Louder than before, the cat screamed. From the corner of her eye, Solace saw a streak of grey tear past her, and though she couldn't see the man's eyes, she felt the focus of his gaze alter, shifting to the cat.

It was all she needed. Solace turned and bolted, heart thundering, not daring to stop until she was through the gate to the group home. It was like a spell had been broken. Perhaps one had. She felt weak, as if she'd been out at midday. Gasping, she clutched the fence, trying to clear her head. Had her fear been imaginary? Part of her wanted to think so, but this new voice inside, the one that named her vampire, which suspected spells and wondered at the reason for her life said:
No.

As she walked from the gate to the kitchen door, time seemed to slow. She remembered the man, the fear she'd felt at his hidden face. She considered Miss Daisy's shirt, her dream, the prospect of someone strong and sly enough to carve the same warning on both her consciousness and blended cotton. She imagined her coming birthday, the cake she knew Mrs Plumber had ordered, the planned day out with Luci, Leonie and Annamaria. She thought of her future: the normal life she was utterly unprepared to live, her strange abilities, her unanswered questions. Her mind was made up before she touched the curved handle, a direction chosen before her reflection hit the glass.

In the kitchen, Miss Daisy was waiting for her, drinking an evening cup of tea.

‘You're back. Looking forward to tomorrow? You'll be seventeen.’

‘I am,’ said Solace, and then, ‘I know. Goodnight, Miss Daisy.’

Her house-mother frowned, but only slightly. ‘You're off to bed? What about dinner?’

‘To be honest, I'm not all that hungry.’ She pulled the door closed. ‘Besides, I've got an early start tomorrow.’

‘I suppose you do. Sleep well, then.’

An unexpected lump caught in Solace's throat, and she found she couldn't answer. Instead, she smiled and nodded, walking silently down the hall.

Goodbye
.

That night, Solace dreamed.

Annamaria, aged six or seven, scrubbed furiously at a patch of stained carpet. She'd spilt Tanya's favourite nail polish, but no matter how hard she tried, the red gunk wouldn't come out, sticking to the off-white fuzz in brittle, shiny clumps. Her soonto-be stepmother was sweet as pie with Dad, but as soon as Tanya saw the mess, Annamaria would be held accountable. She began to cry childish tears of frustration. From downstairs, she heard a door slam. The little girl shrieked and clapped her hands to her mouth, scooting backwards away from the stain as heavy footsteps clumped up the stairs. The door swung open to reveal a sharp-faced, wiry man in his late twenties.

‘I'm sorry, I'm
sorry
!’ screamed Annamaria, shaking as her father's eyes slid furiously from stain to cowering daughter. Filled with pity, Solace glared at the angry man.

Don't you
dare!

For a moment, the man looked ropeable. Then he laughed, crouched down and held out his arms for his little girl.

‘Tanya's a stupid cow,’ he said, gruffly. ‘She won't be coming here ever again. Now give us a hug.’

As father and daughter embraced, the dream slipped sideways. Now Solace was Luci – not watching her,
was
her – asleep in the next room. She dreamed what Luci dreamed, a bright stream of consciousness and tilted colours layered over a core of angry noise, a churning, screaming, black-white ball of nothing. Pulling back, Solace reached down through Luci's dream-heart, closed her fingers around the ball and
squeezed
. It fought her grip like a live thing, but Solace was stubborn, making her fist tighter and tighter until the screaming stopped, until the ball was nothing but a hard, stormy marble in the circle of her hand. Raising it to her lips, she kissed the glassy surface, watching as a ripple of warm blue was revealed through the churning grey. Smiling, she found a nearby box, broke the lock and tipped out a river of multicoloured marbles, laughing as they rolled and bounced like a flock of spherical parrots. Into this river she tipped her own creation, watching as it was borne away on the tide.

Somewhere distant, Luci sighed, but then Solace slipped again, this time into a dark, windowless room. There was no door, and the air was heavy with blood and fear.

Leonie
? Solace called, but was answered with only a whimper. Closing her eyes, she thought about what was needed, nodding as the solid weight of a sledgehammer formed in her hands. Taking a careful grip, she moved towards the nearest wall, raised the weapon and brought it crashing down, feeling the reverberation in her hips and shoulders. Undeterred, she struck again and again, hearing the stone chip, the mortar crumble. She wasn't using her full strength – not yet – but suddenly a tiny beam of light penetrated the cracked wall, lancing across the room and lighting on Leonie's huddled form. At this touch of sun, the girl looked up through a curtain of scraggly hair, her blue eyes vivid in the awful dark. She trembled, looking from Solace to the hole and back again.

One-handed, Solace held out the hammer.

Your turn,
she said.

Every limb shaking, Leonie pushed herself up off the floor, shuffling forwards with mad, determined fear. Her skinny arms didn't look strong enough to even hold the hammer, but as her fingers closed around the wooden haft, something gleamed in her eyes. She swung back, struck, and the whole room trembled.