Solace & Grief (28 page)

Manx conveyed this quickly. His mouth twitched.

‘I won't,’ promised Electra, not bothering to hide her distaste.

‘Hey,’ Jess suddenly thought to ask. ‘Duchess? Whose house is this? Are we about to get evicted? Do you live here? Are we trespassing? Because, you know, I'm not actually sure where we are, geographically speaking, and I'd kind of like to know we're not a collective Goldilocks to someone else's Three Bears.’

‘Duchess?’ Electra echoed.

But the small cat was already asleep.

S
olace slumped at the kitchen counter, head and arms resting on the cool marble. Here, as in every other room, they'd opted for darkness. It didn't seem as if anyone was coming home, but neither she nor the others saw a point in drawing attention to their occupancy by leaving the lights on. By the time they'd finished their conversation, it had been too dark outside to really see where they were, and even had it been lighter, Solace suspected that they were all too exhausted to bother. As if Duchess were leading by example, her relapse into sleep had been the catalyst for more than one pair of eyes to close.

Mercifully, the house was both large and well-suited to their needs. Manx and Electra had passed out almost instantly on one of the double beds, Paige and Harper the other. Solace laughed softly to herself: two pairs of friends, each bound by a complex, unspoken history, each retreating into companionship in the aftermath of danger, each like an echo of the other. She wondered if she were the only one to have noticed, and concluded that she probably was, if only because nobody else was still awake. Evan and Laine, still slightly wary of one another, had taken up two mattresses in one small room. That left the room in which Solace had previously woken, and a freshly laundered bed apiece for herself and Jess.

It might have been a coincidence that the available sleeping space perfectly matched the number of occupants; just as equally, it might not. Among a host of other thoughts, it was this consideration which kept Solace awake. Jess had long since stumbled up to bed with the others, which meant that, apart from Duchess, she was the only one still downstairs. Despite the evidence of her senses, she wasn't yet entirely sure that the little cat counted as a
person
, per se, although she was certainly an individual. Watching her sleep, it was hard to believe she was anything other than a blue-grey, white-splotched cat, whiskers twitching in a dream of mice. Whatever she was, Solace was slightly nervous of waking her, and so she sat quietly in the kitchen, breathing steadily, eyes half-lidded, thinking without thinking.

Beside her, the green-numbered digits of the microwave clock read 22:54, glowing with dim, familiar symmetry. Despite being a slightly older model, it looked brand new, hardly out of place against the spotless benches and swept floors. Upstairs was no different: prior to their occupancy, the beds had been impeccably made – or so said Jess and Electra, who were the only ones in a position to have noticed. In the lounge, too, the furniture seemed freshly upholstered: not even the cushions were worn. A family of pedantic neat-freaks would have left more signs of habitation, Solace thought – which was odd. Suddenly curious, she checked the fridge, which none of them had thought to do earlier: despite the length of time since their last proper meal, exhaustion had taken precedence over hunger. Its shelves were stocked with fresh groceries, everything from meat and eggs to chilled wine and fruit. Further inspection revealed that the cupboards, too, were full, positively brimming with rice, tinned corn, biscuits, flour – everything a house should have. By contrast, however, the kitchen bin was not only empty, but
clean
, bereft of the usual smears or stains. All the crockery and glassware was immaculate, the knives and forks laid out carefully in the top drawer. There was a dishwasher under the bench, but it, too, was empty, as if it had never been used.

Puzzled now, Solace padded out through the lounge and into the hall. A coat-rack hung on the wall, but the pegs were bare. Several colourful umbrellas stood in a ceramic urn, all furled with such precision that it was doubtful they'd ever been opened. A suspicious thought nagged at her, persistent and sharp. Nearby, the polished dining-room table gleamed dully in the small amount of moonlight, seemingly bereft of scratch or stain; the only disturbance was the missing chair Paige had carried into the lounge. Solace walked purposefully towards the bathroom. Stepping inside, she shut the door behind her and turned on the light.

As in the kitchen, the bench was made of marble. She was surprised by how large a room it was: she'd seen pictures before of bathrooms with two sinks, but
three
, no matter how tasteful, seemed needlessly extravagant. A large, flat mirror took up most of the rear wall, stopping above the toilet to make room for a medicine cabinet, while to the right, a long, deep bath under a shower head lay along almost a whole wall, leaving just enough room for a short, multi-tiered shelf brimming with soft, white towels. Turning, she saw several fluffy bathrobes hanging on the back of the door, not one of which looked like it had ever been used.

Quietly, she stepped up to the middle sink. Three cups in a row bristled with a total of eight assorted toothbrushes and three pristine tubes of toothpaste; all the soap was untouched, while in the shower, several different bottles of shampoo and conditioner rested in a convenient wall-rack. Redundantly, Solace checked: they were all full, all unopened, all brand new.

A strange sense of disquiet settled over her. The number of beds was one thing, but this went beyond coincidence and into the realm of deliberate, thoughtful planning. Which, even more unsettlingly, suggested that not only had Duchess brought them to this house for a reason, but that it had been made ready for their arrival. Given that Duchess herself lacked opposable thumbs and the ability to go shopping, everything pointed to an accomplice – someone who knew there were eight of them, who'd set the house in order with them in mind.

Solace froze. Should she wake the others? Should they run?
Run where
? the Vampire Cynic pointed out.
And why
?
Because the terry towelling looks sinister
?
Get a grip
!

Her mouth quirked into a smile. Not long ago, she'd watch Mikhail Savarin slice open his own arm so that Sanguisidera could tempt her with his blood. Not long ago, five of her friends had been chained in a dungeon at the mercy of violent enemies. Not long ago, the warehouse had burned. Dangerous things were happening, but she'd been cheerfully acclimatising to the apparent weirdness of the world well before any of that – and she was worried by the unexpected niceness of a
house
?

She laughed, listening to the rich echoes as they bounced off the bathroom walls. True, she didn't know who or what Duchess actually was, let alone what she might want, but the fact remained that the little cat had not only saved them all at cost to herself, but given them sanctuary. Under the circumstances, it would have been utter foolishness not to take advantage of what was on offer, and until their tiny benefactor woke and was in a communicative mood, what else could they really do? Solace still felt too wide-eyed for sleep, but a shower sounded like heaven.

Locking the bathroom door, she eased out of her clothes, setting each item carefully aside. The next room along was, she thought, a laundry; gods alone knew what she must smell like. There'd been a bathroom at the warehouse, but the shower hadn't worked properly, only ever emitting a bare trickle of tepid water that was hardly worth the effort and which had smelled strongly of salt, as if it had been pumped from the harbour. Stepping carefully into the bath, she reached out and gently turned the taps, sighing with pleasure at the touch of warm water.

‘Bliss,’ she murmured happily.

Luxuriating in the heat, Solace washed her hair and brushed her teeth. After finding a proper razor, she even shaved her legs and underarms, something she hadn't bothered to do since arriving in the city. The hot water supply was seemingly without end, a novelty she tried not to abuse but which, ultimately, proved too enjoyable for restraint. As weeks of stress and grime washed away, she closed her eyes and sighed with contentment.

By the time she judged herself to be properly cleansed, the room had filled with steam, smudging the mirror into a sheet of foggy silver. Putting aside her towel, Solace slid into one of the bathrobes. Soft, warm and more comfortable than she'd been in weeks, she investigated the cupboard, searching for and finally finding a hairbrush. Wiping the steam from the glass, she came face to face with her reflection. Puzzled, she stopped and stared.

Since leaving the group home, Solace hadn't really seen her own face. The sight came as somewhat of a shock – the harder she looked, the less she recognised the person looking back. It was a strange feeling. Receiving her mother's book in the dream-that-wasn't, she'd seen her parents for the first time, but it wasn't until she blinked, tilting her head to one side, that she realised how strongly she resembled Morgause, her mother. Sleeked to her neck with water, her black hair glistened darkly, pulled back from jaw and forehead to accentuate her strong, curved cheeks. Squinting, she tried to see her features as a stranger would, focusing on the changes until her whole countenance seemed alien: the small, straight nose, the expressive mouth, the lean round of her chin. Her skin seemed paler even than usual, freshly washed of dirt and glowing softly under the fluorescent lights, accentuating the darkness of her hair and eyes. But that wasn't new.

What had changed? She struggled with the question. Her cheeks were perhaps a tad thinner, but that seemed too inconsequential. Not so much time had passed that she could reasonably term herself older – she blinked, frowning. Not
physically
older, no. Mentally, though? Emotionally? Leaning closer still, she focused on her eyes. That was it; a subtle difference around the edges, but a significant one. Laughing softly to herself, she let her irises change from black to green, amazed at this new talent. The colour altered her appearance, but the
newness
, whatever it was, remained.

‘Growing up at last,’ she mused, letting her eyes slip back to their usual shade.

Silently, she combed out her hair, returned the brush to the cabinet, hung up her used towel and stepped out of the bathroom, pensive. Flicking off the light, she found herself once more in the unfamiliar dark. Softly, her stomach growled; she smiled and made her way to the kitchen – in all the bounty of the fridge, surely there was something she could eat. Solace had never really learned how to cook, and in any case didn't want to make too much noise, but held out hope for something cold that wouldn't result in another, considerably less pleasant trip to the bathroom.

Luck was with her: hidden behind a range of condiments was a plate laden with eight cold sausages. Greedily, she took the whole lot, carrying them over to the bench. For a short while, hunger overwhelmed her: the taste was delicious, the soft, textured beef balanced against a subtle spice and the cool of refrigeration. Solace closed her eyes in enjoyment – had there ever been a time when she'd been able to simply eat her fill of food that didn't make her sick? Mrs Plumber and Miss Daisy had done as best they could with what they had, but the plain fact of the matter was that Solace could eat so little, but was so often hungry for so much, that it felt as if she'd spent most of her life starving. Before she knew it, the plate was empty. Ducking back to the fridge, she found a loaf of bread and tore into it ravenously.

The bread vanished all too quickly, and was followed by an entire bag of marshmallows, three bananas (being one of the few fruits Solace could actually eat), several boxes of biscuits and, finally, a handful of raw spaghetti. Only once she caught herself grabbing at the pasta did she stop, ashamed and still feeling empty. As suddenly as it had come, the terrible hunger vanished, leaving her once more slumped at the bench, her head in her hands. What was wrong with her?

You crave what you cannot have
>

She jumped. Turning, she saw that Duchess was awake, sitting calmly on the kitchen tiles. The glow from the microwave clock gave her pale green eyes a weird luminescence.

‘What –’ Solace began, but the little cat cut her off, blinking as she spoke.

You know what, human. Blood
>