Sons of Angels (7 page)

“Ah.” Felicia nodded. “Do you always blame others for your failings?”

“Only when it’s their fault.” He crunched down the gears as they entered the hospital grounds and executed a handbrake turn to drift the car to the casualty unit ambulance bay. “There you go. I’ll go and park while you register. I wouldn’t mention the goblins if I were you.”

She got out, relieved to be on solid ground again and waiting for her head to stop spinning. She took a deep breath and headed through the sliding doors.

* * * *

Harold jumped when Jasfoup materialized in the shop.

“Why did she have to go to the hospital? It’s obvious what’s wrong with her.”

“Lycanthropy?” Harold passed him a cup of tea. “It’s obvious to us but not her. She’s a mundane, or was. Did you see the wound on her neck?”

“It was too small to change her from a mortal. It’s almost as if she were waiting for a kick-start to become what she should have been all along.”

“Like a pot of paint waiting for a pigment.” Harold stroked his chin. “Do you think she’s nephilim?”

Jasfoup shrugged. “I do. It normally needs survival of a mortal wound for a mundane to become Changed. With Felicia it was just the introduction of the relevant DNA.”

“What about her sister? The one who can hear voices.”

Jasfoup frowned. “Are they twins?”

“No.” Harold poured tea for himself. “The sister is older by several years.”

Jasfoup stroked his chin. “Hears voices, you say? My guess is she can hear the Changed but not see them. I’m surprised she hasn’t gone mad.”

“She’s in a psychiatric hospital.”

“Worst place to be in her condition.”

“Why?”

“Those places are full of nephilim. Spirits, anyway. If she can hear all the lost souls talking she must be tearing the walls down with her fingernails.”

“Perhaps she’s in a padded cell.”

“Maybe.” Jasfoup drained the hot tea in one swallow. “I’ll have to get back to the hospital before she misses me.”

“The sister?”

“No. Felicia. I left her in A and E. She thinks I’m parking the car.”

* * * *

“Where have you been?” Felicia looked up from the plastic chair and dropped a three-year-old magazine back on the table. “I’ve been waiting half an hour.”

“The car park was full.” Jasfoup flopped into the seat next to her. “I had to find a ramp so I could tilt the car onto its side and park in the motorcycle spot. Have they not seen you yet?”

Felicia held up a ticket. “I’m number one-seven-three.”

Jasfoup looked at the ticket machine.

Now serving thirty-four

“It looks like we have a long wait. Fancy getting me one of those fluffy coffees from the cafeteria?”

“Can’t you get it? I’m supposed to be ill.”

“I parked the car. I’m hot and sticky.”

“All right.” Felicia sighed and took out her purse. “If I have a dizzy fit and die it’ll be your fault.”

“Noted.” Jasfoup grinned. “Leave me the ticket. I’ll sell your number if you do.”

“Thanks for the confidence.” Felicia followed the signs for the cafe and spent fifteen minutes queuing for a cup of what seemed to be coffee flavored washing-up water. She walked back to Jasfoup.

“Just in time. You’re next.” He indicated the ticket machine.

Now serving one hundred and seventy-two

“That’s weird.” Felicia looked around the room. The people waiting when she arrived had all gone. “How did that happen?”

“A sudden outbreak of well being, I expect. It’s a shame you missed it.”

The ticket machine buzzed and Felicia went to a curtained booth. “Wait here. I might have to get undressed.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“I would.” Felicia closed the curtain behind her.

“What seems to be the problem?”

The doctor was English, which made Felicia suspicious. Where were all the Indian ones she could trust? “I got wounded on my neck and had dizzy spells ever since.”

“How frequently?” The doctor took out a penlight and shone it into her eyes. He smelled musky, like stale tobacco and dog’s ears. “Open wide.”

“Three or four times today.” Felicia opened her mouth and held out her tongue. “Usually preceded by my seeing something that wasn’t there.”

The doctor smiled. “You’ll be hearing voices next. Let me have a look at this wound. How did you get it?” He cleaned it off. “It looks like a dog bite.”

Felicia looked him squarely in the eye. “It was rough sex. With a person.”

He tutted. “You should be careful about exchanging body fluids. You never know what you might catch. I’d better take a blood sample.” He swabbed and cleaned the wound, finishing with a plaster. “That should heal well.”

Felicia re-buttoned her shirt. “How long until I get the results?”

“Ten to fourteen days, although we can’t tell if you’re HIV positive for three months or more so I would advise another check-up then.”

“What about the dizziness and the seeing things?”

“I don’t think that’s anything to worry about. It’ll clear up in a day or two, I’m sure. If it doesn’t, go and have a word with your GP.” He held the curtain open as an indication for her to leave.

“Thanks a bunch.” She rose, straightening her blouse.

“You’re welcome.” He pressed a button on the wall and she could hear the numbers advance on the ticket machine. “Next, please.”

Jasfoup led her out of the hospital. “You sit here and I’ll fetch the car.”

* * * *

Felicia took her spectacles out of her bag and put them on, flipping down the passenger side visor to check her neck. Jasfoup glanced across and laughed.

“You look like a librarian.”

“Oh, thanks a lot.”

“No, I work in a bookshop, remember. We like librarians. We get the British Library pin-up calendar every year.” He grinned. “I like Miss April best, but Harold prefers Mr. November.”

“Harold’s gay?” Felicia twisted in her seat. “I thought he had a partner.”

“Gillian, yes, but a man is allowed his dreams, isn’t he?

“Of course.”

“Why the glasses, anyway?”

“My eyesight has shifted.” Felicia lowered the frames and looked over the top. “It’s got slightly better and I haven’t made an appointment with the opticians yet.”

Jasfoup nodded, twisting the wheel to avoid a stationary lorry. “Best wait a few days. It might change again and then you’d have the same problem. It might be the change in your eyesight causing your dizzy spells and visions.”

Felicia considered it. “That’s a good point. I’ll leave it until after the weekend.”

“Very wise.” Jasfoup put his foot down and sped through the traffic. “Now. Where do you live?”

Chapter 8

Felicia woke the next morning feeling much improved. A long bath and an early night had done wonders for her body’s recuperation, though she hadn’t been able to read herself to sleep, as the words had kept shifting on the page.

The wound on her neck had almost healed. The pink line looked like a week-old scar with no trace of the previous day’s weeping pus. Her eyesight had improved again as well, so she was relieved she hadn’t gone to the optician.

Since it was Sunday, she dressed a little more flamboyantly than usual and, with a bare minimum of makeup, she was ready to go out. With no inclination to cook a breakfast, she ate three strips of bacon straight from the fridge, peeling the soft white fat from the edges in deference to her diet.

The journey to her mother’s house was more interesting than usual. The grass at the side of the road smelled sweeter, the air seemed fresher and she had to force herself to drive past the carcass of a rabbit at the side of the road, disgusted as she caught herself salivating at the scent of fresh meat.

Sandringham Crescent was quiet at this time of day, though she could hear the whirr of a lawnmower from the back of number six and the low murmur of a television from the house across the road.

Her front door key only worked as far as the security chain allowed and she rang the bell, calling for her mother through the two inch gap.

“You’re early, dear.” Patricia closed the door to disengage the chain then opened it fully. “You don’t normally come until after eleven.”

“I thought I’d take you out for breakfast.” Felicia leaned forward and kissed Patricia on the cheek, momentarily disturbed by the scent of the thick face powder.

“I’m not dressed yet.” Her mother clutched her dressing gown around her, as if the neighbors waited to catch a glimpse of her flannelette nightie. “You’ll have to give me a minute.”

“Go and get changed them.” Felicia smiled, realizing how old her mother looked now, the wrinkles no longer laughter lines but great chasms of age. “I’ll make coffee.”

“That’ll be nice, dear. You make it just how I like it.”

“Of course.” Felicia addressed empty air since her mother was already gone. She counted to ten and headed toward the kitchen, her buoyant mood vanishing like her mother’s anti-wrinkle cream.

Her heels clicked on the tiles as she moved about the kitchen. While the kettle boiled, she heated the milk in the microwave then whisked it. Five minutes later, two perfect lattes stood on coasters on the antique pine table.

“The coffee’s ready, Mum,” she called out, returning to the hall and making the leap to the rug so that she could see to the landing.

“Thank you, dear.” Patricia came to the top of the stairs, more or less ready, her makeup thick but perfect. “Do I look all right?”

“Wonderful.” Felicia checked her watch. “I’ll be in the garden.”

“Yes, of course. Are you not going to change?” Patricia took a last look toward her bedroom.

Felicia looked down at what she was wearing. “Mum. This is a genuine Hilderbrau.”

Patricia sniffed. “I wouldn’t have guessed. I think you inherited your sense of fashion from your Aunt Gladys. You certainly didn’t get mine.”

Felicia studied the pattern on the carpet while she counted to ten again. She had liked Aunty Glad, who had always turned a blind eye to the mess she and Julie made in her Oxford house.

“No, Mum.” Felicia forced a smile out. “I get by.”

“One day you’ll meet a gentleman and then you’ll do more than get by.”

“I’ve never met one yet.” Felicia returned to the kitchen. She picked up the two coffees, holding the handles awkwardly in one hand. The back door had a simple mortise lock and two bolts and she was soon enjoying the garden.

Her mother joined her before she was halfway down her mug. “The roses are good this year.”

Felicia looked across at the blooms. “They’re covered in aphids, Mum. They smell sickly sweet.”

Patricia glared at her. “They do not. They smell lovely.”

“If you say so.” Felicia patted her hand. “The Philadelphus smells wonderful, though.”

Her mother frowned. “That’s all the way down at the bottom of the garden. You can’t possibly smell that from here.”

“I can, though.” Felicia smiled. “I feel like I’ve had a cold all my life and it’s just gone away. I can smell everything as if it’s right under my nose.”

“You’ve been hanging oil paintings.” Patricia extracted a fly from her coffee. “It’s affecting you.”

“Nonsense.” Felicia drained her mug. “Come on. It’s a beautiful day and I don’t want to miss it.”

* * * *

 
“Take me home this minute.” Patricia scowled as Felicia pulled in to the hospital grounds. “If you’d said where we were going I’d have refused.”

“Which is precisely why I didn’t mention it.” Felicia stopped the car. “Look, Mum. We’re here now. What harm can it do to see your other daughter? She’s not going to bite.”