Werewolf Parallel (20 page)

Cameron shot the old lady a quizzical glance. “You sound like you remember it…”

“Cameron Duffy, I may be a little past my prime, but really! Now, where was I?”

“On the crags,” he prompted. Grandma Ives was giving a great performance, her eyes flicking round the room, and her floury fingers gesturing as she brought the story to life.

“Now, as the two covens focussed their magic, the tortured worlds screamed out their protest. The covens pushed and pushed, but no matter how much power they threw in, the worlds resisted. Rather than the clean separation they hoped for, they merely forced open a rift: a howling void neither of one place nor the other.

“When Mitchell’s coven saw the terrible void they’d created, their confidence left them. One by one, their nerves broke, and they fled screaming into the night. Mitchell tried to hold on, but he didn’t have the strength. He was sucked into the rift, and it swirled closed behind him. We can only assume a similar fate befell Astredo, for neither of them have been seen alive since.”

Cameron realised he’d been holding his breath, and slowly let it out. He could almost
feel
the chill of the storm-swept hillside, and see Mitchell’s terrified followers running away, leaving him alone to be drawn helplessly into the void. “So what happened next?”

“Well, for a start, movement between the worlds became a lot rarer. The daemon world’s influence on ours began to decline, if not as completely as Mitchell might have hoped…”

“And that’s when all those new ideas about science and engines and so on started to happen.” Cameron began to understand. “From then on, there were no more goblins, witches and ghosts for us.”

“Fewer, certainly.” Grandma Ives nodded with approval. “Most of the old magic left the human world that night, leaving behind only the occasional pale glimmer that leaks across the gap. In time, people found other things to be scared of.”

Cameron thought about the TV news. It was full of terrorists and pollution, bank crashes and job losses. Nobody had time to care about
proper
monsters any more.

“The story’s not over though, is it? What about the void? Is it still there?”

“Do you know the expression, ‘nature abhors a vacuum’?”

“Yeah, I think.” Cameron racked his brains. “We did something about it in school. It means empty spaces aren’t normal, doesn’t it? Amy kidded on she thought it was something to do with Hoovers.”

“Amy sounds like an amusing girl. Remind me to ask her to dinner,” said Grandma Ives, her eyebrow raised. “Yes, that’s what it means. The gap that opened up couldn’t remain empty forever. It had to be filled.”

“What with?”

“Whatever it could draw into itself. It snatched echoes, and stole distorted reflections from the worlds it bordered. It fed on memories of leftover places that were knocked down or forgotten. All the old creatures and things otherwise lost to time found a new home there. Slowly the in-between place became a mixture of human Edinburgh and daemon Edinburgh, all churned up into one. It is the route by which those who still can pass between the worlds. It’s a wonderful place in its own right.”

“
Those who still can.
But who are they, exactly? Who do you mean?” Cameron gripped the table.

Grandma Ives gave him a half-smile. “Are you sure you don’t know?”

“Tell me.”

“The people who were in Mitchell’s coven that night – some went mad, some became mystics, some never spoke of it again – but they all shared one thing. That little glimpse they had of the void
changed
them. From that moment on, they always knew how to find their way back, to pass into the in-between place, and to use it. Their children had the gift too, and their children’s children, and so on, right down to the present day. People like you and me, Cameron. People like your father, although he never wanted to admit it.”

Cameron stared at her. “But I’m normal. I’ve never seen anything mad like that. I’ve never been anywhere but here.”

“Perhaps. But that might not always be the case.”

Grandma Ives lifted the dough, and smoothed it out into a tin she took from the cupboard. “This can rest for a while, and in the morning I’ll bake the bread.” She stretched her fingers. “I’m quite tired after that little workout. I think I shall sleep well.”

“You can’t go to bed now! You need to tell me more!” Cameron protested.

Grandma Ives leant forward and kissed him gently on the forehead. “There’ll be time enough tomorrow, Cameron.”

“But…”

“Turn the light out when you go up.”

She swept out, leaving him in the cold kitchen with his long-forgotten glass of water, very much awake.

Cameron woke up full of questions, but when he went downstairs to speak to the old lady, he found a note stuck to the fridge:

Cameron,

I have some business to attend to, but I’ll be back by lunchtime. Could you pick up some milk for the cat? You’ll find some change in the kitchen drawer and a door key on the dresser. It’s about time you had your own.

Go out the door, down the hill, and turn left. Keep going until you see a sign marked “Montmorency”. You can’t miss it.

Grandma Ives

Cameron picked up the key. How come he’d never seen the cat? It must be hiding somewhere, still uncertain about this strange new person it was going to have to share its house with… He knew how it felt.

He grabbed a couple of buttery slices from the still-warm loaf resting on the table, slipped some money into his pocket, and ducked out the front door. Grandma Ives’ house was one of a neat stone-built row that lined
the steep road up to Blackford Hill. An observatory nestled on the hilltop. Cameron set off in the opposite direction. He was in the mood for a walk anyway. It might help clear his head.

10.45 on a Thursday… If he was back in school, it’d soon be his least favourite time of the week. In fifteen short minutes, his classmates would swap the eggy warmth of the science lab for the changing rooms, and two full hours of P.E. The last Thursday he’d been there, they’d all been sent outdoors for football. He was put in defence as usual, along with the fat kids and the space cadets. Bored of watching the ball roll pointlessly about the field, he’d drifted into a daydream, thinking up a name for the great band he was going to be in, if he ever got it started… The ball went shooting past, straight into goal. He’d not been popular in the changing rooms. Wayne Sneddon had chucked a boot at him, saying he’d find that harder to miss.

Morons
, thought Cameron, trudging down the hill. He’d had nothing but trouble off Sneddon and his mates since he started Cauldlockheart High. Maybe if he didn’t have to see them for a couple more weeks, they’d forget he existed.

Yeah, that’d be right.
He kicked at a discarded Coke can, and watched it go skittering and bouncing down the slope. Grandma Ives hadn’t said anything about him going back yet. She hadn’t even made him do the work he’d been set. The letter she’d written to the headmaster said he was still grieving. Was that true? It wasn’t like he cried all day, or screamed until he had to be slapped,
like people did in rubbish old movies. All he had left inside him was this nagging pain that reminded him something important was missing.

The morning air was cold around his fingers, and he pulled his hands into the cuffs of his sweatshirt. The old woman’s offer to bring back Dad, her tales of a daemon world that existed alongside this one – they had all seemed so believable when it was just him and her. Here and now though, as he slouched down the road for a pint of milk, with his trainers rubbing against his heel because his feet had grown again overnight, it all seemed a bit, well,
mad
.

His phone rang. He dug it out of his back pocket.

“Hiya, Amy.”

“Hey, Cam-boy. What’s up? I’m a bit bored now my sidekick’s not here.”

“I thought you were
my
sidekick?”

“You
wish,
” snorted Amy. Her voice sounded odd and echoey.

“Where are you?”

“Girls’ loos. I told Mr Robertson it was a ‘girl thing’. He went red and said, ‘Very well, make it quick, Miss

Giovanni.’”

Cameron laughed.

“I reckon I’ve got ten minutes at the most before he sends out a search party. So, tell me the latest. How’s the mysterious Granny?”

“She’s ok.” Cameron was uncertain how much he could tell his friend. “Some of the stuff she comes out with is a bit odd, though.”

“What like? No TV with dinner? Speak when you’re
spoken to? Or does she still think it’s 1945?”

“Nothing like that.” He struggled to find the right words. “It’s like… she reckons there’s more going on than most people realise… like there are strange things lurking beneath the surface.”

“There’s always more going on than you realise, Cam.”

“Like what, exactly?”

“Oh, stuff. Things you don’t notice right under your nose—”

There was a crackling sound, as if the phone had suddenly been shoved in a pocket. Cameron heard a stern woman’s voice say, “Are you talking on the phone in there, young lady? That’s strictly forbidden during school time, as well you know!”

“No, honest, I’m not! I’m praying. This is my religion, see? I’ve got to meditate three times a day—”

The phone clicked off.

Cameron grinned. Amy could talk her way out of anything. She was a good mate, but she would never believe him if he told her the truth. And Cameron wasn’t sure if he was ready to say it out loud yet. He had to give Grandma Ives a chance, didn’t he? He had to see if she could really do what she’d promised.

He stowed the phone back in his pocket.

The corner shop took up the ground floor of a block of tenement flats. It had obviously been there some time. Beneath posters and flags advertising
Edinburgh Evening News,
lottery scratchcards and mobile top-ups, there was an older plainly written sign marked:

MONTMORENCY’S GENERAL STORES

Newspapers & Confectionery & Fancy Goods

Cameron pushed the door open, causing the bell to dance and ring. A stocky man behind the counter looked up from a portable telly that was blaring out a daytime chat show.

“No thieving,” he said by way of greeting. He tapped his finger against his glasses, and Cameron noticed one of the lenses was blanked over with sticking plaster.

“I’m gonna get some milk, that’s all.”

“I’ve got my eye on you, mind.” The man returned his attention to the telly.

“Yeah, just the one eye though,” muttered Cameron.

He made his way down the aisle, taking in the usual small shop smells of newsprint, flour and powdery sugar. At the back of the store there was a chiller cabinet and a paper rack. Cameron picked up a pint of Lo Fat, then turned his attention to the magazines. If he couldn’t get online at Grandma Ives’, he could at least
read
about the bands he should be listening to.

He flicked through
Sound Express,
which had a good free CD stuck to the front. Something clicked in his ear: a short sequence of pops that rose and fell. He shook his head.
Probably a bit of water
… It hadn’t been that long since his morning shower.

He put the magazine back, and reached for
Axe God.
It came with a fingering chart with “the chords every songwriter needs to know”. That’d be useful, if he could ever get his hands on a guitar…

There was the sound again. It was more like music
this time, but the tune was indistinct – a sort of mixed-up sound, like you might get out of an old radio tuned halfway between stations. He glanced around to see what it might be, but there was only the shopkeeper’s telly.

“There’s a library on Fountainhall Road,” called the man from the front of the store. “I mention this as a service, that’s all.”

“I’m making my mind up,” said Cameron. “That doesn’t cost anything, does it?”

He fished out his wallet. Great huge wads of tenners were sadly notable by their absence. Grandma Ives hadn’t said anything about an allowance, and he wondered how to go about subtly mentioning it. He’d have to put
Axe God
back for now.

As he stretched out his hand to put the magazine on the shelf, the mysterious noise came again. This time it positively roared, and a cacophony of random notes filled his head.

“Turn it down!” he yelped. His hand clenched, scrumpling the magazine.

“Headphones playing up, son?” The shopkeeper’s attention was still focussed on his chat show. “Take ’em out. They’re bad for your ears.”

The sound gibbered and howled, and Cameron’s vision seemed to go fuzzy for a second. He dropped the carton of milk –
splot
– to the floor. He had to get out of here! Clutching his head, he staggered forward.

To his amazement, the shelf to his left started to rotate. The side he had seen when he came into the shop spun giddily to face the wall, and a new side
swivelled out. The familiar tins of soup and beans had vanished, and in their place was a line of containers with labels he didn’t recognise.

What kind of crazy shop was this? The other shelves were following suit, rotating jerkily to reveal strange new products. In the chiller, bottles of dark red liquid stood in place of pints of milk. There were still eggs on display, but they were green and rubbery looking.

If that came out of a chicken, it wasn’t well
…

Cameron laughed, a little hysterically. Everything was different! The light was dim and yellow, and everything seemed distorted – looking towards the shopkeeper’s counter was like peering into a tunnel. On the paper rack, creamy rolls of parchment hung on pegs. “Which souls in torment make the sweetest sounds?” he read. “Our panel decides!”

“What the—”

“Last copy,” hissed a voice. “I saw it first!” A hand pushed him out of the way, and Cameron stumbled…

The odd music roared again, and once more the shelves began to spin. Cameron ducked as a corner edge whipped past his face, causing him to bump into a stand of cards. A stack of
On Occasion of your Wedding
– showing a dopey-looking couple holding hands – scattered across the floor.

“Right old mess you’ve made.” The shopkeeper looked up at last from his telly. “What’s up with you? Been hanging about the bus stops, drinking stuff you shouldn’t?”

“Don’t blame me, it’s your shop that went mental…” Cameron started to protest, but all around him, everything had returned to normal. There was only the dropped
carton and strewn cards to show anything had happened.

He leant against the chiller cabinet, trying to pull himself together. He couldn’t have imagined it, could he? Cold air smelling faintly of milk and cheese pumped past his nostrils. His stomach churned and his head spun as if he’d just stepped off a fairground ride.

“I think I’m gonna be sick—”

“Oh no, not in here.” The man swung the counter open, and came barrelling down the aisle. “I’m going to call someone. They can come pick you up and shout at you, or take you to the hospital. I’m not fussed which. Come on, lad! What’s your dad’s number?”

“I haven’t got one any more.” Cameron groaned. “I live with my Gran.”

The shopkeeper moved closer. He removed his sticking-plaster wrapped glasses, and brought his hand up to shield the eye that had previously been uncovered. His newly exposed pupil was a bright and piercing green.

“Flamin’ hell, lad. You’ve been world-shifting, haven’t you?” The shopkeeper blinked. “Who did you say your granny was?”