Isabella's Heiress (23 page)

“The Council are looking at stopping it but if it gets through, then we will have plenty of people in the plane to deal with it.”

“Why have they done this? I thought everybody was supposed to get a fair chance.”

Sister Ignacia sat on the bed. “They fear you, Emma; they fear what you are and what you may become. They are terrified of the prophesy coming to pass.”

“This fucking prophesy again.”

“Emma we need to make sure that you carry on as normal. This cannot be allowed to divert you from your trial. Time is limited and any deviation will hurt your chances of surviving.”

“So basically I can stay here and wait for the assassin to be caught in which case I'm going to fail my trial or I can go outside, carry on with the trial and run the risk of still failing but now have the added worry that my soul might be ripped out of me.

“One way or the other, I'm screwed.”

Emma looked over at Father Eamon but his face didn't change. “Believe me, I wish it was not so.”

“I don't understand, if they have done this then surely they have broken the rules and they have given up their chance of getting Emma.”

Father Eamon turned to Taryn, “It is not that simple. We have to prove it was them that sent it and that is impossible. All we can do is ensure that their plans do not come to pass.”

Taryn looked at Emma who looked back, “Don't worry babe, they won't let anything happen to you.”

Emma smiled in response, “Easy for you to say, you're not the one with a soul ripping assassin looking for you.”

Father Eamon walked to the bedroom door, “Emma, were you planning on leaving the sanctuary today?”

“Yes, I was going to head to my parents house.”

“I will come with you. I need to speak to some people but if you are ready, we will leave at half past the hour.” He headed out without waiting for a response, the door closing behind him.

Taryn voiced her frustration at Sister Ignacia who was still in the room, caught up in her own thoughts, “How can he be so cool about all this?”

“He is always calm in these situations. I have hardly ever seen him raise his voice in all the time I've known him. Emma, this is a worry for you but you must concentrate on your task.”

“Nooo, I'm way beyond worrying. I passed that when Father Eamon told me about the soul ripping. I'm somewhere around the abject fear point now. How am I supposed to get anything done with this hanging over me?”

“We will protect you, Emma. That I promise you.”

“Oh, really? Fought many Soul Gorgers' have you?” Taryn was getting more and more angry. “This is so unfair, what has Emma done to deserve this? Isn't it bad enough that she's here?”

Emma affected a weak smile. “It's okay, Taryn, we'll deal with this. We've dealt with everything else. Once this thing arrives, we'll deal with it then. How are we going to
know when it's here anyway?”

“Father Eamon has messengers who will tell him when it is near.”

“How near?”

“I do not know, Emma. I have never been in this position before.”

Sister Ignacia's voice gave nothing away but her eyes betrayed her apprehension. There was silence in the room broken only when Taryn asked a question.

“What does a Soul Gorger look like anyway?”

She was met with more silence. Emma turned to Sister Ignacia.

“Father Eamon knows what it looks like, right?”

Sister Ignacia looked a little uncomfortable. “We know the stories and have pictures but no one has faced one in centuries.”

“Well I feel better.” Taryn stood up. “Please tell me you know how to beat one of these things.”

“Very few people have ever fought one of these creatures before, Taryn.”

“But they've been beaten before, right?”

Sister Ignacia paused before answering in a low, faltering voice. “Not to my knowledge, no.”

Emma felt the blood draining from her face. She wanted to just stay in this room and never leave but she knew that wasn't an option.

“Don't worry, Taryn, we'll figure out a way to beat it.” This time the promise sounded flat as the words nail and coffin came to mind.

The warehouses of the East India Company provided Emma's imagination with ample opportunity for seeing
sudden movements in between cranes and gantries. Every shadow took on a life of its own and she found herself slowing down and looking to the roofs of building as if they provided the answers to all her fears.

“It isn't here yet, Emma. We will have some warning when it is going to arrive.”

“How much warning?”

“Enough.”

“What's enough?”

“Time enough for us to prepare.”

“Time enough for you to prepare you mean. As soon as this thing shows its face, I'm running in the other direction.”

Father Eamon smiled, “I understand but we must carry on until then. There is too much at stake for you personally for us not to.”

“Not to mention the fact that you lose your chosen one if I fail.”

Father Eamon stiffened slightly at these words, “There is no proof of that and I have warned you about listening to those stories.”

Emma snorted quietly, for all the warnings that Father Eamon gave her about this, the more she learnt about him the more it was obvious that something was up
and besides,
she thought,
it's not like every initiate was privileged enough to have their own Soul Gorger, was it?

They reached All Hallows Church that, Emma mused, still seemed out of place even in the mid-nineteenth century. The buildings may have changed but the church was still an island in a sea of traffic.

At London Bridge Emma looked to her left wondering how many more times she would see the low hung shimmer of the morning sun.

“Are you ready to cross over?”

“Can't we wait until we're in the station?” Emma really wasn't in the mood to deal with the traffic after what she had heard.

“‘Tis not possible, Emma. The bridge marked the barrier between the City of London and Southwark in the old world and so it follows that it marks the barrier of your world here. We can move between the worlds at any time before we reach the other side but we cannot reach the station in this realm. ‘Tis better we cross over now and you can spend some time away from this world.”

Emma nodded, forcing herself to slow her breathing and concentrate on the real world. She felt a head rush that quickly spread to her entire body before the ground below her gave way and she felt herself falling. It lasted for a second maybe two but as quickly as it started, she was met with the familiar sounds and smells of twenty first century London.

Traffic struggled northwards into the City with cyclists and commuters playing a game of chicken as they tried to get to their desks. At the covered taxi rank outside the main entrance to London Bridge Station, two people were arguing at the head of a long queue. Emma smiled as she remembered the countless times she had waited in that same rank rather than suffer the rain or the buses on her short trip across the bridge.

They headed towards the platform and Emma easily slipped past a commuter carrying an outsize rucksack and suitcase.
It must be a Friday
, she thought.

The journey down to Dulwich Village was uneventful and Emma found herself back in the sunshine as she walked out of the ticket office at Dulwich North. As they walked towards her parents' house, she felt her spirits lift slightly. The trees were stripped of their leaves but the
watery light of the winter sun gave her a sense of warmth distinctly lacking in the twilight plane. Being here allowed her to escape for a short time from the dangers that were so immediate when she was back in London, until a thought hit her that caused her to turn suddenly to Father Eamon.

“This thing, it can't get me here, can it?”

“No, it is limited to the twilight plane.”

Emma breathed a sigh of relief. It was bad enough it was coming at all but had it been able to reach her in the place that she had grown up in, the only place she felt truly at home, she would have been really upset.

They turned into her parents' street and headed towards the house. When they reached it, Father Eamon held back.

“I cannot go any further. The terms of the treaty dictate that I stay outside, lest it look like I'm helping you in some way.”

Emma almost choked, “You're kidding me. They send an assassin after me and you're worried about how this looks?”

“Emma, they may be willing to break and bend the rules at their convenience but we cannot. If we all did that, then our plane and this world would descend into chaos.”

Emma shook her head in exasperation, “And all that's going to happen because you didn't stay outside this house?”

Father Eamon's mouth turned up at the left hand side, “No, I will admit that is most unlikely but it is through the minor indiscretions that bigger ones become possible and this cannot be allowed.”

Emma walked up the driveway grumbling to herself under her breath, “Great, I end up with the one guy who's a stickler for the rules.”

“Yes, but only when those rules count.”

Emma grimaced and turned around, “How can you hear me from down there?”

“Just because I'm dead, Emma doesn't mean I've lost the ability to hear.”

Emma looked rueful as she apologised, “Sorry.”

“There is no need to be. I have heard a lot worse. I will wait for you out here until you return.”

Emma turned back and imagined the door dissipating into a haze. As she crafted the image in her mind, she thought about the wood slowly starting to separate until the door melted away and allowed her to pass.

Her mother stood in the hallway, trembling as she picked up a ringing phone. Emma watched as she spoke into the receiver with one hand and clutched a cup of tea with the other. She looked at the veins that were now prominent in her hands and wondered if they had been there before. If they had she hadn't noticed and a feeling of guilt crept into her as she wondered what else she had missed. She had been aware of the forced smile that her mother had used ever since the accident but she had never said anything.

Now, looking at her, she wished she had, but whenever she had tried to bring it up her mother had immediately steered the conversation away from it and Emma had left it at that. Samantha had not spoken to her for over a year after the accident and they were barely on speaking terms at the time of her death. She had tried to reconcile with her, visiting her studio on different occasions, only to find her out or unwilling to answer the door.

Emma could see pictures of both her sisters as well as pictures of her hanging on the wall but the one that stood out was one that showed all three of them when they had visited their aunt one Christmas. Sam had broken up with
a boy from school. She had only been eleven and Emma had teased her that it was nothing serious but she had sulked all day. Looking at the photo now, Emma could see the strained smile on her face and, for a second, she could see her mother's likeness.

“No, I don't want to make an appointment. I want to know now.”

Emma turned to face her mother who was growing more agitated on the phone. Her hand was flexing on the receiver and she had put her tea down.

“Is it really necessary?” She said in response to a question from the other end of the line. “But he's too ill to move. Doctor Brooke said that he shouldn't leave the house unless he has to.”

Her mother's voice was frail and cracking and Emma felt the tears return to her cheeks as she watched.

“I understand. No he's in bed now and I don't want to disturb him. Tomorrow at 9AM. Good, thank you.”

Her mother put the phone down and wept silent tears. Her shoulders rocked up and down as she pulled a tissue from the waistband of her skirt and blew her nose before turning to walk into the kitchen, where she took a loaf of bread from a cupboard.

Emma watched her put two slices in the toaster before carrying on upstairs. When she arrived on the landing, she looked over at her parents' bedroom door. It was shut but Emma knew that her father lay dying on the other side. She thought for a second of going to see him but immediately decided against it, embarrassed for even considering violating his privacy like that but also scared after what had happened the previous day.

She entered her bedroom and walked over to the dressing table. There was a thin layer of dust on it, where her mother hadn't cleaned the room.

Emma concentrated on the drawer, trying to imagine it slowly pulling itself along the runners it sat on. She placed her hands in front of it and slowly pulled them back. Nothing. Concentrating harder, Emma tried again but still had no joy.

Emma sat on the bed, looking at the dressing table, trying to avoid the mirrors reflection, and felt a cool dampness on her brow. She looked at the drawer, concentrating on every knot and swirl in the wood as she closed her eyes and tried of visualise it sitting on its runners. She raised her outstretched palms and slowly pulled them back. She was rewarded with the slightest of grating noises. Emma's eyes snapped open but she couldn't see any difference in the drawer. She closed her eyes and tried again. The grating returned and this time, slowing her breath and concentrating harder, Emma willed for it to open fully. The grating continued and she drew her hands back another couple of inches before stopping to draw breath. She opened her eyes only to find the drawer below it half open.