Starblood (The Starblood Trilogy) (9 page)

She hears giggling and moves away. Beneath the weeping willow, she hides, hugging her knees. Her foot burns. She wants to look at the wound again but two figures come around the corner so she stays still. The girl is dressed like Freya. She wears a silver chain belt from which hang a hundred glistening disks. Her forearms are covered in silver bangles. The boy is Freya’s brother.

For a moment Freya thinks the girl is Lilith, her wild queen. She wonders if Ivan has been brought here for her. She almost stands up and runs towards him but when she hears the girl’s voice she recognises her - Raven.

‘Show me something,’ Raven says.

‘What?’ Ivan asks.

‘Anything. Show me anything.’

Ivan bends over the pond and dips his fingers in the water.

‘Watch,’ he says.

They all watch. Freya wants to get closer, see better, but dares not move. She holds her breath.
What is he doing? Why is it taking so long? Why did I hide so far away?

A dark shape breaks the surface of the water and touches Ivan’s fingers. Raven gasps. Then the shape, a fish, leaps into the air. It somersaults over Ivan’s head and re-enters the water without a splash. Resurfacing, it looks at Ivan for a moment then turns and swims away again. Ivan wipes his fingers on his jeans and Raven wraps her bangled arms around his neck, kissing his cheek.

Freya’s throat tightens and her face feels hot. Raven sits across Ivan’s lap and kisses his lips.

There is a lump in Freya’s throat and her stomach churns with acid.
Raven and my brother!

She wants to leave but Lilith urges her to stay. ‘Don’t you want to see them?’ she asks.

The burning in her cheeks moves to her groin. She does want to see them. She wants to learn, to feel.
Most of all I want it to be me.

The kiss lasts forever. Freya’s lower back starts to ache and she risks changing position while Raven and Ivan are distracted by each other. Lying under the tree, curled up in a foetus position, Freya’s hand plays between her legs. Then, at last, Raven stands up. She moves into the shadows of the boathouse. Ivan turns towards her but does not follow. In the gloom her pale skin seems to glow and her black clothes merge with the dark, as though she is part of that velvety blackness.

Raven’s arms make a diamond around her waist then her skirt falls to the floor and she steps out from its circle. Her legs are long and white. Ivan and Freya do not move. They watch Raven entranced. She removes her top and bra with only slightly less fluid movements and stands naked, shining in the half-light, the moon.

Raven beckons to Ivan and slowly he stands up.

Is he reluctant? I hope so. What if he is saving himself for me?

He takes a step forward. Freya wants to shout to him to stop, but he would never forgive her for spying on him. Every step he takes towards Raven prickles Freya’s cheeks and heats her desire at the same time. If it were anyone but Ivan she would enjoy the show, but her lust hurts.

I love him.

‘Maybe we should wait,’ Ivan says. At least Freya hopes that’s what he says. His voice is so low she can barely hear it over her own panting. He is eighteen and Raven is beautiful.

Why would he say that?

‘Wait for what?’ Raven asks him. Her face is soft and open, not a trace of frustration.

Does Raven love him too?

He shrugs. Whatever reason he had for waiting a moment ago has slipped away. He shakes his head. Freya cannot see his face but she feels his beautiful smile and watches the reflection of it break across Raven’s face.

Raven drops to her knees. Ivan grasps at her hair as she sinks. He holds huge bunches of it in each fist.

So much hair.

Raven’s head moves back and forth, a swaying cobra. Freya strains to imagine what that feels like, what it tastes like. She pushes her fingers into her mouth. They smell strongly of her sex and feel too big. She stops, afraid she might tear the corners of her lips. Sucking her thumb, she imagines it swelling. Back and forth, back and forth, like Raven and her brother. Hearing a soft groan, she looks towards them. Ivan shivers. Then Raven uncurls her long legs and stands in front of him once more. She smiles. Her face looks peaceful, content.

Surely, there should be more.

Raven dresses then she and Ivan walk away from the boathouse arm in arm. She leans on his shoulder as if needing support and he wraps his arm around her protectively.

I know she needs neither his support nor his protection. She wants to feel his strength and smell his body, just like me.

Chapter 13

When Satori wakes, the room is dark. Alone in Paul’s bed, he stares at the clock, willing his eyes to focus on the faint glow of the numbers. Nine o’clock.
How long have I been alone? Did Paul sleep, or leave me the moment I closed my eyes?
The other side of the bed is cold. He reaches for the bedside lamp. The room is freezing and his manhood, large and proud a few hours before has shrivelled and is hiding in a mass of curls. He looks for his clothes and finds them among the discarded condoms scattered around the divan.

The room is silent. Satori knows this is a quiet house, no phone, no television and a stereo, which has remained dumb for the duration of his stay so far. Even so, the depth of the silence unnerves him. He hurries to dress and opens the bedroom door.

The gallery is unlit, as is the staircase and hallway below. A triangle of light from the kitchen sweeps across the flagstone floor. It provides enough illumination to safely creep down the stairs.
Someone else is in the house.
Should I look for a weapon? What if it is Lilith? What use would a weapon be against her?
He was supposed to have found a weapon in words and ceremony, but distractions and ineptitude stalled him.
What now? What if it is really her? What can I do? Am I going to die?

Breathing hard he descends and walks towards the half-open door. At first the room looks empty. Then, partially hidden behind the island unit, he sees fingertips. Wondering whether Paul has collapsed or fallen, he rushes to help him but realises, as soon as he sees the half-naked body, that he is too late. Paul is dead. The man’s genitals have been severed, and a pool of dark blood has gathered between his open legs. His cock and balls have been stuffed into his open mouth.

Satori turns away and vomits. Doubled over, he crouches, powerless, emptying his stomach of all its contents. He coughs and splutters until his stomach stops contracting. Skirting around the body, careful not to look at it again, he reaches the sink and splashes water over his face. When he turns off the tap the dense silence descends again. His teeth chatter and his body shakes. Without turning towards it, he can still see Paul’s mutilated form, dark and sticky in a lake of gore.

Turning around slowly, ears alert for any change in the silence, he stares at the corpse. A thousand questions plague his mind, but the most insistent of them makes his neck tingle:
is the killer still in the house?
He pulls a butcher’s knife from the metal block and begins to search. Every time he opens a door to a darkened room he fears attack. Holding his breath, he reaches for each light switch; eyes primed to look for shadows he does not recognise. Finally he is convinced he is alone and drops the knife at his feet.

He falls to the floor beside it. Hands gripping his hair, he leans forwards and presses his chest against his thighs.
Why?
Tears blind him as he rocks himself back and forth. Images flit through his mind of Paul begging for his life.
Why didn’t I hear him scream?
He pulls hard at the roots of his hair.
I should phone the police.
He tries to stand up, but his legs have lost all strength.

Paul’s mutilated body flashes in his head like a strobe.
No!
He tries to shake the image away, but it insists on being seen. ‘You will be blamed for thisss,’ it tells him.

I will be blamed.
DNA evidence will show they fucked. Paul was killed in such a sexual way. The connection would be obvious.
Fuck! What do I do? Run? No.
Running from the scene, even though every instinct is screaming at him to do so, would be an admission of guilt in the eyes of the police.
Who did this to him?
Answers whisper in his ears:
old lovers, homophobes, Lilith.

Bury the body, run away and hope no one ever finds me?
That would be the smart thing to do.
But can I? Paul deserves more than this.

‘What choice do you have?’ the voice asks.

I don’t know. I don’t know. Leave me alone.

‘Bury him. Buy sssome time to figure it all out. When Lilith is gone you can phone the police. Do it!’

Satori looks up from his knees. The dark hallway is empty. The voice is in his head. He sighs and rubs his eyes. Whatever the voice is: instinct, deep self, guardian, demon, it is right. He will be blamed and Lilith will escape.
I must bury Paul, but where?
Without a car, his choices of burying spots are house or garden. Satori returns to the kitchen to work out a plan.

He forces himself to look once more at the obscene corpse. In his mind he replays all the police dramas he has ever seen. If he buries it outside, a dog might dig up Paul’s body. If he hides it in the house the smell will eventually alert suspicion.
Acid?
Yes, that would work. Where can I buy large quantities of hydrochloric acid from? No, too great a risk, if anyone does get suspicious.

This is insane.
Satori kneels beside Paul’s hand. He holds the cold, rubbery fingers.
This is my friend.
‘I am so sorry. I don’t know what else to do. Tell me what to do Paul.’

There is no answer from the corpse, but a light flicks on in his mind.
I can do this. It’s simply a magical puzzle. I need to strip the bones, what can do that? Of course … scarab beetles.

He rushes around the empty house again, gathering the supplies he needs from the library, practice room and stores. The ancient Egyptian statue he grabs from Paul’s living room will make a fine tribute. He opens a book of Egyptian ceremonies and gods on the kitchen counter. Silently, he reads through the passage, which describes the ritual. Strange excitement temporarily replaces his fear and grief. A thin smile whispers around the corners of his mouth.

Standing in front of his dead friend he closes his eyes and breathes. He feels the air and energy cleanse his mind and muscles of stress and fear. He is ready. Holding the fetish in his right hand he recites the words. He calls on Osiris, powerful god of the underworld, to send him scarab beetles to dispose of the blood and gore. When the passage is complete he opens his eyes and waits.

Tick, tick, tick, tick. Black creatures, the size of his hand, drop onto the kitchen floor. Shuddering, he smiles. The scene fills him with both awe and terror. Thousands of flesh-eating bugs writhe over each other, across the kitchen floor and all around him. As one dark mass they converge on the dead body, coming from all corners of the room, some taking shortcuts across Satori’s bare feet. He is repulsed, but stands perfectly still. He needs to concentrate. Their wriggling bodies reanimate Paul in their frenzy. Dead arms lift as the robe sleeves fill with life and movement. The hands change from pink to black, then to red and finally white as the skin and muscles are stripped from them. The same process happens everywhere. When the skeletal body is ready, the scarab beetles move away, eager to explore the rest of the room. Satori sees them sense him and dismisses them before they can reach his feet. He finishes the ritual and offers Osiris his tribute, thanking and paying his respects to the god.

The work finished, Satori’s calm deserts him and he retches again. His stomach is empty but painful spasms fold his body. When the nausea subsides he strips the bones of its dressing gown and takes the garment to the dining room. A huge fireplace dominates one wall. Hoping that the chimney is clear, he arranges logs and paper in the grate. His shaking hands snap the first match, then the next. Furious and terrified, he works through ten matches before one catches and flares into a dancing flame. When the fire is lit he throws the silk into the flames and watches it burn. The light material catches quickly.

Returning, at last, to the kitchen, he decides the next task is to clean away the vomit. The stench of it fills his nostrils and he has to swallow back new waves of sickness. Except for the lily-white bones lying on the floor, all traces of the crime have been erased. Satori no longer sees his friend in the remains. The pile is devoid of humanity, and he feels his strength return. Fear, guilt and grief wait on the outskirts of Satori’s mind. They will have their fun with him later. For now he is calm and he knows what he must do. He will need some tools to finish the job. He unlocks the kitchen door and sprints towards the shed.

Chapter 14

Freya listens for noises around the house. It is silent. Her mother and father will be fast asleep and Ivan will probably be listening to music. She checks the clock again – ten past twelve. A motorbike coughs outside, and she runs to the window. He is there.
This is it.
Grabbing her satchel, she heads for the door. Each footstep is pre-planned. She knows which stairs would creak and groan under her weight, and how far she can open the door before it scratches at the carpet. She will leave silently as long as she can reach the door before he knocks.
Please don’t let him knock. Make him remember what I said.

Pulling the front door closed with a soft click, Freya waves at Dave. His helmet is under his arm and his long blond hair shines under the street lamp. He passes a helmet to Freya and she pushes it down over her ribbons and hair. He smiles as she tries to tighten the strap beneath her chin. Her hands shake. He puts an arm around her waist and pulls her closer. Looking at her eyes all the time, he fastens it for her.