Autumn Rose. Abigail GibbsЧитать онлайн книгу.
as day turned to night, Nelson lighting up on his column as fewer and fewer people passed by. Eventually, Trafalgar Square emptied of any life, except for a few pigeons and a lone girl.
The scene slowed and focused on the girl. Dark hair framed her face and she wore a long black coat, half-unbuttoned to reveal the darkened outline of cleavage and hoisted high enough to show the hem of her black dress, which she tugged down every few minutes. She wasn’t pale, but neither was she blessed with a tan; most striking of all were her eyes, purple, which glowed above the light of her mobile.
Slipping her phone back into her pocket, she moved to sit on one of the long stone benches beneath the trees that lined the square. After a single minute, she perked up again, alert and tense.
Abruptly, the scene cut and was replaced by another. Darkening, congealing red liquid coated the ground and stained the water of the fountains like wine. Bodies littered the floor and I looked on, sickened as their life and energy drained from their necks and seeped across the city I knew and loved; the city I was torn from …
I was wrenched back to consciousness. Bolting upright in bed, I reached for the light on my alarm clock, surprised. It had only just turned one o’clock in the morning.
I was sweating now and heaving in air, hugging the clock to my chest so its light illuminated the room. It was empty, but every time I blinked I could see blood, and bodies, and purple eyes …
Groaning at the vivid images still implanted in my mind, I grabbed a pen and reached up to the calendar above my bed, crossing out and therefore marking the start of another day of the fast-evaporating summer holidays: the 31st July.
‘Well, look here, it’s everyone’s favourite recluse.’ An apron came flying my way and I caught it, unfolded it and tied the strings behind my back.
‘Good morning, Nathan.’
‘Did you hear that, Sophie?’ he asked, turning to one of the new, young waitresses, whose arms were stacked up with crisp white plates as the much older Nathan emptied the dishwasher. ‘It’s a good morning. How unusual.’
I stared at the girl and tried to decide if I’d met her before, or if she was just totally indistinguishable from the other skinny-jeans-clad and powdered orange Saturday staff.
‘And how am I a recluse?’ I asked without tearing my eyes off her.
She returned the gaze with wide eyes as sweat began to trickle down her temples. Her fingers nervously tapped against the rim of the lowest plate and as I side-stepped her to grab a pile of menus, she scrambled back and squeaked. The plates in her hands dropped towards the tiled floor.
Haven’t met her before, then.
With a flick of my finger the plates froze in mid-air and floated onto the worktop. Before she could react again I left the cramped kitchen and made my way towards the front of the Harbour Café, flipping the ‘Closed’ sign on the door so it read ‘Open’. It was the end of August, and though it was still early I could see through the window that tourists were already beginning to crowd the busy walkway from the working harbour to the more upmarket marina; in the distance, trawler fishing boats squeezed between jetties, bringing with them the smell of fish. Neither was the glass a barrier against the sound of chinking of masts and the cry of the gulls as they swarmed for their chance to snatch a portion of the day’s catch – the score which accompanied every morning in the bustling fishing town of Brixham.
Nathan rounded the counter and crossed the café in a couple of bounding strides – not hard because of his tall and lanky build. He cocked his head apologetically.
‘Before you arrived, she was telling me she’s never seen a Sage,’ he explained in an undertone.
I shrugged. Her reaction came as no surprise. In the year I had worked at the café, only Nathan – the chef – and I had been permanent, and every new member of staff had given me a wide berth and left shortly after. The only reason I hadn’t lost my job over it was because my boss knew she could get away with paying me less. I wasn’t about to put up a fuss. She had been the only person in town willing to offer me any work at all.
Nathan placed a tattooed left hand on my arm as I went to pass. ‘And recluse because you haven’t answered my texts for a month.’
‘You were in Iceland, and I was in London.’
‘You still could have replied.’
I grabbed the sleeve of his chef’s whites – which were, in fact, black – and removed his arm. Released, I laid the menus containing the day’s specials on the tables, working my way across the café with Nathan following.
‘How was Iceland?’ I eventually asked to fill the silence.
‘Beautiful. Democratic.’
I sighed and rolled my eyes as my back was turned.
‘The humans and Sage there live together as one community, not divided like here.’ I straightened up to see him jerking his thumb back towards the kitchen where Sophie was. ‘Or anywhere,’ he added as an afterthought.
I’d heard his rhetoric on Sagean-human relations before, but he had saved up for so long to afford his holiday that I didn’t want to burst his bubble. And yet …
‘Sage? Only Extermino live there.’
I couldn’t see his eyes because his hair – curly, brown and almost down to his shoulders – was covering them, but I thought I saw him avert them.
‘Extermino are Sage too, they just believe different things.’
‘And yes, their scars turn grey just because they play happy families with humans,’ I mocked, but didn’t find the matter funny at all. ‘They’re violent extremist rebels, Nathan. They are enemies of the Athenean monarchy, and of all other dark beings too. Don’t forget that.’
He looked towards the ground and adjusted his rolled-up cuffs. ‘I just think things aren’t great as they are, whilst people like you get marginalized—’
The tinkle of a bell interrupted him and we both startled and turned towards the door, as if surprised that customers actually might be coming in. The three girls in the doorframe paused, as startled as we were, and then proceeded towards the table beside the window.
‘Good luck,’ Nathan muttered, and retreated back to the kitchen.
I took a deep breath, pulled out my notepad, and approached the group.
‘Good morning, what can I get you?’ I chirped, pretending they were total strangers.
The nearest girl flicked her long black hair over her shoulders and leered at me from behind her heavy fringe. She was tall, and her shoulders very wide; she didn’t have to tilt her head far to meet my gaze.
‘The usual, witch.’
I gripped the pen tightly, trying to focus through the window on the steady lap of the sea against the harbour walls.
‘I’ve been away for a month, I’m afraid I can’t remember what you and your friends have, Valerie,’ I said through clenched teeth.
Valerie Danvers was what could only be described as a bully. My school’s bully.
Her sustenance was my misery, not a damned coffee.
She muttered something to her friends about Sage, and then begrudgingly gave me her order, demanding that half the dish be omitted. Her friends were only slightly less unpleasant.
I went and got their drinks and was