Authors: Richard Parry
“All of us?”
Miles looked at his feet.
“I wonder if she knew what that wish would cost her.”
“Do you know about the synodic cycle?”
Carlisle looked around the room.
“And you got any coffee on?
It’s going to be a long wait.”
“Do I look like a plumber?”
“A little.
But it’s the Moon.”
“The Moon?”
“There’s that echo again.”
“You’re not making a lot of sense.”
“I know.
Put on the coffee.
I’ll take first watch.”
☽ ◇ ☾
She’d fallen asleep anyway, despite the uncomfortable chair digging into her bruises.
She didn’t know how Miles had handled it when he’d been out here last.
Carlisle had left him inside, reading a book to Adalia.
He’d done enough work for a while, and needed sleep more than her.
At least that’s what she’d thought, before dropping off.
She woke with a start, the predawn light giving the porch a ghostly feel.
Kendrick stood in front of her, yellow eyes staring from her face.
The woman was naked, and she was carrying Everard.
One of his arms was burned, wasted at his side, and he was unconscious.
Carlisle blinked at her a couple of times then grabbed her blanket, tossing it around the two of them.
“Don’t talk.
Just come inside.”
Carlisle opened the door.
Kendrick hesitated, the yellow eyes darting at the doorway and back to Carlisle.
“It’s ok.
She’s safe.”
Carlisle grinned.
“At least, she was.
Miles was reading her, ‘All My Friends Are Dead.’
That man is warped.”
Kendrick didn’t smile.
The yellow was still wild in her eyes.
Maybe she wasn’t ready to be human again.
“I know.
It’s a long way back, right?”
Carlisle stood inside, holding the door open.
“Maybe you should just think about it.
Do you remember Adalia?”
Kendrick nodded, slowly.
“Good.
Do you remember Everard’s coffee?
With cinnamon.”
Kendrick’s gaze went down slowly to the man she carried, then back up.
A tear fell from her face.
She nodded again.
“He’s going to be ok.
You’ll see.
Bring him in.”
Kendrick did, then, walking past Carlisle on silent feet.
Carlisle shut the door.
“You should grab a seat.
There, on the couch.
I’ll make some coffee.
It’s not like his, but maybe it’ll help you remember.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Val held Danny close.
He hadn’t been able to stop touching her since he woke up.
He’d felt weak as a kitten, and something under his skin itched, but he felt happy.
Alive.
Adalia was playing at the table.
She’d apologised for losing Prancer.
He’d laughed, and said it was ok, telling her that magic wishing ponies were not supposed to last forever.
Danny leaned back into him, making a contented noise low in her throat.
“I —”
“I know.”
“Yes.
You know.”
Danny snuggled against him.
She smelled good.
“Christ, can you two get a room?”
John handed them another cup of coffee each.
“It’s disgusting.”
“It’s my house.”
Danny sniffed at the coffee.
“You’re not getting better at this, are you?”
“Die in a carpet fire.”
John walked back into the kitchen.
“I can feel you smiling.”
Danny nuzzled his neck, and he stroked her hair.
“What happened?
I don’t remember.”
“I don’t think we’re supposed to.”
Val sipped the coffee.
It really sucked.
He laughed out loud.
“What?”
She looked up at him.
“I love that guy.”
Val nodded towards the kitchen.
“He’s alright.”
But the smile tugged at her mouth.
Carlisle came back in the front door carrying a couple of large brown paper bags.
“Thank God.
Food.”
Val stood, unwrapping himself from Danny.
“Let me.”
“It’s ok.”
Carlisle pushed him aside, heading for the kitchen.
“It’s really not.
He’s a terrible cook.”
Val grabbed one of the bags, sticking his nose inside.
“What the hell is this?”
“Fruit.
Vegetables.”
“Where’s the steak?”
“I got steak.
That little girl,”
and Carlisle nodded at Adalia, “Cannot live on steak alone.”
“Could she at least try?”
Val put on his best I’m-hurt voice.
“For me.”
☽ ◇ ☾
They sat around the table, plates cleaned, a fresh round of coffee in front of them.
“How did you know?”
John sat opposite Val.
“Know what?”
Carlisle sipped at her cup.
“Thank God you’re alive, Val.
I don’t think I could handle more of his coffee.”
“I hope you choke on it,” said John.
“But — how
did
you know he was alive?”
Danny leaned forward, touching Val’s wasted arm.
She looked at Carlisle.
“Yes.
How did you know?”
“A hunch.”
“Come on.”
John tried the coffee.
“Actually, this isn’t bad.”
“All right.
It was Barnes.”
“Who?”
Danny looked between them.
“Elsie Morgan’s assistant.
I know him.”
Val looked into his coffee cup.
“What’s he got to do with this?”
“He wrote me a letter.”
Val tried to hold his coffee in his wasted arm, but it felt too weak.
Still, he hadn’t been able to move it this morning, and now he’d finished breakfast he could wriggle his fingers.
“What’d it say?”
“Not much.”
Carlisle looked into her own cup.
“It was a foolish hope.”
“What was?”
Val flexed the fingers of his hand.
Definitely getting better.
“The Moon.
That you’d —”
“That we’d change.”
Val nodded.
“We’d be strongest when the moon was full.”
“Yeah.
And that…”
“What?”
“You held Volk between you and the grenades as you went over the side.
I hoped you hadn’t got the full blast.”
Carlisle put her cup down.
“There’s no way I can write up a report on this.”
“I went over the side?
The side of what?
There’s so much I don’t remember…”
Val sighed.
“Did we get him?”
“Who?”
Maker.
Father.
Betrayer.
“Volk.
The… My maker.”
Val realised he was clenching his good hand into a fist.
“I don’t remember.”
Danny's voice was soft.
“I remember.
A little.”
She looked down.
“I can still…”
“What?”
Carlisle had leaned forward.
“Did he get away?”
“I’m not sure.”
Danny swallowed.
“I don’t think so.
I can still taste his blood.”
Everyone sat silent for a few moments.
John tried first, the megawatt smile coming out.
“There’s one thing I don’t get.”
“Just one thing?”
Val’s smile was lopsided.
“What is it?”
“How did Danny…
I dunno.
What’s the word for it?”
John looked at the ceiling.
“How’d she turn?
You didn’t bite her in the shower or…
Oh.
The shower.”
He put air quotes around the last word.
Danny snorted.
“Now it’s some sort of STD?”
Val snorted.
“Heck if I know.
I’m new at this.
If we had Volk we might be able to get some answers.”
He tapped his cup, then looked at Danny —
alive!
— at his side.
His gaze drifted across each of them around the table.
“Thank you.
You guys, you’re —”
Pack.
“It’s ok.”
John looked at him.
“Just remember this next time I ask you to help move my house, ok?”
Val laughed.
It was ok.
He was —
Running free.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This isn’t quite the first book I’ve tried to write, but it’s the first one I’ve finished.
That first book was a far fetched tale I’d started tapping out on a Commodore 64 with my mother’s help, back when I was closer to being a zygote than a man.
I don’t remember too much about that story — some high plot points maybe — but it’s probably best that the tape holding it got lost somewhere.
You get a lucky break like that sometimes.
Here I am at the end of this book, and — well, shit.
There’s a lot of people who helped get me here.
First thanks go to Mum — not for the obvious mechanical reasons of birth, but because she started to help me write that first story.
Second thanks go to Pamela Sharp, an English teacher of mine at school.
She reviewed my nasty scribblings with a fairness that they didn’t deserve, and was a good critic.
I’m pretty sure she saved me from a life of romance writing, and I’m in debt to her.
Her secret identity is
The Electric Blue Pedagogue
.
Third, but perhaps first after all, is my brother Jonathan, without whom you wouldn’t be reading this.
He bundled me off to a writer’s group as a birthday present, and that group provided skills and insight I lacked in equal portions.
Thanks bro.
On that note, my first writing group’s advice carried the first parts of this book from fairly nasty prose to what’s easier to digest.
Thank you for your support — Frances Cherry, of course, but also Dot, Pru, Paul, Ana, the other Frances, and Sally.
God — Sally, you still make me shudder to put this work out there; if I could be half the writer you are — well, it’s probably a mercy.
There’s already one Stephen King, the Earth wouldn’t take two.
I’m blessed with a life rich in friends who’ve given me encouragement along the way.
I’d like to tip my hat to the people who believed in me — Greg, Gisela, Matt, Arran, and Arun to name a few.
They wouldn’t leave me alone, so you can blame them if you don’t like what I’ve written because it’s
ultimately their fault
.
You guys.
Whilst we’re speaking of friends, it’s worth mentioning my legion of beta readers - some previously mentioned but I’ll go over them again, because they had to suffer.
A lot.
Raelene, Arran, Greg, Cheryl, Paula, Lynda, Michelle, Anthony, Jane, Stephen, Gerard, Erin, J, and Nerys - you guys rock.
Anthony deserves another special mention because not only is he a wizard with punctuation, but he also understands science.
This makes him different to me, because I am into science
fiction
.
The only reason the stuff on viruses in here makes any sense at all is because of him.
If it still doesn’t make sense, it’s not his fault: he tried.
Really, he did.
I need to tip my hat to the excellent work by
JMaverick Photography
on the cover art.
You can more of his work here:
Last, but not least — my Rae.
You have been at my side through it all, and carried me at times when you were already carrying too much.
I’m humbled by you, and consider myself a very lucky Parry to have found you.
This book is for you.
— R. P.
August 2013, Wellington