As reparation for the bat prank, I have set you a task. You will find the first instruction tucked into the letter box at the end of the drive by the main gate. Do not ask for help from others. Do not use your motorbike to speed up the task. Do not use magic!!!
Report back when you have completed the task.
D.
I add a heart emoji because I’m soft in the heid and don’t want him to think he’s actually being punished.
Whistling a tune I no longer remember the lyrics for, I head downstairs to see what the afternoon has in store.
3
CHARLEY
“Luc,”I whine, conscious I’m being needy. “This ishard.”I’m only on clue three and already my brain hurts. Dad is a monster, albeit, I have to grudgingly admit, a fucking clever one. Not even Google is helping with these. Did he make these riddles up all by himself?
My mate’s wheezy laugh is tinny over the phone line. “Charley, babe, I saw the text. Nobody is allowed to help you. And you know what you’re like. If I did help, you’d go bright red, or he’d thrall you and you’d dob me and yourself right in, dropping us both in it. I’m finally building a decent relationship with Dalziel where I no longer think he wants to unalive me. I’m not fucking that up, even for your pretty face and sweet pleading.”
“Bastard,” I grumble, but I can’t put any effort into the word. I know Luc loves me. And whatever he jokingly says about Dad, I also know he respects him far too much to get between him and me.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Come and have some breakfast. You rushed off first thing this evening without even a cup of tea.” I hesitate, about to argue, then he goes in for the kill with a sultry growl. “Pavel made whisperthorn pancakes.”
“That’s not fair.” Whisperthorn is a Fae plant that produces edible flowers that are legit the best thing I’veeverput in my mouth. Okay, Luc’s cock aside, the best thing.
I whimper into my phone. “I’ll be there asap. Don’t let Isher eat them all! Love you, babe.” I cut the connection and break into a sprint. Who the fuck is Pavel secretly banging to obtain such a special treat? I decide I don’t care, as long as he keeps on their good side.
Back on the trail after a meal that nearly brought tears of joy to my eyes, I find myself apologising for disturbing Hector by insisting on checking the engine size of every car in the garage. Then I take a clue the wrong way and pull apart the fire laid in the library grate, finding nothing for my pains. Cursing loudly at this point, because my fire-laying skills are still rudimentary, I mentally promise to return later as I’m scampering across the lawn to the tower. Where I find myself swearing again about my clothing choices. A short-sleeved crop top makes Luc’s mouth water, but there’s fuck all fabric to wrap around the iron door handle. And yes, I’m probably dense to be wandering about in the late autumn without a hoodie but *gestures at vampire and Fae genetics*. I strip off to open the door and thankfully find the next clue sticking out from under the fire irons — blessedly not made of iron — on the top floor.
Pulling my T-shirt back on, I slump to the floor while I absorb Dad’s latest effort. This one is another full-blown riddle, and it makes my head ache trying to work it out.
Born to rule this land,
The snowdrop signals corporeal form.
The Lion’s Gate portal open’d
And behold a second born.
Sultans bowed before the angel
Of God’s satisfaction.
What. The. Fuck? I’m too full of pancakes and fruit syrup and from exercising my brain harder than I had to for A Levels to think any more right now. Dad is a sadist; it’s the only explanation I have for the mental gymnastics he’s torturing me with.
Although, I possibly deserved it for the vampire poster. It’s one thing to blow up his WhatsApp with memes, this was another level. I’m still amazed he hasn’t ordered me to find a job yet, but when I suggested I should start looking, he froze, then insisted that learning from Isher was a full-time job already. Between living here rent free and both Dad and Luc buying me presents, I’m on the way to becoming the sugar baby I joked about all those months ago. It’s not a comfortable feeling. I want to pay my way in the world. It doesn’t matter that my dad and my boyfriend are both loaded, or that it seems to bring them pleasure to spoil me. I wasn’t brought up that way.
Struck by the yearning that assails me from time to time to have my birth mother appear in my life and clutch me to her Fae bosom with sparkling tears of joy in her eyes —as if —I thumb the screen of my mobile, which has decided to work beautifully today, and call the only woman who has always been there for me; my adoptive mum.
“Charley! What a lovely surprise. Is everything all right? It’s quite late for a social call.” Crap, it hadn’t occurred to me to check the time. “You’re not sick, are you, darling?” I wince a bit at the endearment, but Nita — I’ve not called her Mum since I knew I was adopted — has said on several occasions how much she misses me, so I suck it up. And after the mess I’d made of my dietary needs in the months before Luc and I got together and I discovered my true nature, I had been looking like shit. Nita’s concern is unfounded, but also welcome.
“No, I’m good, really good. I just thought I’d say hello. Ask how you and David are doing. What the weather’s like back in Tratton.”Make sure you haven’t forgotten me.
“Well, you know that proposed new development on the site of the old…” She prattles on for a few minutes, bringing me up to date on life in the very average Suffolk town that had been my home until Luc happened. I try to pay attention, making the right noises, until she slows and then stops talking altogether. Oh shit, what did she just say?
“Sorry, didn’t catch that. Bad connection,” I lie, guilt nibbling at me.
“I said, I don’t suppose you and that nice Luc will be coming south for Christmas, will you?” Fuck, the yearning in her voice is almost enough to convince me to pretend I’ve lost the signal. I’m a terrible son.
“Um, I don’t think that’s possible.” Another lie. “But,” I think frantically, “I do have some leave owing, so if Luc can also get time off, we could come for a few days a few weeks before. Have a late Samhain, er, celebration?” I’m clutching at straws and I know it. To say I’m a free-range Pagan is as near as I’ll get to acknowledging any spiritual influences, but I’ve never been even vaguely devout.
