Descendants

1

VIGILANCE

El twisted her braid as she stood in the darkened Tudor room of Cobbold House. She could hear the staircase groaning as the next group issued up from the lobby. The groups were a maximum of ten for tonight’s open evening. It enabled them to squeeze into the smallest spaces and navigate the points of interest. The visitors reached the landing of the first floor, and on catching sight of El, sidled into the room. El was dressed in a black shirt and jeans, offset by khaki boots. The low lighting dimmed her blonde hair and her pale face was striking against the lacquered panels.

Landing this room was a stroke of luck; wide and sparsely furnished, it didn’t feel claustrophobic like some of the others. But even in here, as the visitors joined, it was getting cosy.

El looked around at the new group. An unusual sound was coming from the woman in front of her: a second heartbeat, pulsating faster than anyone else’s, like a train rushing along its tracks. She noticed the woman wasn’t showing yet and wondered how many weeks pregnant she was. A cloying sweetness clung to a man coming through the door. It was as if a bouquet had been shoved under El’s nose, but the scent arose from the few grains of pollen on the man’s jacket. He must have brushed against the carnations on the stairs.

El stopped fiddling with her hair and hid her hands behind her, ignoring their clamminess. She tuned out all the reverberations and took a couple of deep breaths, concentrating on the far walls. They stood like raised palms, cautioning her. This place was so similar to the manor house where she and her grandma lived that she could almost be home. Almost.

A young man caught her eye. She admired his mop of brown hair and broad features. She felt the warmth spread across her cheeks and down her neck, sure that she was turning an attractive shade of scarlet. She’d point him out later to her friend, Ingrid, who was also working tonight.

All the guests were gathered, their attention on El. A few of them noticed the panelled screen behind her.

‘Welcome to the Tudor room,’ El announced. ‘I’d like to draw your attention to our new exhibit.’ She motioned to the screen. ‘This walnut screen dates to the early seventeenth century. The inlaid motifs have Latin mottos and were popular at that time. People believed that contemplating them helped to promote spiritual well-being.’

The guests focussed on the screen and El snuck a look at the attractive guy. Their eyes met. She was flattered that he was still looking at her.

‘The central theme in this group of paintings is vigilance. Many animals are used to symbolise it, such as the lion and hare sleeping with one eye open, and the crane holding the stone.’

El’s gaze strayed over the images. A sense of unease resurfaced, the same as when she’d first examined the artefact. It was strange that the pictures were all about sight. She mentally shook herself. Speaking in front of a group was not the time to get paranoid. She turned back to the visitors. All of them were admiring the piece, except the cute guy, as well as a woman with raven hair. The woman’s eyes locked onto El’s.

‘It’s sometimes more interesting to decipher the meanings of the mottos by studying the pictures,’ El said, ‘but translations can be found in your guide book.’

El looked at the handsome man. Warmth flared in her chest like heartburn. It travelled upwards, shot through her and pooled in her eyes. The sensation receded as quickly as it had come, but as she watched the man she knew that the damage was done. He stared. Trance-like. Her heart raced. What had she done? She stood rooted to the spot whilst his stance changed, beginning to incline towards her as though being drawn in. Those nearest to him shifted as he encroached on their space. El knew she had to stop this. She had to distract the rest of the visitors.

She fidgeted with her plait. ‘Why don’t you come have a closer look.’

The cute guy barged through the group, causing a babble of complaint. His steps were swift and decisive. He was an arm’s length away, his eyes holding her intensely. He stretched out his hand as if to touch her face. She moved back to avoid his grasp. Suddenly he lurched sideways, away from her and his fingers fell on the panels.

El’s stomach twisted. She watched him stroke the pictures. She had compelled him to feel what she was feeling: her desire. This sense of want now mingled with her suggestion to examine the artefact, resulting in this strange behaviour.

Trembling, she knew she had to take charge of the room. It was filling with murmurs and confused looks.

‘Quiet, please,’ El said.

The visitors' noise drowned out her voice and their attention remained glued on the man fawning over the screen. Only the raven-haired woman – the one who had stared at El earlier – stood out. She was grinning, apparently thinking that this was some kind of prank.

El approached the man, who was beginning to scratch the emblems. Her eyes darted from his face, still riveted on the screen to his nails, where flecks of paint were encrusted. He was damaging the wood. He was going to hurt himself. She had to stop him. Now. Warmth surged through her core, the power filling her gaze as she looked into his eyes.

‘Stop. You’re damaging it,’ she cried. ‘You have to stop.’

El tried to concentrate on her words, to think of nothing more than to get him away, but her heart drummed faster and faster as if competing with her voice. Her anxiety distorted the simple instruction and her panic transferred to the man.

His pupils dilated. He shoved her, and losing her balance, she fell into the screen. Throwing her hands out to catch herself, both she and the artefact thudded to the floor. Her hands and knees throbbed as she hit the ground, but the screen sustained most of the impact. She cringed as she shifted her weight and the wood splintered beneath her.

One of the guests came forward to help. Dazed, she registered their touch but remained on the ground. Exclamations broke from the visitors as they watched the man bolt out onto the landing. Some edged towards the door, perhaps considering giving chase, but most remained where they were. Gasps rose and the air seemed charged. Everyone’s focus grew sharper as they watched the man vault over the railings of the first floor. His legs and arms were thrown wide as though his body was pushing itself to bridge a gap, as if with effort he might leap across to a distant ledge. But there was none. He plummeted.

El lurched out the door as a sickening thud rose up to meet her. She peered over the bannister. Her heart seemed to rupture as she stared down. Below lay the man. A dark sheen pooled around his head, coating the parquet floor like a fresh coat of varnish. She wanted to scream, but only a choked cry fell from her lips, her grip slackened on the railings and she sank to the floor. Bile rose in her throat, footfalls resounded, guests dashed downstairs, someone screamed, another group coming upon the scene. El tried to get up, but her legs buckled and her breath came in short, shallow bursts.

An elderly man and woman guided her to a chair. ‘The girl’s in shock,’ said the woman. ‘There now dear, it’s alright.’

A pang of sickness rocked El’s stomach. These people were helping her when it was all her fault. Her senses were out of control, and it wasn’t just her own heartbeat that roared in her ears, but the furious pulsing of every living thing. The noise mounted in a crescendo. As she forced herself to breathe, she concentrated on pushing the noises away. She had to know what was happening downstairs. Her ear latched onto one sound: a faint pulse. The injured man. He was alive.

El’s surroundings receded to white noise. The only constant that mattered was that feeble beat. Her manager, Sandra started to direct people out of the main hall. The dialling of phones and the call placed to the emergency services sounded dimly. One of the guests was monitoring the unconscious man.

When her breathing continued to grow more frantic the couple steered her away from the landing. The pastel hues of the music room seemed to calm her. She sat on a bench in the corner, staring at the gilded harpsichord as though it played a secret tune. The weak rhythm of the man’s heart engrossed her fully and she didn’t realise the couple were leaving until someone touched her arm. She looked up.

Her friend, Ingrid stood over her, her familiar, green eyes full of concern. ‘Are you alright?’

El nodded. She could feel the hot prickle of tears threatening to start, but she couldn’t allow herself the release. If her friend asked what had happened, she was sure that the truth would come pouring out. She had to hold it together until she got home.

Ingrid smiled at the elderly couple who were lingering in the doorway. ‘Thanks for all your help. If you could speak to the policeman downstairs before leaving, that would be great.’

El listened to the sounds below and realised that the paramedics had arrived. The low voice of the police officer resonated as he questioned the remaining visitors.

Taking a seat on the bench beside her, Ingrid swept her chestnut hair behind her ear. Her locks fell over one shoulder. El steeled herself, ready to claim ignorance to whatever her friend asked.

‘Someone said he hurt you,’ Ingrid said.

El shook her head, the tears springing to her eyes. Ingrid’s worry burned through her like acid, creating better footholds for guilt to climb.

El forced herself to speak. ‘I just got knocked over when he ran.’

Ingrid frowned. ‘If he’d hurt you I’d have…’

Ingrid was prone to effusive language at the best of times, but her unfinished sentence hung awkwardly in the air. The silence stretched out and El was thankful that her friend didn’t try to fill it.

They took the stairs to the lobby slowly but, below, Ingrid whisked her past the pool of blood. Yet, when they joined the police officer in the dining room, El could still taste its thick, iron tang in the air. The officer’s questions were perfunctory and he seemed eager to wrap up his report.

He drew the meeting to a close with a practical consideration. ‘Is there someone who can take you home, Miss?’

‘I’ll drive her,’ Ingrid said.

El was about to argue, but her friend’s look was fierce. They took leave of the police officer and made their way out from the house, saying goodnight to their manager.

In the carpark, El looked at her own hatchback. She doubted that she’d be allowed to pick it up tomorrow. After what she’d done it was unlikely she’d ever go out again. She grabbed her handbag from the boot and lingered, looking back at the dark silhouette of the house. She’d been volunteering here for almost a year. Now she might never come back. She climbed into Ingrid’s car, numbed by the realisation.

Her thoughts didn’t quieten for long. As the headlights revealed the country roads before them, El’s mind threw into sharp relief what she’d done. The man’s pupils were once again before her, swollen with fear. He was like a frightened animal, hurtling over those railings. She had decimated his sense of reason and survival. She saw his broken body again. His hair, which minutes before she’d admired, caked in blood. She was a monster. Each passing mile increased her worry. What if he didn’t wake up? She’d be a killer.

She didn’t understand why her power had gone haywire this evening. She’d been distracted by the guy’s good looks and unnerved by the subject matter of the screen, but her emotions hadn’t affected her power like this for years. Not since she was a kid. She shook away the intruding thought, not wanting other memories of blood to mingle with tonight’s. It didn’t matter what thought or feeling had caused her to lose control or that she hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. It was done. And she was to blame.

Her stomach knotted as she imagined telling her grandma what she’d done. The likely consequences of her actions solidified. There was no way she’d be allowed to keep her job at Cobbold House. The few monthly meet-ups with Ingrid that she’d fought so hard for would be gone.

She looked over at her friend. In the faint glow of the headlights Ingrid looked determined as she concentrated on the road. Her friend always seemed so sure of herself and El felt the tug that she often did when she imagined confiding in her. El pictured how surprised she’d be, but was sure that she’d find a way to crack a joke.

They were nearing her house.

‘I’ll get out here,’ El said. Ingrid narrowed her eyes as she turned through the huge, arched entrance of the driveway. ‘I need to think before I tell her what happened.’

‘Fine but call me tomorrow. Remember – I’m on study leave – I can come over.’ She stopped the car.

El hesitated. A shift at Cobbold House or a meet-up with Ingrid qualified as the one weekly social interaction her grandma allowed. Now with what had happened, she knew both liberties would disappear.

El shook her head. ‘I’ve got a lot of studying.’

Ingrid rolled her eyes. ‘School’s almost over. Soon you’re gonna have to get a life.’

El smiled wanly. That was another thing her grandma would deny her: to sit her exams at the local high school, where Ingrid went. El had always been home schooled, but when she turned sixteen she’d been trusted to sit her exams at the school. It’s where she’d met Ingrid, almost two years ago now. El worried what her friend would make of it when she failed to show up for finals. What new lie would she be forced to tell her?

‘You know you can talk to me about anything?’ Ingrid said.

El shot a look at her friend and, for a moment, paused. This wasn’t the first time Ingrid had fished for what was really going on. Ingrid thought it weird how overprotective El’s grandma was, insisting on her home schooling all these years, limiting her weekly socialising to a shift at Cobbold House or to Ingrid visiting her here. The suspicious look Ingrid was throwing her meant that she was once again contemplating her crazy grandma. There was no denying it. El knew that from the outside it must all look pretty strange.

‘I know,’ El said hurriedly. ‘It’s just the usual. You know my grandma’s going to worry when she hears what happened.’

Ingrid frowned but nodded. ‘Text me once you’ve talked, okay?’

‘Okay – I’ll let you know.’ El climbed out the car. ‘But I’m expecting a lengthy incarceration and some solitary.’ She was only half joking and starting to pave the way for what she knew was coming.

Ingrid laughed and waved goodbye. As her friend reversed and drove around the corner, El felt like the normalcy she’d gained over the last couple of years disappeared too. She couldn’t believe that all her efforts to control her power and prove that she was capable of functioning in the world had been destroyed in a single night.

She began the trudge up the long driveway to their house, situated like a fortress, nestled amid fifty acres of low-lying fields and copses of mature trees. The surrounding pastures and woodlands grew wilder and thicker with each step. When she’d been younger, they’d seemed like the only world she would ever need. Now she saw the blades of grass and needles of trees for the barbed wire they were. She would be confined to this prison again, to live in its shadows. You couldn’t call such a life living.

Too soon the final beech trees arrived. She halted beneath their latticed branches. There was a car parked in front of the house. The sleek edges of a Porsche contrasted with the angular lines of the walls. No one visited. And definitely not in a car like this; battered four-by-fours were more the thing around here. A chill ran down El’s spine. Was this to do with her? Was this because of what she’d done?

She knew her grandma would be expecting to hear the sound of her car when she got back. Perhaps she hadn’t heard her yet. El let her senses investigate the way ahead. She amplified the reverberations and was rewarded by a voice. It was as though she’d slunk through the cracks between the bricks and mortar.

It wasn’t her grandma’s voice that sounded in her ear, but that of another woman.

‘There’s no choice. The Order will find her here. She has to come with me.’

El’s senses snapped back to the immediate environment: the owl hooting through the night, the shuddering leaves above and her own laboured breathing. The tension in her limbs forced her to move. She marched the rest of the way, pummelling the gravel. The porch door stood open and she unlatched the inner one.

In the hallway the heraldic-shielded ceiling and opulent paintings seemed brash as if trying to ensnare her. El’s gaze rushed to the older woman in the centre of the room. Her grandma’s mouth stiffened as she turned to the door. El vaguely observed the blonde-haired woman, who wore a sleeveless, ivory dress and heels, but her eyes fastened onto her grandma.

Not for the first time, El wished that she could see behind the black sunglasses she always wore. But it was pointless; only shadows rested there, deep and thick, in her empty eye sockets.

2

BLURRED

El stood, transfixed as though hypnotised by her grandma. However, Grandma Helena didn’t possess the same power as El. Her grandma had lost that when she’d lost her eyes. El traced the lines of her face, but its angles seemed taut and unfamiliar.

She came closer to her grandma, her voice sounding steadier than she felt. ‘What’s going on, Grandma?’

Helena seemed as stupefied as El. It was the blonde-haired woman who spoke, her voice clipped, ‘You used your power tonight.’

El flushed. Hot shame washed over her. This woman knew what she’d done. Her grandma knew too. How did they know? Her temper flared at her grandma’s silence.

‘What the hell’s going on, Grandma? Who is this woman?’

Helena flinched. ‘This is Anna, your mother. Because you used your power, you’re going to have to go with her.’

El’s eyes widened and swung to the blonde-haired woman. She looked at her properly. Her mother. She examined her petite build, dirty-blonde hair and blue eyes, just like in the photos Helena had shown her. Photos all taken over seventeen years ago, before El’s birth. She hadn’t aged a day. But she did look different to the woman in the photos. That’s why El hadn’t immediately recognised her. El had one picture of Anna framed on her desk in her bedroom. In it, Anna wore a polo neck, her hair loose and her smile wide.

She was as beautiful in real life as she was in that picture. But something about her pristine dress, erect posture and blank expression made her seem less life-like than in that still image. Anna didn’t come towards El for the kind of embrace she would have expected from her long-lost parent. She didn’t even look at her. Instead, her eyes remained on Helena. Was she so indifferent to seeing her daughter for the first time since birth?

El remembered Ingrid once admiring the photo of her mother. She’d said that El was the spitting image of her. At the time, she’d been flattered to be likened to the elegant woman, but now that she was here she detested the obvious similarities. There was no warmth to her.

Anna’s blue eyes swept her face. El felt a rush of cold mark her cheek and gasped. Had she imagined it? Despite the sensation startling her, it woke her up. How could her grandma suggest that she go with this strange, icy woman?

‘I’m not going,’ El said. Her voice grew louder. ‘You can’t make me.’

‘El, please–’ Helena said.

Ignoring her, El dropped her handbag and hurried down the hall. She slammed the library door behind her, clutched her arms around her and started to pace the room. Her mother. Her mother was here. How dare she show up after all this time and with hardly a word expect her to go with her.

The remains of a charred log glowed in the hearth. El grabbed a hunk of firewood from the basket and hurled it on top; the disturbed ashes released a cloud of dust. As she went to pick up another piece, pain seared through her finger. In the glow of the fire, she saw the splinter embedded in a cut. Her hands were covered with scrapes that she’d got from the broken screen.

She inhaled deeply and dug her fingernail under her skin. At least in this she was like everyone else. She could still bleed. Her hands shook. The events from earlier were catching up with her. This new shock would send her over the edge. Sitting down, she tried to regain control, drawing her knees up to her chest and tensing her forearms.

When she was a child, her grandma had explained to her that Anna had run away in her late teens, got in with a bad crowd and got pregnant. Other than leaving El to be brought up by her grandparents, Anna had done nothing for her. No contact. Nothing. Until now. She remembered Anna’s words: There’s no