Starblood (The Starblood Trilogy) (7 page)

Opening the fridge, she looks through bags of salads, tubs of hummus and a bowl of lentil salad until she finds a bar of chocolate hiding near the back. She grabs it and a half empty bottle of milk and pushes the door closed. The fridge exhales as rubber seal hits rubber seal. She replies with a sigh.

Tea in one hand and chocolate bar in the other, she returns to the living room. She puts the confectionery down first and hunts for a coaster. Spotting one beside the television, she grabs it. Peter Murphy pouts from the black and white image as she covers him with the hot cup.

Shiny contestants with plastic smiles hover on the screen. She flicks through the channels then turns the television off again. Silence. She reaches for another remote control and switches on the stereo. The music is gentle. It must be Donna’s. After checking her phone again she snaps the chocolate into segments and opens the foil packet. She lets the pieces melt in her mouth as she sips her tea.

The sound of a key in the front door wakes her and she realises she is still cradling her mug. There is no message from Steve. When she tries to call again his number remains unavailable. That evening Donna and Raven move around her like ghosts. She hardly notices them. Questions hang in the air unanswered. When they head for their beds Donna covers Sarah with a blanket.

The following morning at eleven o’clock she makes herself a pot noodle for lunch. Resisting the temptation to curl up again on the sofa, she fetches her artist’s supplies: a wooden box of acrylic paints. Her Muse is hiding and, after thirty minutes, she packs it all away again, without making a single mark. Pushing the supplies back under her bed, she pulls out a small black box. Inside is a packet of razor blades. The steel calls to her. Reaching for a new blade, she smiles. She lifts her skirt, baring her pale thighs and makes her marks. The steel is cold as it bites into her flesh. Teeth clamped against her bottom lip, she shivers. Her canvas is threaded with red and pain is her art. Her pulse quickens. The sting cleanses her. All other pain is forgotten and for a few moments she is free.

She decides to go back to Paul’s house. After pressing the buzzer she waits for what seems like an eternity. Then finally the gate opens and she trudges up to the door. Paul stands blocking the entrance. He is wrapped in a silk dressing gown.

‘I was in the shower,’ he says.

The ridiculousness of Paul’s explanation silences her. His hair is dry and his body stinks. He repulses her, and the idea of him touching Steve makes her body shake and her stomach burn. Anger bubbles and a red mist sweeps across her eyes, breathing deeply through clenched teeth she wills the worst of her anger away, until at last she feels able to speak.

‘Can I see Steve, please?’ she asks.

‘Of course, he’s just … practising. He’ll be right down. Would you … like to come inside,’ he asks, motioning the hallway with a dramatic sweep of his arm.

‘Thanks,’ she mutters.

Steve descends the large staircase like a debutante. His hand strokes the polished wood banister and his steps are carefully measured. Sarah doesn’t know whether to laugh at him or cry with relief. She does neither. Impatient for him to reach the bottom she rushes forwards.

‘How are you? I tried to phone. Your mobile must be switched off. Have you found anything? Are you ready to come home yet? You look strange. Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ he answers, but his eyes look glazed. She wonders whether he’s been sleeping.

‘Have you found anything yet? Any way to stop
her
?’ She emphasises the word, challenging Paul.

‘I think I’ve almost got it,’ Steve answers. Each word is spoken like a yawn. Sarah is worried he might fall over. She reaches for his elbow to support him. He weighs nothing and for a moment Sarah imagines her hand passing straight through his arm. His insubstantiality terrifies her.
Is this what I really want – to lose him?

‘You’re not eating,’ she says. ‘When will you come home?’

He shakes his head in silence. She turns and looks to Paul instead.

‘When will he come home?’ she asks Paul.

‘When he’s ready. He needs to be prepared,’ Paul answers.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ she asks.

‘He’s perfectly okay. The magic just takes its toll. He’ll go back to being the Satori we know and
love
as soon as it’s all over. Now did you need something? Only he really should get back to work.’

She turns back to Steve. Staring into his eyes she sees mist rather than granite in their greyness.

‘Come and sit down. Talk to me Steve … Satori. Tell me all that I’ve missed.’

‘He really doesn’t have time, darling,’ Paul answers.

She silences Paul with a cold stare. He looks frightened of her, although she cannot understand why.

‘I’ll help you,’ she whispers in Steve’s ear. ‘Tell me what to do.’

‘Thank you,’ Steve answers, his fragile voice barely audible. ‘I don’t know what you can do yet. Not until … ’

‘Until what? Tell me.’ She feels the familiar bubbling in her mind.
Until I believe.
‘I understand. I want to help you though. Do you need anything from home?’

Steve shakes his head.

‘We’ve got everything we need, thanks,’ Paul answers for him. His low voice growls as though speaking through clenched teeth.

Star can feel his impatience. She feels expelled from this place, this time, these people. Hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and her skin prickles.
I shouldn’t be here. I’m making a fool of myself again. Walk away. Let them have their time together.

‘Just turn your phone back on, okay? In case I need you, please,’ she asks.
I love you.
Those three words shoulder their way into her thoughts. She concentrates on each syllable. A smile flickers across Steve’s lips and she wonders if he understands.

‘I’m sorry, Star. You really should leave now,’ insists Paul.

She fights back the desire to leap at Paul’s smug face and tear at his skin with her nails. Without saying a word, she walks towards the door, hoping that Steve will remember his phone.

Chapter 9

Satori watches as Star leaves.
Why can’t I speak to her, tell her the research is complex and I’d be better off with fewer distractions?
Paul is always there, lavishing attention on him. An altogether more intimate quest threatens to eclipse Satori’s search for a way to stop Lilith. Star’s departure feels like a final goodbye.
Why can’t I just tell her how much I love her – need her? If she asks me, I’ll promise to give it all up, marry her and never look back.

He turns, planning to look for his jacket and turn on his phone but Paul catches him around his waist before he takes four steps towards the cloakroom. The older man’s strong arms hold him firmly but tenderly as his breath gets closer and closer to Satori’s throat. He hears Paul’s shallow breathing in his ear.

‘You’re better off without her,’ Paul whispers. ‘She’ll only try to stop you.’

Satori doesn’t answer. The man’s sandpaper skin brushes his neck. He closes his eyes and lets his body sway forwards and backwards. The movement disorientates him. He wonders whether he will lose his balance completely and fall to the floor. Will he fall forwards or backwards or will Paul catch him? His head feels unbearably heavy and his arms hang like lead weights from his shoulders. Even opening his eyes requires too great an effort. Instead, he allows himself to be guided back upstairs.

In the bedroom Paul loosens his silk belt and lets his robe fall open. Satori looks at the man’s body. His chest is wiry and hairless. Its two nipples are so pale they are hardly visible except for the rings hanging from each of them. Memories of Star’s beautiful breasts, small and high with dark pink nipples, which used to point upwards when he teased them, fill his head, and he licks his lips. Then, as his thoughts return to the present, he realises Paul has taken this to signal approval. The man’s silk boxer shorts are already tented with excitement.

Hovering by Paul’s bedroom door Satori feels the rapid beating of his own heart. Adrenaline makes his stomach churn.
Fight or flight?
On the other hand he likes Paul, and he finds the older man’s company stimulating. He doesn’t want to lose the friendship. Paul moves closer. Like a geisha, he inches towards Satori.
Fight, flight or fuck?
Any homoerotic fantasies would always be with a man his own age: a beautiful, tentative, gothic man, a mirror image, with long black hair, ivory skin and kohl-rimmed eyes. Not an old, frail man. Not this man. Whispering a few words beneath his breath, he holds the man in stasis. He narrows his eyes and concentrates on Paul’s motionless body. In spite of his age and claims to a weak heart Paul looks strong and vibrant. Time stands still as the men face each other. Like a breath held too long, watching Paul makes Satori’s body shake. Something inside him is bursting to be released, burning him, begging him to let go.
Fuck.
He already knows this moment, this potentiality, is more exciting than the actuality could ever be. This desire is physical, not spiritual, and for just one second he feels like crying. The wave of sadness passes through him, and the promise of Paul’s body draws his attention once more.

Satori’s imagination paints pictures on the other man’s skin. At first only symbols burning on the pale flesh, then Paul’s arms become great tree trunks topped with silver foliage and faeries dance across his stomach. Pan stretches out to him from Paul’s chest. The fawn’s lascivious smile invites Satori to join the dance. The images fade and Paul’s body glows as a golden aura traces its path around his form.

He releases Paul who advances once more and still Satori has no idea whether he wants this. He tries to shrug and smile, but Paul is too close to sense any dismissal. Satori’s lips are pressed by the fleshy mouth of his friend. His tongue is tickled then covered by another tongue. Then his mouth is full of heat and saliva. He finds himself hardening, responding in kind to the passion pushing inside him. He grasps Paul’s shoulders and pulls him closer. His own tongue explores the other man’s mouth, two muscles expanding and contracting, stroking each other and moving blindly outwith their warm, cavernous homes. His hands move down Paul’s back. His fingers grasp buttocks and he pulls them towards him, pressing himself eagerly against Paul’s cock. Then he moves backwards. Paul guides him towards the bed. He no longer judges the man by his age or beauty. He wants to know him, all of him.
What are looks when eyes are too close to focus? What is youth when skin is willing and able to please?
Paul’s scent is intoxicating. All Satori can concentrate on is that smell of sweet musk and a growing need to be inside. His penis aches, wanting to be touched, and Paul’s fingers, when they close around it, do not disappoint.

Chapter 10

‘Thanks for inviting me,’ Sarah says. Her eyes shine and her smile seems irrepressible.

For a moment Donna just watches her new friend in silence. Then they hurry along the road again. She wonders why she cannot find the right words. After all, Sarah is the reason she is going to this party in the first place. The exciting friend she met just one week ago at the train station.

Sarah is twenty years old and in her final year at University.
Why didn’t I meet her earlier?
‘It’s just a party,’ Donna manages at last. ‘I don’t know whether you’ll even like Raven. She’s a bit … ’

‘A bit what?’ Sarah stops walking and stares into Donna’s eyes.

For the hundredth time this evening Donna feels her words melt away. She shakes her head and shrugs at Sarah’s confusion.

‘What?’ Sarah presses.

‘W-w-well Raven is very Gothic.’ She smiles in relief, having successfully finished the sentence, then notices Sarah’s frown.

‘So? Isn’t that why we’re going to her party in the first place? Aren’t we a bit Gothic too? At Uni they always call me Ms Le Freak.’

Donna pushes her long fringe out of her eyes and looks again at Sarah. How could anyone consider this girl a freak? She looks like Lizzie Siddell. She is the most beautiful woman Donna has ever met. She only wishes she could know whether Sarah feels anything more than friendship towards her.

‘Um, yeah, I suppose so. You’ll see when we get there. You can make up your own mind about her, I guess.’

‘I can hardly wait. Oh my god, we’re so late. Why did I take so long to choose my outfit?’ Sarah nudges Donna’s elbow and marches ahead.

‘Don’t worry. It’s fine,’ Donna says, hurrying to catch up. ‘The party’s only
from
nine, it’ll go on all night.’

‘Donna,’ a male voice shouts from across the street.

Donna feels cold; she knows that voice. Feigning deafness she walks faster.

Sarah tugs at her shoulder. ‘I think someone’s calling you,’ she whispers. Then Sarah’s hand is gone and Donna feels the tug of her presence far behind. She stops walking and glances over her shoulder. Sarah waits on the pavement, ten paces back, eyes fixed on the man who hurries across the street towards her.

Donna walks back towards her friend. With each step her throat tightens. As those grey eyes turn towards her she wants to flee, but her feet are rooted here. She cannot leave Sarah alone.

‘Hi,’ the young man says. ‘Couldn’t you hear me call you, Donna?’ His cruel smile seems to revel in her discomfort.

Donna looks towards Sarah. If she expected Sarah’s skin to crawl in the presence of this creature she was wrong. Sarah is smiling. Her pupils wide open soaking up the vision of this terrifying man.
Why doesn’t Sarah look at me like that?
Donna blinks hard. She must not cry.

‘Donna,’ he says, nodding. ‘And you are?’ he asks, looking at Sarah’s open face.

‘S-s-sarah,’ she stammers.

‘If you’re heading towards Raven’s I’ll walk with you,’ he tells them.

Neither of the women argues. What can Donna say and who would listen? She knows Sarah is already lost to her.
Why did we walk this way? We should have cut across the park. The attack was years ago and yet women, especially Gothic women, still don’t walk there.
She wants to say something, divert Sarah’s attention for a while, but what can she say? Everything she ever thought to utter to her friend is already said in her eagerness to speak, to listen, to engage Sarah’s attention. It’s all empty now. Her words have left her and, in their place, a painful lump rests just below her voice box.