Unmaking Percy

Part II - II, continued (The Hushing Manor)

Percy crossed the wrought iron gate. A few steps along the gravel path, he turned back to look at the busy city street beyond the garden wall. No one ever looked at him or at the house. Lights flared everywhere as the night settled, in windows and street lamps and passing carriages. People walked with empty purpose. He had never known that a busy street could be so ruthless. But where he stood, past that rock wall covered in ivy, it smelled of stillness and dew, and an earth-deep quiet spread its roots all over the garden.

Percy looked at a cluster of gardenias and rhododendrons to his right. Three dishevelled heads stuck out of a dishevelled shrub. Valeria nodded at him before they retreated back into the leaves. Somehow it didn't make him feel much safer.

He walked over to one of the rose bushes, hesitated between a red and a white, and went for a white. He would sooner wave something white rather than red in front of an enraged beast. Unless the colours had some bearing on what would happen to him? Maybe the girl hadn't been torn to pieces because she'd picked a red rose. He raised his hand, about to slap himself as he always did when he felt his own thoughts lock him into place, but stopped when he remembered the three heads watching on.

The small handwritten cards at the foot of the bushes caught his eye. He leaned down to read one of them. "Opening Gala of the Theatre Royal", followed by a date. And the card next to it, "Spring Charity Concert", and another date. The scent of the red roses touched its velvet hand to his cheek.

Another quick glance at the crowded shrub, and then in the opposite direction, at the door of the manor. He was ashamed of how scared he was. He missed home now. A sudden burst of anger at himself took hold of his hand, and forced his fingers around a rose stem, snapping it off.

A roar rushed him with unrelenting might. It pushed him to the ground and scraped his cheek on the rough gravel. In an instant, he scrambled to his knees, feeling his breath burn his lungs in a blazing panic. He looked hazy-eyed at the front door of the manor, but saw nothing and no one. A trembling leg hoisted him up into a half-standing, half-crouching, fully-faltering position. Out of nowhere, two inescapably strong arms wrapped around him and lifted him up. His feet left the ground, his vision left him, and his body slumped into sudden slumber.

Percy had fainted before. He knew how it went. This was perhaps the closest he had ever got to feeling unashamed of his reasons for fainting. The first time had involved a mounted swordfish; the second time, an accidental and ignominious collision with a cart full of geese; so this was a remarkable improvement.

He felt the first stirrings of wakefulness creep over him. He resented it, and the throbbing headache it brought, but at least he seemed to be lying on something comfortable.

"... come here of all places. This was my turf."

He opened his eyes.

And saw nothing but another pair of eyes staring at him, into him, mere inches from his face. A little gasp squeaked out of him.

The pair of green eyes belonged to an attractive girl about his age, with a heart-shaped face and a heart-shaped mouth. Her wavy brown hair had a creamy richness to it, nothing, Percy thought uselessly, like the tired straw brown of Myrtle's hair.

She stared at him still, unfazed as he flinched and backed away from her. He was in a palatial bedroom, with red brocade wallpaper and a high, gold-trimmed white ceiling. In fact, everywhere and everything had golden frills, busying themselves over every surface and giving the room a jewel-like sparkle. He was lying on an ample four poster bed with golden vines wrapped around them. A fireplace facing the bed roared with avid intensity.