The Spell of Rosette - Kim Falconer [160]
A cloud crossed his face. ‘Rosette’s Nell?’
She nodded. ‘Get your gear.’
‘My guitars?’ he asked, looking under his bunk. ‘Flutes, whistles and pipes?’ He squinted at Nell in the candlelight. ‘It’s a festival performance? I don’t feel much like entertaining. I told him that.’
‘You might change your mind when we get there,’ Nell said, tossing him his cloak. ‘Bring as much as you can carry. Tuning forks, strings, picks, the lot,’ Nell directed, ‘and bring your sword. Do you remember how to use it?’
‘I do.’
He screwed up his face when they got to the portal. ‘Why are we taking so much water?’
‘You’ll see.’
Kreshkali had to slap his face to wake him.
‘What happened?’ Clay asked.
‘You passed out. Feeling better now?’
‘I’m okay.’ He gripped his sword hilt. ‘Who are you?’
‘I thought we went through that.’
‘You sure as demons aren’t Nell.’
‘Aren’t I?’
He got to his feet. ‘Is it a glamour?’
‘Not really. Nell, Kreshkali, take your pick. We’re one and the same, though I’m sticking to this for now.’
‘Kreshkali? You’re the witch that killed Rosette?’
‘Hardly, lad, so take your hand off the sword. An’ Lawrence will explain, if you haven’t worked it out by then.’ She ran her hands through her spiky hair and shouldered the instrument bags. ‘Can you manage those?’
Clay’s face was red. He picked up his guitars and followed her. ‘Where are we?’
‘Earth.’
‘Why?’
‘Ah, here comes the Sword Master. I’m going to let him fill you in on the way.’
An’ Lawrence helped them through the manhole and out into the dark street. Clay listened for a while, his eyes getting wider.
‘Put it this way,’ Kreshkali said, ‘you’re here to teach—to bring music to people who’ve forgotten what it sounds like.’
Clay’s mouth was open, but no words came out.
‘Jarrod safe?’ Kreshkali asked as they crossed the street.
An’ Lawrence nodded.
‘And I trust my daughter’s well?’ she said, handing An’ Lawrence an instrument bag.
‘She’s waiting to see you.’
‘Temper?’
‘I’d say fierce describes it best.’
Clay looked up. ‘Daughter?’
‘You know her, Clay.’
‘I do?’
‘Rosette.’
Clay’s face contorted.
‘Sorry, lad,’ Kreshkali said. ‘We had to let you believe she was dead.’
‘She’s not?’
‘You’ll see for yourself in a moment.’
Tears welled and spilled down his cheeks. He pulled up his hood and spoke no more. They arrived at Kreshkali’s apartment building at sunset, the glowing strip of rose on the horizon signalling the end of the day. The sky turned a dull, starless mud-black as they trudged up the steps, rain pounding the tin overhead.
Rosette opened the door, light flooding the hallway. Jarrod stood from the table, moving to take wet cloaks, instruments and gear. Rosette stepped aside as he ushered them in.
Drayco flicked his tail. Go easy on him, her familiar cautioned. He’s standing on a precipice.
Clay? When she looked up, she met Clay’s eyes. Everyone went silent, staring until they all suddenly busied themselves with tasks.
‘I guess I have some explaining to do,’ she said at last.
Clay stiffened at the sound of her voice. He looked over at the Sword Master, who gave him a nod.
‘I do as well. I haven’t been completely honest, Rosette.’
‘None of us have,’ she answered.
‘You’re not even part Gaelean, are you, Kreshkali?’ An’ Lawrence asked as he walked about her large studio, examining the shelves full of strange books and unfamiliar trinkets. Some he recognised, some he did not. The others were at the kitchen table, talking in hushed voices, a tentative peace working its way out between Rosette, Clay and Jarrod. Zero’s enthusiasm was affecting them all.
‘No, Rowan. I’m not Gaelean.’
‘When did you first come through the portal?’
‘Five years ago, Earth time.’
‘Gaelean time?’
‘Over fifty.’
She tossed him a box of matches and nodded for him to light the candles. They settled in amongst the pillows and futon at the far end of the studio.
‘So, what’s your plan, Kali?’ he asked, stretching out next to her.
She smiled. ‘I plan to save the world.’
‘And how do I fit in exactly?’
‘You mean once we bring down ASSIST?’
‘That’ll do for a start.