Bloodfire (Blood Destiny 1) - Helen Harper Page 0,4

when Tom, my sparring buddy, bounced up to me. His tortoiseshell hair glinted in the fading daylight and his smile matched his sunny appearance. “Hey Red! Where have you been all day? And what is that awful smell? Have you been digging up old graves again?”

“Out for a run, then I helped John do some investigating in the forest. I found this on my way.” I pointed at the cloth from where the offending reek was coming from. He couldn’t help himself from leaning over closer and inhaling deeply, before recoiling away from me in disgust. Tom was the kind of guy who’d fart under the duvet then be compelled to lift up the cover to sniff.

“Eeugh! Let me guess, you were down a rabid rabbit hole and came across the shroud of Bugs Bunny?”

Clearly, my recent exploits had not gone without comment across the pack. I considered telling him the truth but figured that if John hadn’t mentioned it to the others yet then it was probably not my place to say. “Something like that,” I said dismissively, waving a hand airily in front of me. Tom shrugged and grinned, moving around to my non-death cloth wrapped side and placing an easy arm across my shoulder.

We walked companionably towards the large grey castle like building. Even after living here for years, I still felt a little thrill whenever I saw it looming towards me. Cornwall’s history was steeped in Celtic myths and rumour had it that our keep was built on the ruin of a centuries old Celtic castle. It certainly wasn’t a fairy tale castle with turrets and steeples, but its solid squatness was both welcoming and reassuring. The grand oak gate at its entrance bore marks of various violent fights and incursions from the past, either from the shifters who’d lived there in years gone by, or from even earlier inhabitants than them, and the rippling imperfections in the various visible glass windows hinted at its lack of modernity. Behind the keep, out of sight, was Julia’s little herb garden which she used to grow any manner of weeds with which to feed her various concoctions, whilst in front lay a long drive covered in pale pink shale which had the unnerving habit of jumping up by themselves and chipping a long line of visitors’ gleaming car paint. Regardless of anything, however, it was my home and I loved it.

Julia was just inside the door when we entered, pinning something up onto the noticeboard. She was a tiny woman with grey hair, slightly older than John and a whole lot scarier. She’d lived with the Cornwall pack for her entire life and treated everyone as if they were naughty children. She fixed me with a death stare. “Mackenzie Smith, don’t you dare come into the keep with that…thing. It smells like Hades.”

I lightly touched the cloth on my shoulder without thinking and then recoiled slightly at the shudder its touch gave me. “I need to show it to John,” I protested.

“I don’t care. It is not entering this building and defiling our living space. Besides, John has already gone out.” She sniffed delicately and continued to glare at me until I rolled my eyes in acquiescence and began to back out.

To be fair to her, despite the keep’s vaguely menacing appearance outside and shabby interior within, it was well-kept with a seemingly ever-lasting lemon fresh smell. I had long suspected that she hired brownies to clean it at nights, but had never been able to catch any of them to prove it. Tom almost ran up the stairs out of her way whilst I flounced outside and headed for an unused shed beside the north face of the keep, tying it securely to a post inside before stomping ungratefully back in. She was waiting for me in the hall.

“When will he back?” What I really wanted to know was whether he’d called he Brethren yet and if they were really coming to our little corner to investigate.

“He said he’d be some time dear, but that he’d probably return by supper.”

I scowled in annoyance. Now that I’d removed the evil smelling object from her notice, she’d reverted to calling me dear again. Julia called everyone dear. I knew she wasn’t trying to be patronising but any endearments of any sort wound me up. Duck, hen, chick, even Red as Tom insisted on calling me, all annoyed me. Mack was fine. If you were Julia or John, you could