Blood of the Devil

Chapter 11 - Curiosity Killed the Cat

Trudging up the staircase, Letha’s brow was furrowed. She still had Mickey’s school jacket slung across her shoulders, but her house was colder than outside, and she needed to change. Pausing at Hadrian’s door, she kicked her shoes off, knocking lightly.

“Come in.”

Letha opened the door, leaning inside but not entering. She nodded at her brother.

“Just wanted to let you know that by gradually revealing every one of my retreats to the boy, you are slowly ruining my life,” she muttered huskily.

Hadrian was sitting at his desk, pen in hand, but as he scrawled the end to a sentence, he leant back to raise an eyebrow at his sister.

“As if,” He grinned, “Your life was screwed way before me.”

Letha frowned at him, “I’m cold and wet, so I’m going to change. Enjoy your homework.”

Rubbing her arms at her sides furiously, Letha was about to close the door as her brother called out.

“Hey Letha?”

Sticking her head back into the room, Letha shivered at her brother, “What?”

“Whose jacket?” Hadrian asked innocently, a soft smile on his face.

“I hope you choke on a history fact,” she spat.

Again as she pulled out of the room, Hadrian called her back.

“What?” she snapped, her lips a pale blue.

Hadrian held up his history workbook at the page she’d scribbled on the night before. Six red ticks were doodled in the margin. Her brother smiled.

“Thank you Letha.”

Storming from his room, Letha grumbled, “Yeah, yeah.”

She collapsed on her bed, peeling off her socks and shoving her feet into some ragged slippers. Letha grabbed a pair of trackpants and tugged them on, debating whether or not to get another jumper. Tugging at the cuffs of the blazer, she realised she was loath to remove it, at which point she threw herself out of it. Leaving it strewn on the bed, Letha grabbed a thick sweater from her draw.

Standing in the middle of the room, her worn clothes discarded on the floor, Letha paused. She couldn’t hear any voices, any signs of life within the house, except for the dull scratching of her brother’s pen that echoed through their open doors. Dragging a hand across her forehead, Letha’s chest warmed with relief.

“Spring roll tuck pike.”

Her hand moving to her eyes, Letha turned slowly. The spirit was standing in her doorway, glowing gently, and when their eyes met, she gestured furiously to the hallway.

“Spring roll tuck pike, flip spring land,” she urged.

Letha took a deep breath, “I hate your vocabulary,” she scowled, “just saying.”

With a dirty look Letha’s way, the gymnast slipped into the corridor. Scowling, she followed. After glancing over her shoulder to check Letha was there, the German wandered down the hallway. The light outside their rooms dared not venture this far into the shadows, and soon the girl was trailing in the ghost’s glow, arms out cautiously. Stepping lightly, Letha mentally cursed the spirit. Below her, her father’s and uncle’s rooms were laid out, a labyrinth she had never dared investigate and in the twelve months they had been here, she had never come this far down the corridor. She came home after school, whether or not she attended, survived the night, and left as early as possible the next day.