Ofelia (The Book of Davoth 1) Page 5

  By the end of the trip, Rita was pulling into the car park and Ofelia had a small suitcase full of new clothes, plus a coat, a purse and a cheap mobile phone. Gavin let them in as before. Ofelia waited patiently in the corridor listening to Rita and Gavin’s conversation.

  ‘Right, she’s all kitted up now. Have you contacted the school?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gavin, ‘Molly’s on from tomorrow morning, but I’ll leave a note in her file. Do you want to go over her placement plan before you go?’

  Rita shook her head. ‘No. We’d better wait for confirmation that she’s been accepted as British, but we should have that by the end of the week. Mid next week at the latest.’

  ‘Alright, so?’

  ‘I can pop in tomorrow to see how she’s settled in at school.’ Rita turned to Ofelia, ‘Right, I’m off now. I’ll leave you in Mr. Brady’s capable hands. See you tomorrow. Okay?’

  Ofelia forced an uneasy smile. ‘Thank you.’

  She watched Rita go and heard the door click shut ominously behind her. Gavin picked up her bag. ‘Ofelia, do you want me to introduce you to the others now?’

  She shook her head nervously and took her suitcase off him. ‘No. Let me drop my things off in my room first.’

  ‘Right, okay. Are you sure you don’t want a hand? Are you thirsty? I can make you a drink.’

  ‘I’m fine. Yes, I would like black coffee.’ Ofelia stated.

  Gavin stared, open-mouthed. ‘Black coffee?’

  ‘No milk, no sugar - nice and strong.’

  ‘You know I wouldn’t normally allow kids coffee.’ Gavin admitted.

  Ofelia stared at him, her eyes widening. ‘No coffee? But I live on coffee! I’ve been drinking it for centuries! You can’t-’

  He eyed her with suspicion for a split-second. He’d heard what she’d blurted out, but dismissed it immediately as a figure of speech. His face sagged. ‘Okay, you can have coffee. I don’t know how long you’ve been drinking it for in Romania, but it isn’t healthy. I’ll make you a coffee now. But I want you to try decaf. Alright?’

  Ofelia rolled her eyes petulantly, ‘Fine.’

  She suspected her cursed blood would negate any ill effects from caffeine. She actually thought her regular craving for the drink was more psychological than physical. Switching to decaffeinated coffee would be an interesting experiment. If she felt no worse off after changing, well - that would confirm her suspicions. She grabbed her small suitcase and lugged it up the two flights of stairs to her attic room. She didn’t bother unpacking, but slung the bag on the bed and jogged back down. Gavin was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs offering a mug. ‘Here, let me introduce you to the gang.’

  Part of her wanted to refuse and retreat to her room. Being introduced to a bunch of kids and having to tolerate them treating her as a peer was not an appealing thought. However, in order to keep up the charade, she’d have to meet them at some point. Better now than later.

  School bags were piled up by the door, and three blazers were scattered about the living room, two plum, and a larger mustard one with black piping. A pasty white youth with short curly hair was lying on the sofa, his feet up and an Xbox controller in his hands. His clip-on school tie was lying on the floor and he’d unbuttoned the top four buttons of his shirt. On one of the two-seater sofas two girls sat. Both looked a little younger than Ofelia. The boy lay glued to the screen, frantically mashing the buttons on his controller, lost in another world thanks to the headphones he was wearing. The girls were watching a programme on an iPad, but they paused it as soon as Gavin entered. The older looking of the two had long dark hair and olive skin. The younger was milk white, but covered in freckles and crowned with a mop of copper coloured hair. Gavin gestured towards Ofelia. ‘Guys, this is Ofelia. She joined us this afternoon, and it looks like she’ll be with us for a while. Can I leave you to introduce yourselves?’

  The dark-haired girl smiled at him. ‘Sure!’

  As Gavin turned to leave, Ofelia sat in an armchair and sipped her coffee. The olive-skinned girl began the introductions. ‘Hi, I’m Lucy. I’ve been here almost a year now. This is Kerry from Kerry.’

  The red-haired girl scowled at her and snapped. ‘I’m from Belfast!’ her Irish accent confirming her origins. Before Lucy could continue, Kerry took over and pointed to the youth playing on the console. ‘And that fat eejit hogging the telly is Stoney.’

  Ofelia raised an eyebrow. The others were slouched on their chairs in varying degrees of slovenliness, but Ofelia sat prim and proper. ‘Stoney?’

  Lucy chuckled at this, ‘Well it’s Tony, but he always stinks of pot. He’s alright as long as you don’t have to stand too close to him.’

  Tony, who’d noticed the new occupant, and pulled an earphone off yelled at her, ‘Hoi! I heard that!’

  Lucy shrugged. ‘It’s true though.’

  Tony paused his game and pulled off his headphones. He was stocky, but his height suggested his age as somewhere between child and adult. Ofelia guessed between thirteen and fifteen. He leaned closer and tried to put a mean face on. ‘Right, well. I’m the oldest so I’m charge of this house. I get first dibs on the telly and when you start getting your allowance, you give me half or-’

  Ofelia smiled and leaned forwards. ‘Or what? You can keep your stupid kiddy games and TV. I’m not interested, but ask me for money or threaten me again - I break both your arms. I think maybe it’s time Lucy or Kerry chose what to watch?’

  Tony went white. This wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. ‘Jesus! Can’t you take a joke! God. That was a wind up! Don’t you have wind-ups wherever you come from?’

  ‘He tried it on me when I started.’ Interrupted Lucy.

  Ofelia shrugged. ‘Yes, we do, but they are generally better than that.’

  Tony chuckled. ‘Hah! Break both my arms? You and whose army?’

  ‘I don’t need army to break your arms. I’ll tell you what. Do you know arm-wrestling? I arm-wrestle you. You win - I will give you my next week’s allowance. You lose - you give me yours?’

  Tony eyed her up and down properly for the first time. She was paler than anyone he’d ever met, almost translucent. She also looked thin, and small in general. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘My passport says eleven. I don’t know exactly how old I am though - it’s fake.’

  ‘Is this some kind of joke or something?’ Tony stammered.

  Ofelia swept her hair over her shoulder and placed her right elbow on the coffee table. ‘No joke. For next week’s allowance?’

  Somewhere, deep in his soul, alarm bells were ringing. It was that sensation you experienced when someone was trying to con you, and you almost wanted to be conned, just to learn what the con was. It was that nagging sensation that if something is too good to be true - it probably is. His rational mind won out though. The promise of double-allowance for the next week was alluring. He looked at her again. He felt mad to doubt himself. How could he lose? Slowly he placed his elbow opposite and cradled her slender hand between his stubby fingers. ‘Okay? Ready - go!’

  There wasn’t much time to prepare, but Ofelia didn’t need it. She watched him grip and throw his shoulder in once, twice, three times. ‘Have we started yet? Can I push?’

  She showed no sign of exertion. Tony gaped, while Ofelia smacked the knuckles of his hand down and held them in place, pinning his hand down and almost over-balancing him. She didn’t release her grip. She just watched him struggling and struggling, eventually reaching over and trying to use his other hand to free his trapped one. ‘Can I let you go? You accept I win?’

  As she spoke she gripped harder, crushing his hand a little. He yelped in pain. ‘Alright! Yeah, you win! Jesus! How d’you do that?’

  She released his hand and smiled. ‘I work out a lot. Remember; you owe me your allowance. If you forget and spend it - then I break both your arms.’

  Tony shook his hand off and leaned back in a sulk. ‘Jesus, there’s no need to be like that.
Where are you from anyway?’

  ‘I’m British, but I grew up in Transylvania. But look. I don’t expect to be here long. I’m not really interested in any of you. I suggest we have deal. I leave you alone - you leave me alone? Is good?’ Ofelia said, looking for their approval.

  Tony was still rubbing his hands. ‘Suits me. Weirdo.’

  The girls didn’t seem so enthusiastic about this arrangement. They’d perhaps been excited at the prospect of another potential friend joining the household. However, they’d been in awe at Ofelia’s display of strength. It almost hadn’t looked real, but Tony’s facial expression had strongly suggested it was real. He returned to his game, putting the headphones on and picking up his controller. Lucy turned back to Ofelia. ‘Would you like to see the garden?’

  Ofelia shook her head. ‘No, I prefer to stay indoors. Sunlight doesn’t agree with me.’

  Kerry chuckled at this. ‘Nah, me neither. But you’ll forgive me for saying: You’re super strong, you hate sunlight and you’re from Transylvania. Are you Dracula’s great granddaughter or something?’

  Ofelia smiled at this. ‘No. I leave you to watch your program yes? If you ever have any trouble with “Stoney”, you tell me? I sort him out. Also do you have any books here? I want to read.’

  Lucy thought for a moment. ‘Well, there are a load of old paperbacks on the bookcase in the hall. Under the stairs? Oh, and there are loads of books in the charity shop just down the road. They’re dirt cheap.’

  ‘I am not allowed out. They think I’m planning to... What did she say? Abscond.’

  Kerry smirked at this, ‘Well are yer plannin’ ter run off?’

  Ofelia thought for a moment, despite her anxiety, she was actually finding the company of these kids refreshing; perhaps because they took her seriously and treated her like an equal. The various adults whom she’d been passed between had led her into feeling like a commodity to be traded or an inconvenience to be dealt with. Yes, they’d been kind, but the kindness had come across as condescending. Looking after and helping her was their job, but they all had a life and home to go to when they weren’t working. For these girls, the home was their life. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe if I get the chance and the time is right?’

  Lucy piped up now. ‘You know it’s not that bad here. Stoney is annoying as hell at times, but it’d be tough on the streets. This isn’t exactly “The Dumping Ground” and I’m not Tracy Beaker, but it’s okay. We get food, money and somewhere to sleep.’

  Ofelia looked puzzled. ‘Who is Tracy Beak Her?’

  Lucy laughed. ‘Oh god, you grew up in Transylvania! You’ll have no idea! It doesn’t matter. It’s just a stupid program that used to be on.’

  Kerry leaned forwards now. ‘What’re y’in for anyhow?’

  Ofelia frowned. ‘I thought this was not prison?’

  Lucy leaned back on the sofa and put her hands behind her head. ‘Well let’s see. You get a private cell, food provided and you’re made to work. We can go, but there’s a curfew. I reckon that sounds pretty much like an open prison. Except we don’t have a uniform.’

  Ofelia laughed at this. ‘Hah! You are allowed to leave! I’m not. Unless I’m ‘supervised’ so maybe for you it’s like the “open” prison. For me it’s like full prison. Except the uniform.’

  ‘You’ll get yer uniform tomorrow,’ interrupted Kerry, ‘I think you’ll be going to the same school as Stoney over there. We’re both still at Primary.’

  Ofelia stood at this. ‘I leave you to it. I go find something to read, then go upstairs. See you both later.’

  ‘You never told us what you’re in for?’ Lucy pleaded.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Ofelia asked.

  ‘Well, I was orphaned around a year ago. Had no other family, so I went into care.’

  Kerry joined in now, while Tony paused and removed his earphones. ‘I’ve no idea who m’da is. Mum’s an alky though and couldn’t even look after herself, let alone me. No family; so took into care. Been stuck here five years.’

  Tony piped up now. Rattling his story off nonchalantly while swirling his hand. ‘Parents were junkies, ran away from home. Lived on the streets for a few months - begging. Got picked up by the coppers, put into care. Been here about two years.’

  All eyes were on Ofelia now. ‘I am a near-six hundred-year-old vampire, personally responsible for wiping out the entire vampire population of Europe. I’d come to England to try to “stop” being a vampire, but the stone where I’m supposed to perform the ritual is missing and my copy of the details of the required ritual are missing or have been stolen. I was in a car crash, faked my way into “being British” so I could stay in England and complete the ritual once I have the instructions and I know where the stone is. I never age, I’m incredibly difficult to hurt, except being in direct sunlight unprotected seriously hurts me and I need to regularly feed on human blood. I’ve been here for less than a day.’

  Her quick appraisal of what she’d say if she was being honest, fluttered through her head in Romanian. Of course she couldn’t say that. She sighed. ‘I’m Ofelia, an orphan. My half-brother Stefan was trying to help me meet my mother after my father died. But she never showed up. He crash the car and get himself killed. I spend a night in hospital, they put me here while a court try to work out if I stay in England or go back to Romania. I think they keep me here, but I’m beginning to think maybe I’d be better going back.’

  In reality none of their stories sounded particularly heart-warming. They’d all had a rough ride. There was something nice about it being out in the open though. Of course, Ofelia’s story was just a facade. The fact was, her real name wasn’t even Ofelia, but she’d been using it for so long she’d come to think of it as her own. Ofelia smiled at them, ‘I think I’d better go back to my cell.’

  Before she could leave, Gavin opened the door. ‘Right, are you all acquainted? Dinner’s on the table. Come on. It’s pizza.’

  The children pulled themselves out of their seats to a chorus of disgruntled moans and traipsed through into the kitchen. In the kitchen, Gavin pulled Ofelia to one side and pointed to a list of timetables fixed to the fridge with magnets. ‘Ofelia, we run a rota here for cleaning up. All your days are here. I’ve arranged it so you get a couple of days to settle in before it’s your turn. You always clean in pairs so whoever you’re with can show what needs doing. Okay?’

  Ofelia nodded and sat at the table. Two supermarket pizzas were shared out and they ate in silence. They tasted like cardboard with sauce on, but the food was welcome. One was a pepperoni too, which was good. Keeping a good amount of meat in her diet had proven to be good for Ofelia’s altered physiology.

  Afterwards, the others returned to the lounge and Ofelia chose some books to take to her room. There wasn’t much choice. They were mainly kids’ books. In the end she settled for ‘The Hobbit’, the first Harry Potter book and ‘The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe’. She’d heard of these books but never read any of them. She wondered if reading some kids’ books might help her understand the mentality of British kids and make them easier to get along with. The thought of trying to act like a kid didn’t appeal, but trying to integrate had to be better than the alternative. When she got to her room, the first thing she did was examine the window. It had a single bar halfway along the frame, which prevented it being opened more than a couple of inches. There was a huge drop below, anyway. Even the drainpipe looked barely within reach. It looked like if she was to escape Harper House it would have to be through the front door. Perhaps ‘absconding’ as they called it, would be easier from school?

  Feeling frustrated and trapped she slumped onto her bed and began to read. It’d been dusk when they’d eaten dinner. Before long Gavin’s voice echoed up the stairs. ‘Lights out everyone! Time for sleep. Don’t forget to do your teeth!’

  Ofelia chuckled. She’d been given a ‘toiletries’ allowance on top of everything else. Gathering the wash bag from her suitcase, she entered the
en-suite and flicked the light on. She stared into the mirror and raised her brush. Tensing up for a second and shallowing her breathing, she focused. Slowly, her canines elongated and sharpened. Tiny drops of black liquid began to pool on the tips. With her fangs protruding she brushed thoroughly. Once she’d done, she relaxed and felt the strange sensation of her dagger-like teeth retreating into her gums. Yes, she was no closer to achieving her goals. But tomorrow was another day, and she had to sleep better here than in a hospital bed hooked up to monitors. She flicked the lights off and climbed into bed.

  Chapter 7 – A Restless Night

  Ofelia found herself standing in the rain, in the middle of a medieval street. She looked up and saw the Black Church of Brasov under construction. Only this was before the fire that caused it to be dubbed ‘The Black Church’. It was before they’d even finished it. She felt warmth within her veins, everything felt more real. She felt more alive. From the church came a blood-curdling scream, followed by a dull thud. This - she remembered and her heart sank. At this point she felt a man’s hand tug her forwards. She glanced up and saw her father frowning at her. His grey beard was neatly trimmed, but still covered most of his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but as he did, a solitary line of forked lightning flashed and struck him. She let go in horror and watched him collapse into a pile of charred bones. This hadn’t happened. Everything was wrong. But why? What did this mean?

  As realisation dawned, the scene changed. Suddenly she was in a cold, dark, stone cell. One wall was made up of criss-crossed iron bars, tightly spaced enough to make it impossible to slip more than an arm through. She remembered this place. It’d been a long time ago. As she pondered this, a pale woman in a flowing blue dress entered the corridor beyond the cell. She unclipped her deep-blue, velvet cloak and hung it opposite the cell. Then she pulled up a little three-legged stool close to the bars and sat. When she spoke, she spoke in Romanian. ‘Ah, little bird. Simion wanted you to be the centrepiece of tonight’s feast. You were going to end up spit-roasted like a hog, then presented on a grand platter with an apple in your mouth. He’s come up with something much crueller though. So cruel, it’s even more delicious than you would have been. A shame perhaps, but it means I can feed on you again. I will miss the sweet taste of your blood.’