The Family Friend, C. MacDonald [ereader for android TXT] 📗

a name.’ Erin switches her attention from over by the van, where she can’t tell if there’s someone wearing black walking around or whether it’s just the shadow made by people passing under the street light, back to the leonine Xavi.

‘Who is it? Why did you wait until now to tell me?’

‘Don’t get too excited. He’s not a real person, well, not a living one anyway. Aleister Crowley. Ever heard of him?’ She shakes her head for a few shakes too long, eyes drift back over to the van. She sees a glint of something catching the street lamps, the light catching someone’s watch or more likely, the black mirror of their smartphone. ‘He was a weird dude. An occultist. Very famous. Into pagan stuff, organised orgies and magic rituals and shit.’

‘Do you see someone over there, by that grey van?’ Xavi squints in the direction she’s pointing. He doesn’t see anything, and now he’s looking, she’s not sure she can either.

‘I don’t see anyone.’

‘No.’ She clenches her jaw, swallows back some saliva, regretting the last mescal as the smoky bitterness creeps up the back of her throat. ‘You said something about magic?’

‘Ah, yeh, this guy, Crowley, he was into real magic, ceremonies, pagan stuff. Orgies. Doing whatever he wants. So, my question was, does that ring your bells about who it could be?’

‘What?’

‘Is there anyone you know who’s into magic or weird pagan stuff?’ Erin looks at him and it’s like his question takes a moment to seep into her ears because then she starts and it’s like she’s looking at him for the first time that night. ‘There is someone?’ he says, seeing the clarity spring into her expression.

‘Was he into crystals, this guy?’

‘Aleister Crowley.’

‘Yeh.’

‘No idea. He’s into spells, witchy stuff. I just read Wikipedia. I can get Grace to send articles over to you if it helps. Do some digging?’

‘No.’

Erin dismounts from the windowsill, cogs stuck by booze suddenly whirring around in her mind. Until she talked to Anna an hour or two earlier, she didn’t know anyone that was into alternative, holistic things, no one that would have had anything to do with the occult, apart from Amanda.

‘Great to meet you.’ She goes to give Xavi a hug, he picks the wrong side, so their faces almost touch, they laugh and shift their bodies so they can hug. ‘Got late. Got drunk. Going to head back to the hotel.’

‘You getting a cab?’

‘It’s only ten minutes – I’ll walk.’

‘Shall I walk you?’

‘I’ll be fine.’ She touches his arm, he looks at her, unsure, perhaps only just realising how drunk she is as he feels her swaying slightly towards him. She looks over to the van again before heading into the night.

She rounds the corner into an alleyway that leads towards a railway bridge, unmitigated darkness beyond. She looks at the map on her phone, a park ahead. The screen lights up her face making her feel like a target. She pockets it and turns, heading back towards the busy road she’s come from. She sees a path, a cycle lane, that’s well lit and seems to be leading in the right direction. There’s some movement to her left, something seems to sweep behind a low wall. A cat, a fox perhaps. Erin flicks her collar up around her face and pulls a hat out of her coat pocket. If she’s warmer, perhaps she’ll feel safer.

The end of the path leads to a dark road. She checks her map, still some way from the hotel. She hears steps, turns and manages to trip on a broken roof tile in the middle of the path. A hand on the wall, she stops herself falling. There’s no one there. The fence at the back of a house creaks. Just the wind. She knows she’s being irrational. She’s been feeling someone’s been following her constantly since the troll posted that video of her. But then someone was, Amanda was. She caught the only person she knows that dabbles in the occult following her. There is someone trolling her, who has made her lose control of her faculties, who’s made her violent, has named themselves after some big name in the occult. She feels the rough surface of brick catch at her tights. Perhaps she’s not being irrational. Maybe Amanda wanted to catch her, maybe she does have a smartphone, a camera, that Erin just hasn’t found yet.

She’s in a dark street that leads to a main road up ahead that her map is saying is where she’ll find the hotel. Footsteps behind her, the sharp shuffle of feet moving, changing direction – are they breaking into a run? Erin doesn’t look back, she can’t. She starts sprinting, wedges clipping together as she attempts to accelerate. If she can get to the light on the main road she’ll be fine, people are there, she can hear people up there.

A sharp noise, Erin looks behind her and her hips collide with a bin. She crumples forward, lands on her head, her leg twists, shattering pain in her ankle. She manages to crane herself up to sit, looking wildly for whoever it was she heard coming for her. There’s no one there. No one’s in the street. She slumps down, a distant voice from the busy road ahead slings out of the general noise as she squeezes her eyes to close out the pain.

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BRAUNEoverBRAINS

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ERIN BRAUNE

This is my proud face. Because he is my pride and joy. This boy is my pride and joy.

I’m not always joyful. The biggest lie they ever got us to swallow was that we could always be happy, always be content. Nobody is.

I’m not always proud. I’m mostly not proud of what I’ve done, of how I am, of who I am. I don’t know if anyone is.

Am I a ‘good enough’ mother? The pictures of me probably tell you I’m not. I know that