Doors To The Dead, Rae Else [classic books for 13 year olds .txt] 📗

behind the name, he realised that her humanness had been the exact balm he’d needed last night. Her flesh and scent, her heat and passion, a natural antidote against the fracturing power of soul warfare.

A flicker of himself in the woods as a kid, clinging to roots, burrowing into hollows crawled through him and he chased it away by kissing her again and murmuring her name like a charm. ‘Von Otherworld.’

A smile fluttered across her face. ‘No more dreams?’

‘Not with you here.' His expression remained uncharacteristically sober as he felt the truth of it.

The seconds ticked by and he knew in the silence her thoughts must be going over what happened between them last night, wondering where they stood in the cold light of day.

A strange light came into her eyes. Ordinarily, he would kiss her, then make his excuses. It had always seemed right as a worshipper of Lady Night, the goddess of the dead, of lovers, and thieves, to steal away come morning.

Yet he remained where he was, stroking Von’s smooth back, his fingers playing in the dimples of Venus of her back. After all, he wasn’t going anywhere. Not without Donna.

But he’d never had whatever conversation they were on the cusp of. He’d never had to offer any more of himself than what he’d given last night and didn’t know where to begin. He had a brainwave. The smoky tendrils of his sluagh crept into her mind

He smiled as he felt how satisfied she was.

…he’s the kind of guy at the heart of all great books. Bronte never spoke of how Heathcliff fucked but if she had, it would’ve been like that. Like it’s the end of the fucking world.

He knows just what to say, Von Otherworld. It gives me goosebumps. The way he spoke about the woman with the third eye and the vineyard transforming around him was like a poet. He’s the complete opposite to Antony.

The thought of Antony’s loaded looks and expectations settled on her like dead weight.

He thinks we’re meant to be together. But his idea of love is marriage. Is stability. Not attraction and mystery. Something as ephemeral and necessary as music. As indefinable as whatever’s beyond this life…

With dread, she imagined a future where she and Antony got together, where he told her that she didn’t need to sing anymore unless she wanted to. As if he were doing her a favour. As if necessity weren’t the mother of invention.

Theo was tickled that she’d fixed on the beyond as indefinable. He could readily define it for her, but she’d likely lose her mind if confronted by a sluagh horde or the boundlessness of the Between. Not that she’d be able to experience that boundlessness herself. Living humans couldn’t travel through the Between, only paras and the souls of the dead. As for music, he didn't get the joy it brought her, but he was pleasantly relieved that she wasn’t the type who wanted any declarations. Besides that, he made sure to exorcise thoughts of other guys from her head by once more being the Byronic hero of her dreams.

Later that morning, they retrieved breakfast supplies from the van. They dined on bread, cheese, ham, and coffee in the living-room. Antony couldn’t stop looking at the patterns that Theo had left down Von’s neck. Richie only grinned at them and the obvious hook-up that had occurred. Von was wearing Theo’s T-shirt and her tutu. She’d given him one of their band T-shirts. If he’d heard yesterday that today he’d be squatting in an abandoned villa, with a portrait of Lord Byron plastered across his chest, and making eyes at the raven-haired musician, he’d have thought it impossible.

As he watched Von sipping a black coffee, he got the urge to nibble her neck again. Is this how vamps felt? The more he watched her, the more he wanted to take her back to the bedroom. When he picked her up, she straddled him, and he walked them back to their room.

As they left the living-room, Richie murmured, ‘I can’t believe she got a groupie before us.’

Lying in bed that afternoon, they talked about Donna, and what the band knew about her. He sensed Donna’s presence on the periphery like footsteps on the wooden floor, but he ignored her.

Theo remembered that a local place had alerted them to the villa here and the ghostly sightings. Maybe they’d told the band more about her background. Something that might prove useful.

‘The guys at The Barrel said that she came from southern Italy, moved here as a young woman. No family, managed the vineyard herself.’ This spartan information was all Von knew, but Theo felt in his bones that the next time he faced Donna, he’d be ready. He felt refreshed. Hell, he’d had his first proper day off in years.

When they eventually got up again, the band had a jamming session, preparing for a gig tonight.

Von asked Theo if he wanted to come, but he told her he had to stay and work.

‘Will you be all right?’

He grinned. She didn’t want to leave him alone with a ghost.

Cute.

They exchanged numbers, and he told her to check that he was still alive once their set was over.

He finally sensed Donna’s hiding place that evening and almost burst out laughing. She was using Richie’s soul to veil her. He was sorely tempted to quiz Richie about how he felt getting cosy with a ghost but managed to abstain.

He knew from experience that if Donna tried to escape with Richie, it wouldn’t be long before her anchor point, the house and its grounds, pulled her back.

When that happened, it would be round three.

Over the rest of the evening, Theo sat tight, watching the band. Even with Donna not choosing to venture out again, he felt as if Von were somehow his talisman against the memory of the woods and the Caledonian.

He listened to the musicians set while sipping copious amounts of coffee.

Italian coffee is fucking delicious.

In between the