Son of Secrets Read online

  His first thought was of escape; his second was of Ella. He had to get to her. She had to know he’d survived.

  A small chink of light shone from the farthest wall. The gap was no bigger than a coin, but it was large enough for Zac to peer through and look outside. All he could see was green, a faint scent of grass confirming there was a park or field nearby. He pressed his ear against the hole but there was no sound, just the chatter of birdsong. The wall was old, and as he picked at the crack it began to crumble, his nails filling with gritty sediment, but it wasn’t enough to make the hole any bigger. He pushed and hit it before punching the wall as hard as he could. His knuckles cried out in pain, but his urgency to get out of his stone prison was greater than his discomfort. In fact, pain felt good. Any sensation was a sweet relief and a reminder that he was alive. Alive again!

  He kept pounding harder and harder and, although it was still too dark to see if he was making any progress, he could feel the wall slowly giving way. For over an hour he continued to punch, kick, and push the wall until the hole widened and pieces broke off. He pulled at it as if he were clawing his way up through the depths of the ocean to the surface, and as he sent chunks of concrete smashing at his feet, he was finally able to take a deep breath and taste his newfound freedom. The light breeze on his skin felt so good.

  The hole wasn’t yet big enough to fit through, but it allowed sunlight to pour into the room. He glanced behind him where the long wooden boxes were now illuminated. Coffins, all in various stages of decay. One had a lid missing, and out of another a skeletal hand hung through its rotten side. Zac shuddered and continued to kick at the hole in the wall until he was finally able to squeeze himself through the gap and crawl his way out into the sunshine. Scrambling to his feet he coughed as the fresh air reached his lungs.

  He was at the back of a tomb, a small stone mausoleum with pillars whose carvings had long been eroded by time and weather. Ivy grew over the greying stone walls. A chain-link fence was directly in front of him, and beyond that stood tall oak and elm trees. Leaning against the fence, he winced as a sharp pain shot through his bruised and bloody hands. His middle finger was bent at a strange angle, and three of his nails had been ripped out of their beds by his frantic clawing. It was the first time he’d seen his own blood. He stared at his hands, his eyes slowly adapting to the bright sunlight, and watched as the grazes and cuts on his knuckles disappeared and his hands and nails returned to normal. He smiled. So, he hadn’t lost everything after all. He licked his index finger and rubbed the blood off his other hand. There was no longer anything beneath the blood, and neither was he in pain anymore.

  He’d returned and, it seemed, so had his power to heal.

  With one long stretch his body clicked and popped as his spine realigned itself. How long had he been trapped in that tomb? A thin film of grime, dust, and sweat was caked in streaks on his arms and embedded into the folds of his elbows and wrists. When he’d died, he’d been bare-chested, yet now he was wearing a T-shirt that had once been white but was now various shades of grey, green, and black. He also had on the same pair of jeans he’d worn on his last day. He brushed himself down, clouds of dust filling the air like warm breath on a cold day, and rubbed at the cobwebs and mud on his trousers.

  As he patted his legs, he noticed a lump in each pocket. Strange. He pulled out a bundle of banknotes from his left pocket, a mix of euros and sterling still neatly folded into different denominations as if he’d placed them there only yesterday. He hoped that was the case and that he wasn’t far from where he’d left Ella. With any luck, time and distance had been kind, and it wouldn’t be too much of a hardship to reach her. At least he had money on him; if it was still in date. How many years had passed? Feeling newly hopeful, he reached into his other pocket, retrieving a long gold necklace with an unusual amethyst pendant hanging from it, and searching deeper he found two matching rings. He smiled. Everything was exactly where he’d left it.

  But how long ago was that?

  He closed his eyes as images of his last day flashed before him—the swipe of the blade and the darkness that followed his last memory of Ella’s anguished cries as they’d taken him away.

  Instinctively, he twisted his arm up under his top and felt his back. There were two hard lumps below his shoulder blades but nothing more. No hole or gnarled scar. A heavy sadness blossomed in his chest, but he reminded himself that those small raised mounds beneath his skin represented something greater than what had once been in their place. He was free and, most importantly, nobody knew he’d survived. Not yet.

  He stepped out from behind the tomb and found himself face-to-face with an elderly lady. Dressed in black and standing beside a gravestone, she was clutching a bunch of daffodils wrapped in cellophane. She yelped at the sight of a bedraggled man exiting the tomb and crossed herself. Zac mumbled an apology, walking quickly past her to the gravel path. He must look like a creature from the living dead. He was.

  Making his way slowly along the cemetery path, he inspected each tombstone and read their inscriptions. They were written in English and dated back hundreds of years, but that didn’t help determine what year it was now. A few minutes later he spotted a large stone statue of a lion peeking out from the undergrowth, followed by a crying angel and another crumbling tomb. He knew exactly where he was. Highgate Cemetery. There was no place like it in the world. Not only was Zac in one of the leafiest and most affluent areas of north London, Ella’s house was just a few minutes’ walk away. Had he been placed in that tomb out of respect for the love they’d shared? Or was it to mock and spite him? It didn’t matter anymore; his plan had worked. He was free.

  Zac broke into a run, his body leading him through the myriad pathways and gaining strength with every step. Pushing through the undergrowth, he zigzagged over and around headstones and statues, no longer noticing the brambles catching on his clothes or the wild rose thorns scratching his arms. His mind was focused on three easy steps: get out of the graveyard, find Ella, and be with her for the rest of her life. It was that simple.

  ARRIVING AT THE cemetery gates, Zac was relieved to see the streets beyond were empty. The combination of weak daylight and lack of traffic told him it was early morning—probably the weekend. Ella’s house was just up the road, but he had no idea how long had passed since they’d both been in Highgate. Did she still live there?

  He closed his eyes again and attempted to feel her. She’d always been with him—since he’d first met her two thousand years ago, he’d had the ability to sense her in every part of his being. Where she was and what she was feeling had never been a mystery. He was able to find anyone that way, but right now all he felt inside was an empty echo of his former self. Ella was no longer there, and it scared him.

  His skin prickled and every hair on his body stood on end as the realisation suddenly hit him—he’d come back to life, which meant he’d been right all along. His mother had to be alive too! Was this how she’d felt, awakening from her own fate all those years ago when his father Mikhael had torn Zac away from her, leaving him a defenceless orphan? Had his mother roamed the streets like he was now, desperately trying to find him, to feel him, her very soul yearning and reaching out for her little boy?

  Zac had once been a powerful being, but his skills had somewhat diminished upon his return. He could still heal himself, his smooth unblemished hands were testament to that, but he could no longer feel people and as much as he tried, he couldn’t disappear and reappear at will as he’d once done. Zac had returned part human. But which part?

  He trudged up the hill to Highgate Village, passing the café where he’d once sat watching Ella take her morning jog, waiting for her to forget him. The café was closed, but as he peered inside he caught a glimpse of his reflection.

  He ran a hand over his face; it was not a pretty sight. His hair, which had always hung to his shoulders in dark waves, was now a matted clump, dusty and full of debris. He picked a leaf out of it and tried to run hi
s fingers through it, to no avail. Strangely, it hadn’t grown any longer than it had always been and neither had the hair on his face. His eyes stared back at him as dark and haunted as the memories of his last day, their usual bright blue now reduced to a lifeless grey. His tanned arms were pale and his cheeks were sunken. Considering he’d been shut up in a tomb without food or water for who knew how long, he could have looked a lot worse.

  Heading toward the crest of the hill, he smiled at the sight of the newspaper stall where he and Ella had once met, comforted to see it was still in the same spot near the bus stop. He jogged up to it, recognising the man organising the magazines on the racks. The vendor’s appearance hadn’t changed either—another good sign that Zac’s dramatic demise had happened fairly recently.

  The newspaper headlines screamed their usual sensationalist cries of blame, fear, and celebrity news, but Zac wasn’t interested in their contents. He ran his hand over the date on their front covers and breathed a sigh of relief.

  Three years. That was all. Three years, three months, and nineteen days since he’d said his last goodbye to Ella. Three years was a long time for most people, but to Zac it was but a blink of an eye. Compared to the lifetimes he’d endured to finally be with her, three years was no obstacle.

  He had to stay positive. First find Ella and then search for his mother. Zac was finally free from the control of Mikhael now that he and the Choir thought he was dead. No longer could they say that his kind shouldn’t be mixing with hers; Zac and Ella could finally lead a life without pretence.

  He’d died so he could be reborn for her, like his mother had done before him, finally free from his otherworldly restraints. There had been no other way for them to be together, he hoped Ella understood that. He was back now, and in this lifetime she’d loved him as madly as he’d always loved her.

  Taking his mother’s jewellery out from his pocket, Zac read the inscription on the back. ‘The fallen shall rise again.’ That was exactly what he’d done.

  He ran his finger over the date on the newspaper again and smiled.

  ‘Oi, mate, you going to buy that bloody paper or just stand there rubbing your dirty paws all over it?’

  Zac mumbled his second apology of the day and walked away as the newspaper vendor turned to the woman beside him.

  ‘Bloody filthy tramps. I remember the days when Highgate was a respectable place.’

  • • • • •

  Five minutes later, Zac found himself at the impressive gates of the Fantz mansion. He’d never forget that warm September afternoon when he’d first spoken to Ella, how upset she’d been with her mother for having married Richard Fantz and dragging her away from Spain to live in London. Then weeks later she’d ushered him through the back of the house, embarrassed by the grandeur of her new family home after discovering that Zac had no home of his own—unaware then of what he really was. If only it had simply been his lack of wealth driving them apart.

  This house was where he’d first kissed her, where they’d first made love, and where he’d nearly killed her stepbrother, Sebastian. After everything that had happened to Ella, would she still be living in Highgate?

  He rang the doorbell and tried to still the swarm of wasps buzzing inside his chest.

  ‘Ain’t nobody home,’ came a voice from overhead.

  Two men in hard hats were on the roof of the house organising tiles. A long driveway separated them from the gate, so they had to shout down to him.

  ‘The house is for sale. You not seen the bleeding great board next to you?’ one of them said. ‘No point ringing and ringing, all you’re doing is winding us up.’

  Richard was selling his beloved home?

  ‘Do Richard and Felicity still live here? I’m looking for Ella Fantz.’

  The builders turned to each other and laughed.

  ‘Elephants? Does this look like a fucking zoo? We don’t know who lives here. Our boss asked us to fix up the roof before they sell. Now piss off and go beg someplace else.’

  Zac hadn’t come this far to turn around and give up. He walked away from the main gates, out of sight of the builders, and sat with his back to the wall. He had to think. There was always the internet. He could search for her there, not that he had any idea how to use it or whether electricity would give him the same issues as before. Or he could try to track down Ella’s friends; they might know where she was, but he didn’t know their surnames or where to find them.

  Thirsty and hungry, he was contemplating walking back to Highgate Village to wait for the café to open when he saw a familiar figure approaching him.

  ‘What do you do here? This is private property. I call the police!’

  The woman loomed over Zac as he sat on the pavement. Her blonde hair, now flecked with a few grey hairs, was scraped back from her face. She’d lost a little weight, but he recognised her immediately. The housekeeper. The woman who’d welcomed him to the Fantz home three years previously on the day everything had started to go wrong.

  ‘Ylva. It’s me, Zac.’

  She looked at him, squinted, looked again, and then jumped back.

  ‘Oh, Zac. I remember you. You’re Ella’s friend that came to tea. Skenet bedrar!’

  He understood her! She was speaking Swedish, but he still knew what she was saying. So he’d retained his knowledge of all languages—another positive sign.

  ‘Yes, looks can be deceiving,’ he said.

  ‘All the time all she say, “Zac, Zac, Zac.” Why did you leave her? Ella never come back! And you look terrible. Like you’ve been dug up from ground and then run over again. What do you do here?’

  ‘I’m looking for Ella. Or Mr and Mrs Fantz. Or anyone that can help me find her.’

  ‘I cannot help, Zac. Sorry. I’m just here to clean before house sale.’

  Much like the emptiness he’d experienced when he was unable to feel Ella from afar, he realised he could no longer feel the housekeeper’s emotions or intentions either. Was Ylva lying or telling the truth? Did she know where Ella was? He’d never been a mind reader, but he could read a person’s soul; he’d known what people needed and felt, regardless of what they were saying. But right now, with Ylva, he felt nothing.

  ‘Well, can I come in and see if my belongings are still in her room? Look at me. Could I at least have a quick shower? Please?’

  Ylva took in his filthy clothes and matted hair but avoided eye contact.

  ‘No. I can’t let anyone in. Please, just leave.’

  It was futile, but something was making him stay. A vibration ran between them, a tangible force forming around him and pulling her closer. He’d lost some of his powers and retained others, but this, this fizzing between him and the Fantz housekeeper was a new sensation. Her soul was gravitating toward his; the energy was virtually palpable.

  ‘Can I come in, Ylva?’

  ‘No, Zac. I must go now.’

  ‘Ylva, look at me.’ He held her gaze, pulling her in and willing her to surrender. ‘Ylva, may I please come into the house?’

  The housekeeper smiled sweetly.

  ‘Of course you can come in, Zac. I give you new clothes and feed you. Take anything you need; you know where Ella’s room is. Then I tell you whatever you need to know. Nobody is home. Mr Fantz moved out, and we are starting the packing up…but Ella’s room has not changed.’

  Zac raised his eyebrows and smiled to himself. What the hell had just happened?

  He followed her into the house, ignoring the stares of the workmen. This was interesting. Very interesting indeed.

  ELLA’S ROOM WAS exactly as he remembered it. All her clothes were still in the wardrobe and so were her shoes and handbags. She clearly hadn’t wanted anything sent on to her, wherever she was. As he’d hoped, Zac found the bag of new clothes Ella had offered him all those years ago—the catalyst for their first argument. This time he was not too proud to take them.

  Standing in the shower, watching the water run black at his feet, he thought back to their
only Christmas together. The day they’d made love in that very same shower after he’d told her what he really was. Would he have told her the truth had he known what would happen next—that telling her his only secret would change her destiny forever?

  Emerging shiny and clean from the shower was invigorating, but his hair was a lost cause. No amount of washing or brushing could smooth out the clumps and knots that had formed. He tied it back with one of Ella’s hair elastics and decided to address his matted mop later. First, he had to speak to Ylva.

  • • • • •

  ‘You must be so hungry,’ she said as he sat at the kitchen table.

  The room was empty save for a few groceries and packing boxes stacked in a corner. Ylva placed a bowl of steaming vegetable soup before him as well as a large plate of sandwiches.

  Zac filled his mouth with as much as he could manage.

  ‘Please. Join me,’ he said between mouthfuls. It was the first time he’d felt such hunger. He’d never needed to eat before, did he now? ‘I need to ask you some questions.’

  Ylva smiled up at him passively, her face void of any emotion. Before he spoke, he made sure she was looking straight into his eyes. It seemed to be the only way to draw in her soul.

  ‘Tell me everything that has happened since the New Year’s Eve party at Cloud Ninety-Nine. Tell me what happened after Ella disappeared.’

  Zac reached for a third sandwich. Whatever the housekeeper had to say would hold all the answers to his questions. After this conversation with Ylva, the next person he would speak to would be Ella. The thought was like a punch to his guts.