Chasing Azrael (Deathly Insanity Book 1)

By Hazel Butler

*Amazon's Bestselling Urban Fantasy Novel, The First In A New Paranormal Mystery Series.*

'A dialogue driven narrative that will change the reader’s ideas about death and dying... a compelling read' - Readers' Favourite Book Reviews ****

When Andee Tilbrook's husband died, her preoccupation with death turned to obsession. Thanks to her unique ability to commune with the dead, her husband remains all too close, yet never close enough. Mired in grief, she clings to James's spirit, slowly losing touch with the world, her friends, and any desire to continue living.

But when her friend Josh becomes the target of Natalya, a jealous, capricious and violent Russian beauty, Andee somehow finds the strength to free herself from her misery long enough to help him. They soon discover that Natalya is wanted by the police for her involvement in a series of grisly murders, and Andee is dragged into the inquiry by the same man who investigated her own husband's death.

Torn between new feelings for Josh, and fear that he might be involved in the murders that seem to threaten anyone who comes close, Andee must face the realities of her life, her past, and her very nature-and do it all in time to save her own life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hazel Butler
• Release date: Sep 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9780957368217

Hazel Butler

Hazel is a twenty nine year old author, artist and archaeologist from Cheshire, England. She is currently in the final year of her PhD, which focuses on Gender Dynamics in Late Iron Age and Early Medieval Britain. She has been studying archaeology since she was sixteen, attending The University of Manchester for her Undergraduate course in Ancient History and Archaeology, then Bangor University for an MA in Celtic Archaeology and on to her PhD. She spent two years between her MA and PhD doing Corporate archaeology and research excavations, both in Britain and in Austria, and has two papers published in international journals. Since 2010 she has been working on a series of Gothic Literary novels, the first of which, Chasing Azrael, was released in April 2014. The Deathly Insanity Series are a set of Paranormal Mystery novels with overlapping character and plot-lines. While her primary interests are in Gothic and Fantasy art and fiction, she reads a wide range of subjects and enjoys most forms of art. She also has a great love of dogs, and her King Charles Cavalier Spaniel, Dexter (yes, after the serial killer), is her near-constant companion.

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Chasing Azrael

Deathly Insanity: Book I

Hazel Butler

Aadenian Ink Logo

© 2014 Hazel Butler

The author asserts her moral right to be identified as the creator of this work.

Characters within this work are fictional, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover Illustration by Hazel Butler, Aädenian Arts.

Author Photography by Tara Matthews, Addy Izzy Photography.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

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Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9573682-0-0

For Nanny, who always knew I would be a writer.

And for Seren, who saved my life.

The obsession with suicide is characteristic of the man who can neither live nor die, and whose attention never swerves from this dual impossibility.

Emil Cioran

PROLOGUE

October 20th 2011

I knew nothing but the rhythmic slap of my feet on wet tarmac. It was the only thing I could focus on, and my focus was slipping.

I’m still running, I thought fuzzily, I have to keep running.

The back of my skull throbbed. Thick, cloying blood oozed into my hair, mingling with the rain, cherry streams running down goose-pimpled flesh. One bare, frozen foot landed badly. I tripped, knee slamming into the kerb. A car hurtled by, horn howling at my presence in its path, the glaring lights of its eyes forcing my own shut. When I opened them again, I was transfixed by the sight of my arms, waxen and tinged red in the fading glare of tail lights. I watched intently as bloodied rain dripped down them and into the gutter.

James! I screamed, but the night swallowed his name.

The injured leg dragged behind as I ran on, a dead weight, more blood now seeping between my numb toes. Rain pounded in my ears, the taste of blood biting at the back of my throat. Again I stumbled as more lights flashed in my eyes, stationary this time. Clustered before me stood a crowd of cars branded with words that should have offered comfort, but instead only confirmed my worst fears: Police, Paramedic. Squinting against the onslaught of headlights, I lurched past them. Voices added their cries to the night, but they were not my own, and they were not his, so I ignored them, the world twisting around me as my head grew ever lighter and the lights grew ever brighter.

JAMES!

ONE

December 2013

Death begins before birth. I have always found this an odd notion, but were it not for the death of certain cells during our initial development, humans would be born with webbed toes. Death moulds our physical being from the very start of our existence. It sculpts us, determines how we begin, and where we end. The events in life that define us, that break us and remake us, all stem from death—the death of a place, a time, a relationship, of those we hold most dear, and finally ourselves. Death is the one inescapable aspect of life, the only immutable force, the single thing in this world that cannot and should not be changed.

But death is never the end.

It is the beginning.

I am an adjunct of Death. It often seems I have spent more time consorting with the dead than the living, but perhaps that is a peril of my profession, and nothing to do with the insidious ‘gift’ my mother bestowed upon me.

I saw Death in everything I did, felt his presence everywhere I went. The countryside had become a snow-laced wasteland, and even the Draethen University campus was filled with nothing but decay.

Lily loved it, saw something completely different, a fairytale wonderland, but that was her Russian blood showing through, I supposed. I couldn’t really blame her for it. I wished I saw the world as she did, could experience that awe, some glimmer of hope that the world could be beautiful again, but I saw nothing but barren branches on trees blackened by the cold, plants withered to a brittle husk of their former selves.

Even the building was dying, and had been for decades. Slowly, perhaps, but undeniably mouldering, in the way only a centuries-old structure could. The walls of our building always reminded me of an Escher piece: staircases in unexpected places, crumbling walkways leading to doors that no longer opened.

That morning, as I walked across the courtyard with Lily, I saw him skulking beneath the arches. His presence was not uncommon, and I had become accustomed to it, even valued it in a rather morbid way. The university crouched behind him, blanketed by snow and shadows. Lily was chattering away beside me, but as usual I was barely paying attention. It wasn’t that I was uninterested, it was just so difficult to concentrate, especially with him standing only feet away. I scuffed my feet along in the icy sludge, commiserating with the smothered rose bushes flanking the path. As we drew closer to him, my scuffing intensified.

I’ll be there the whole time, she said. I caught a glimpse of her stern expression beneath the thick hanks of blonde escaping from under her hat.

"So will she," I mumbled. The man continued to watch our progress and I wished that Lily would be quiet, which was unlikely.

Snowflakes speckled Lily’s eyelashes, her hair, and the ear flaps of her hat. I was surprised to see her wearing it, it wasn’t her style, but she’d seen the hours I spent knitting it over the course of the previous winter, when I was still too fragile to be left alone and in no state to leave the house for anything save work. She’d been there. Every day she’d been there, tucked in the nook of my corner sofa, scribbling notes from some obscure myth in her journal.

She caught my arm. It’s been two years, Andee. Nobody expects you to grieve forever. James is … gone.

Surreptitiously, I watched James, who had wandered out from the shelter of the arches and was now lingering in the flower bed, frowning at Lily’s words. A single blossom had decided to brave the cold. James stood next to it, watching my progress towards him. Frozen in stilted decay, the sole surviving rose wavered in the pervading snow, perfection in a cryogenic state, save two petals that had begun to wilt before the frost interceded and prevented their fall. It stood alone in the barren wasteland of the winter campus. The other roses had died, only their thorns remaining, ever vigilant against the threat of wandering fingers. James bent and sniffed it, the walls of the university dimly visible through his spectral form.

Perhaps I’ll allow my fingers to wander, let the thorns prick; Sleeping Beauty to the spindle wheel, yet no counterfeit for me. I would sleep forever.

Death had become an enchanting prospect since I first saw my husband’s ghost. Two years had passed since his death, but he’d never left me. Lily couldn’t see him, couldn’t understand, and I had given up trying to explain it to her. She never believed me, and that only made the loneliness more palpable. I sucked in a deep breath and strolled past my dead husband as if he wasn’t there, trying to ignore his look of outrage that I would do such a thing. Somewhere above us, a crow sat cawing on the outreaches of the university roof.

Josh is your friend, Lily said. Why are you avoiding him?

I’m not.

The stone gargoyles sporadically lining the walls of our building stared down at me mockingly, their elongated necks giving them the perfect vantage point. It seemed to me they believed me no more than Lily. The chimera squatting in the eaves above the door gave me a baleful stare for which I did not care. There had been a time, when I first moved here, when I’d been able to love this building. In a way I still did—some sense of that old emotion still lingered, but it seemed to have been overridden of late by a constant sense of foreboding, a persistent notion that everyone and everything here was in some way judging me. Several students scurried past, late for their first lecture of the day. I was glad I wasn’t teaching that morning; something about the day had me even more unsettled than usual.

"He’s not himself. Besides, he isn’t the problem. I’m freezing. Can we please go inside?" Just the thought of Natalya nauseated me, but I knew full well Lily wouldn’t let this go unless I provided her with a good reason not to meet Josh—and his new girlfriend—for a drink.

At least give her a chance, Lily said, tugging on the door. Her feet skidded on the icy step. I reached an arm out to steady her. She’s got a shitty ex by the sounds of it, and she hardly knows anyone around here.

I kicked a drift of snow away from the foot of the door, and pulled it open. Like all the doors in our building it was heavy, ancient wood, weighed down by the studded metal crossing it. It took both hands to wrench it open with my slight arms, a curse that came with my equally petite frame. The university domed above us, supported by a honeycomb of beams and columns, punctuated by ornate windows. Wind and snow flitted against the glass, wailing through the archways outside. I shivered despite the sudden, welcome warmth of the corridor.

I just don’t like her, I said. But Josh did. And I actually found that disturbing. He was ensorcelled, and that worried me. I’d found it difficult to muster the impetus to worry about anything much since James died. The feeling was unfamiliar to me now, an estranged cousin I was unsure how to greet.

Is that what this is? Lily frowned. You don’t usually show the slightest interest when Josh gets a new piece.

I liked the last one … with Milton. Lily shook her head blankly. Her Labrador.

You mean you liked the Labrador. She considered me. "You know, in Russia they tell tales of Mегера, the jealous one."

I sighed quietly. Russia again. Your point?

You like Josh.

We’ve been friends for years.

"Yeah, but now you like him, like him."

What, are you a teenager now? Are we regressing? I wrinkled my nose.

You’re jealous, Lily persisted. You’ve never had to deal with that before. You and James were together forever—

Twelve years, I interrupted. We were promised forever, but that wasn’t what we got.

She gave me a half hug. "I know, but you had twelve years of him never noticing anyone but you. Maybe you feel so strongly about Natalya because you actually have feelings for Josh?"

I shook my head.

Well, why else would you hate her? she demanded, abruptly releasing her hold and rounding on me so that I had no choice but to bear the full force of her stare. Lily put up with a great deal of shit from me, but even she had her limits.

I don’t hate her, I … How can I explain it? She freaks me out.

Lily chuckled. You’re a goth, hon, you like things that freak you out.

Her glib dismissal of my explanation stung more than it should have. And that doesn’t worry you? What do you think it takes to actually freak me out, Lilian? I knew you wouldn’t understand.

Her laughter died. I’m sorry. Just … don’t let her win so easily.

Why? I’m not bothered about Joshua.

Then why are you walking towards his office instead of ours?

I stopped, realised I was on the stairs spiralling up the tower housing Josh’s office, and cursed. Lily, two steps below me, smiled as I pushed her back down, out into the main corridor, then stomped towards our own room.

*

I walked into my first class later that day and was, as always, greeted by gently flickering lights. My students glanced warily up at the ceiling. It was a strange phenomenon I’d never fathomed, but one to which I’d become accustomed long before I was accosted by my first ghost. James always thought I was getting the ghosts to do it, a little trickery to give myself an air of mystique. I’d told him repeatedly that ghosts couldn’t influence the living world, but he refused to believe me … until he was a ghost himself. It was only then he’d begun to appreciate the strangeness of it. The strangeness of me.

I’d braced myself for his presence, but he wasn’t there. For once I was grateful for his absence. The weight of my worry over Josh had left me bereft of the energy required to worry about my dead husband.

I perched on the edge of a desk and sat there, motionless, feet far from the floor despite my chunky platforms. I watched them work, shrugging further and further into the safety of my hoodie with each question asked, and each answer given, hoping they would stay near their own tables, and not come towering over me and mine. People, as a general rule, made me feel small. It was more than my diminutive height. They made me retreat in on myself, a hedgehog curling into a tight little ball, nothing but spines and prickles for those who dared approach, yet terrified and fragile within. Lily reprimanded me constantly for being unsociable. Not everyone understands, she would tell me. Most people just think you’re … and she’d let the sentence hang, unwilling to use the words ‘bitchy’, or ‘moody’, even if they fit.

My students, at least, didn’t seem to mind my oddness; they almost seemed relieved by it. It would have been easy to remove myself from the world completely after James died—I came from money, I didn’t need the job—but I would have missed my students, and Lily would not have allowed it in any case. I watched the group with the human skeleton as Ceridwen, the most squeamish of my students, freaked at the sight of the skull. Nathan, a boy I’d noticed trying to flirt with her before, was trying to calm her down. A few minutes later, she was successfully explaining to the rest of her group—with particular attention to Nathan—where each of the two hundred and six bones in front of them should be placed. I considered that a job well done, and felt a moment of triumph before the gloom resettled on my stomach and breathing became difficult once again. I’d given Ceri’s group that box for this very reason—she needed to get over her squirming.

I had never squirmed. Excavating the dead came naturally to me; perhaps that should have been my first clue.

When Joshua arrived, the class was over and I was packing up. He shuffled into the room, fluffing needlessly at his already messy sepia hair.

What’s up? I asked, though I already knew.

How are you?

I shrugged. His expression darkened, and I wondered why he persisted in asking the question when he was always dissatisfied with the answer.

You’ve been avoiding me … After a moment of silence he continued, Why?

Natalya makes me … uncomfortable.

He scowled. I know she didn’t make the best first impression—

I snorted at this.

Yeah, okay, it really couldn’t’ve been worse, but you can be … intimidating. For people who don’t know you—

"I’m well aware what I’m like, Josh. I was in no mood for another lecture on my perceived misanthropy. What worries me is what she’s like."

Don’t blame this on her, Andrea, he snapped.

She slapped me!

You provoked her!

No, Joshua, I really didn’t. I stared at him a moment, wondering how this could possibly be the same man I’d known for so long, and something writhed within me—something greater than the irritation, the mild concern I had felt before. Dread. Something about this woman was unnaturally alarming, sparking a primordial instinct in me, the raising of the hairs along my arms, up the back of my neck.

What do you want from me?

His face softened into a smile, the charming smile he always used when he thought he’d won.

Get to know her. He took another step towards me, forcing me to tilt my head back to keep eye contact, he was so bloody tall. She’ll like you once she gets to know you.

I didn’t answer, staring instead at his ruffled hair and wishing I hadn’t worn such sensible shoes—five inches just didn’t give me enough of an edge with Josh.

"Come on, Andee. Meet us for drinks at the Gryph. He flashed another of his Johnny-Depp-like smoulders. It’s just drinks."

It wasn’t just drinks though. There was no ‘just’ about it. The Gryphon and Rabbit was my pub, our pub, mine and James’s. Even before he died, I’d seldom gone in there without him. I’d only braved it once since—the evening Josh insisting I meet Natalya—and that night had gone horrifically wrong. My reluctance to return had only grown since; I had no desire to get smacked in the face again.

You can manage drinks, can’t you, Lolita?

Lolita?

Yes. He looked suddenly uncertain. In the Japanese-Victorian inspired, cutesy goth-girl sense, not … rampant promiscuity and paedophilia.

I stared at him.

Although, you could be rampantly promiscuous if you—

Joshua, stop talking. His mouth mercifully clammed shut. Whatever happened to that nice girl you were going out with? I demanded suddenly, ashamed to realise I had no recollection of her name, that I had been so pissed off when Natalya had appeared I’d neglected to even ask before. The brunette with the Labrador?

She stopped calling.

Did you call her?

She stopped answering.

What did you do?

Nothing!

I crossed my arms and waited.

I met Natalya for drinks. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, gaze dropping to the floor, away from my own.

"You fucked it up with the cute psychologist for that psycho?" I demanded, and then yelped slightly as I was pinned by both arms in a grip that was far from friendly. Josh forced me backwards and my head collided painfully with the wall.

He snarled. Don’t—

Josh, you’re hurting me!

—talk about her like that. Ever.

He dropped me abruptly and I stared up at him, rubbing my arms and trying to keep my breathing shallow and even, despite my suddenly hammering heart.

Josh—

No, don’t ‘Josh’ me, either.

I watched him, slightly stunned, as he visibly struggled to quell his anger.

This isn’t Josh. Not my Josh, anyway. What the hell has she done to him?

You get away with a lot with me, Andee, and that’s fine—we’ve been friends a long time. I’m one of the few people who gets you. I don’t mind your weirdness, I actually find it kinda cute, but just for once, show some fucking respect.

The notion of Josh showing any of his girlfriends respect was so incongruous I thought it must be a poor joke, but the look on his face told me otherwise. He sighed and took a step back, shaking his head as if terribly disappointed in me.

"Fine, one drink, I said, too shocked by his uncharacteristic violence to deny him anymore. What time?" I glanced at the clock propped on the top shelf of a case by the door. It appeared to have stopped.

Six-ish. He followed my gaze and frowned. Weird. The clock in my office stopped today too.

Well, you know what they say about a clock stopping.

No, what?

It means someone’s about to die. I walked out of the room without looking back at him, suddenly afraid of what I might see.

OCTOBER 20TH 2011

The rain was endless. And cold. Mercilessly cold. How I kept moving through it I’ll never know, but I did, somehow, blood flowing freely down my neck, my shoulders, my gait hobbled from the fall, blood coating my leg as I continued to run on through the night, screaming my husband’s name.

As I finally reached the bridge, my desperate flight ended in a collision with the railing. The edge of it bit through the thin, sodden cotton of my vest. I clambered up, shivering violently, my hands clinging to the top rung. Below churned the deep, dragging depths of the straits. I leaned out as far as I could, stretching further and further into empty air, wondering how easy it would be to let slip my grasp, and fall right over.

A shade flickered to my left, an eerie shadow balanced even more precariously on the railing than I. Her plimsolls struggled to grip the same rail my fingers now held. I knew her face, just as I knew her death; I’d watched it often enough, those times I’d been unable to avoid crossing here. Nerys was always here, tied to the moment of her death, an echo, forever hurtling down into those waters, only to reappear an instant later, once more wavering on the rails.

She hadn’t wanted it, not at the end. I could see that in her face as she fell—the fear, the regret—but her feet had slipped and down she’d gone. I’d tried talking to her on several occasions, but she either didn’t hear or didn’t want to listen. Echoes were like that.

Turning away from her, tears joined the falling rain drenching every inch of me. I leaned out further still, trying to see what the people on the bank below saw, squinting into the dark.

James? I whispered.

I’m right here, Dee.

TWO

DECEMBER 2013

I used to sit on the sofa side of our table with James, but James wasn’t here. I hadn’t wanted to risk inadvertently inviting Natalya to sit next to me, so I’d opted for an armchair. The Gryphon and Rabbit had many appealing features—not least of which was its propinquity to Tamwell, the sprawling Victorian mansion James had found for us when we moved up from Oxford. The leather upholstery, however, wasn’t one of them, and my chair had fused itself to the bare skin above the brim of my stockings.

Stop fretting. Lily smiled encouragingly, taking a sip of her cocktail.

You weren’t there, Lil, I barely recognised him. Something isn’t right.

"He’s in an actual relationship, he’s bound to be a little different."

I frowned, unconvinced.

It’ll be fine. She’ll be on her best behaviour tonight. Lily leaned over the arm of her own chair and flashed a wide smile at a passing couple, the female half of which was just her type. Make sure you are too, mate. Her smiled faded. I’m sorry, you know, about all this. But the silly bint won’t lay a hand on you this time, I won’t let her.

"Must you be so Northern?" I asked.

I’m not, you’re being Southern. I can’t help it if you hail from pig farmers. What do you do with them all anyway? She hiked an eyebrow at me. Wait, on second thoughts, I don’t want to know.

At least we’re not driven by an unhealthy proclivity towards sheep, I retorted.

You won’t distract me with blatant lies, she said.

And you won’t ever convince me you truly believe Southerners consort with pigs.

Well what are they all for then? Lily demanded. Seriously, how many ham shanks can the nether regions of England possibly need?

You can’t beat a good ham shank.

You’re vegetarian.

I assumed it was a euphemism.

It was.

I managed a small smile, grateful for the distraction of Lily’s banter.

You two having another Northy–Southy tiff? Josh plonked down onto the sofa opposite us, taking a swig from his bottle of beer and grinning, cat-like.

Lily sniffed. You’re as Southern as she is.

Josh ignored her, refusing the bait for once. He was from Wolverhampton originally, and from Lily’s perspective, that was The South. She refused to acknowledge The Midlands.

Hello.

I started so badly at Natalya’s voice I almost spilled my drink. Her sudden appearance sucked the energy from the air. It seemed she brought the cold in with her, thin tendrils of snowy wind furling around her, causing those she passed to shiver ever so slightly. She seated herself rigidly beside Josh.

Lily, although offering a broad smile in greeting, shrugged further into her jacket, and leant closer to the radiator at our backs. She sparked an animated conversation, which was, by and large, ignored. Natalya’s attention was focussed on me, brazenly appraising me, eyes narrowing at the curling tendrils of my pigtails and the tiny top hat pinned between them. I sensed even Lily grow apprehensive as her inquiries into how Natalya had been, and why she hadn’t seen or heard from her for so long, went unanswered.

So, I’m not the only one Josh has forced to be here.

Josh stood, heading for the bar to get her a drink, and my apprehension ratcheted up another notch as I contemplated how likely it was this would end badly, if she had never wanted to be a part of it.

Joshua says you have dogs.

Yes. I fidgeted. Four dogs, one cat. She narrowed her eyes slightly, tilting her head as if considering. I sipped at my Guinness. I’d promised him one drink and that, hastily consumed, was all he was going to get.

I never like dogs. Natalya frowned. They growl, bark. Her lips wrinkled in disgust. They snap at me. Bad people have dogs.

Josh placed a glass of wine on the table before her, the sanguine liquid sloshing up to the rim, threatening to overspill. He sat back down. Natalya studied her nails and a large, diamond-encrusted ring that graced her index finger as Josh shifted uncomfortably, eyeing the room, conscious of the fact every man in the pub seemed to be leering at his girlfriend.

I was rapidly losing my calm. I could feel tears rising within me, and I’d be damned if I let her see them. Already my breath was coming in shorter, sharper gulps, and I knew if I didn’t get out soon, out into open air, I wouldn’t be able to breathe at all. I wondered if Josh would even realise I was slowly suffocating in front of him, or if he was still too preoccupied with this woman to notice. I felt an unpleasant pang of guilt as I realised Lily hadn’t been entirely inaccurate in her assessment of my feelings; I was jealous, though not in the way she presumed.

I only have two friends, why must you steal one of them? I can barely manage as it is.

I stood abruptly, startling Lily.

Andee, please— Josh stood and caught my arm, eyes beseeching. She didn’t mean to be rude.

Yes, she did, Joshua. She doesn’t want to be here any more than I do. If you think otherwise, then you really are an idiot.

‘Like a puff’d and reckless libertine’, Natalya mumbled.

What did you say? I advanced on her. One of the men who’d been eyeballing her since she arrived looked as if he were about to intercede, but Joshua held me back, actually moving to protect her from me. My breath grew even shorter, and the tears grew closer.

"What did you say?" I repeated. I must have heard wrong, she couldn’t possibly have said that. The whole room was now staring at me, and not in a favourable way.

Fucking bitch. This is our pub!

Natalya rose from her chair in a single, fluid motion, so smooth it almost seemed she had not moved at all, but had simply disappeared from her seat and reappeared with one slender hand wrapped around Josh’s arm: blink-blink!

We stood, frozen for an instant, as she snarled at me, clinging to Josh, who was holding firmly to me as I glowered right back at her. The lights dimmed momentarily, and on the other side of the room, a bulb in one of the wall sconces exploded.

Andee, calm down! Lily said, rising. Both of you, stop it! She received only sneers in response, and recoiled. Natalya, what has got into you? The last time I checked, you and I were friends!

Sit down, all of you. Josh attempted to push us back into our respective seats.

Natalya was immovable, dropping her grip on his arm and redirecting her efforts at his hand, which was wrapped around her wrist. I held my ground through sheer fury—an irrational fury, even I could see that—but this woman simply made me feel … wrong.

You want him for yourself! Natalya declared suddenly, echoing Lily’s earlier assertion so perfectly that for one deluded second I thought they might both be right. Josh was so taken off-guard his grip on her slipped.

"I want to kill him myself," I said through gritted teeth, glaring at him.

Natalya flashed suddenly closer, far too close for comfort, and again I had the sense she had not truly moved, she was simply no longer in one place, but another.

"I kill you first, bitch!" she spat at me.

Every face in the place turned towards us, eyes devouring the scene. Several people stood, gravitating towards her, as if pulled in by her rage. Their expressions were unforgiving, frightening me as they circled like tiger sharks around a seal.

Andee was joking. Josh moved away from her slightly so he stood fully between us.

"She wasn’t," I noted.

You take her side! Natalya cried.

There are no sides!

She is wanting you! Natalya insisted.

Josh laughed despite the tension, evidently finding the notion as absurd as I did. Trust me, love, she really doesn’t.

Who would? Lily said, glaring at him as if the whole situation was his fault.

Look, I know you don’t like sharing,—he glanced from me to her and back again—but you have to learn. I need my girls to get along. He pulled us both into an awkward hug, from which I extricated myself in disgust, expecting Natalya to do the same. Instead she shrieked and launched herself forwards, one fist connecting with Joshua’s baffled face. The pair of them flew across the low table between the sofa and chairs, toppling it and our glasses all over the floor. Natalya’s wine, crimson and still untouched, sprayed Josh’s clothes, seeping in like hungry blood as the table splintered with the force of their fall.

Jesus! Lily fumbled around the felled table, babbling apologies to the barman, who was making his way over with angry strides. She hauled Josh to his feet where he wobbled precariously, cheek split by a fierce line, the surrounding skin already purpling.

Josh? I grabbed at him. Are you okay?

Andee? He said my name as if he hadn’t seen me in weeks, yet it sounded far more like him than anything else he’d said to me of late. I glanced at the floor to make a scathing remark to Natalya, but instead found myself looking around in confusion.

She was gone.

*

The following lunchtime, as I sat picking at a salad on the sofa while Lily devoured a piece of cheesecake, our office was invaded by a hideous arrangement of flowers. It manoeuvred itself through the door and settled on Lily’s desk, revealing the crescent moon of Josh’s mulberry bruise.

Joshua?

Lilian?

Why have you brought us flowers? She took another spoonful of cheesecake and chewed on it, considering the bouquet with a critical eye.

Didn’t know what else to do with them. His pocket began to vibrate, and he glowered down at his own crotch, making no move to answer his phone.

It never occurred to you to leave them in the shop? she asked.

He grimaced. Natalya sent them. Look, you’re women,—he gestured at the array—explain.

The mass of roses and tulips was interspersed with curling pincers of greenery. I eyed the flowers dubiously, always suspicious of gifts that came with poisonous foliage. There was a time when I loved flowers, roses in particular. Now I kept them in the house for only one reason—to take them to James’s grave—and it had left me with a rather maudlin view of the things.

Don’t touch that ivy, I warned. Josh reached a curious hand out towards the flowers which I slapped away before he could touch. Poison! He paled beneath his bruise.

It’s a tussie-mussie, Lily said. Victorian-style bouquet used to send a message.

What’s the message? Josh asked.

White tulips are for forgiveness. White roses can mean purity, reverence, innocence. Even you must know what red roses mean … She frowned at Joshua’s pocket, which was vibrating once more. I’d guess the tulips are saying she forgives you, and the roses mean the two of you are meant to be together. She pointed her spoon towards the base of the arrangement. A neat little row of roses stuck out of the oasis. White and red together mean ‘unity’.

Never knew flowers could talk.

Clearly you haven’t been paying attention to me. Lily bestowed on him a stunning smile and stabbed the spoon into her cheesecake. Josh’s pocket once again began to judder.

Are you planning on answering that? I asked.

No. It’s her.

Oh. I stared at his pocket, as if Natalya were likely to materialise from the phone within, a Siren emerging from a portal, singing her melody of doom.

What should I do? he asked.

Ignore her, Lily said. She wants a reaction. If you give her one she’ll just keep doing stuff like this. Unless you want to get back with her?

I tried to keep my fear from showing at the very thought of it.

God, no. He shook his head. She’s a fucking nutcase.

I smiled. This was more the Josh I knew: baffled by women, totally uninterested in them the moment they became complicated.

Then you have to ignore her, Lily told him. At least until she’s being reasonable.

She’s never ‘reasonable’, he moaned. "Why’s this always happen to me? The gios, the larks, why do they always find me? Why are women so fucking mental?"

Because you’re a man-whore, Joshua. If they’re gios and larks, you’re a crazymaker—and a grade A one at that. Lily shook her head in disgust. You know, she was a perfectly lovely girl when I met her. No violent tendencies, very polite … a little quiet perhaps, but … I wish I’d never introduced you two.

I am not a man-whore, he said, pouting. "And I didn’t make her crazy."

Of course not, hon, here,—Lily thrust her plate across her desk and proffered the spoon—have some cheesecake.

*

I was unsurprised when Josh escorted me to my car that evening, as he always had before Natalya’s presence in his life had taken over. It was a habit we had fallen into almost as soon as I’d started working here, and it had taken me a few weeks to realise he was staying late on purpose so he could walk me back. It was always sweet of him. Sweet in an odd way that he never seemed to muster for other women, but could manage for me, and I’d missed it far more than I’d realised. I stayed later and later at the office nowadays, yet it hadn’t stopped him, no matter how long he had to pretend he still had work to do. Sometimes I had to leave and return, just so he wasn’t hanging around all night.

So,—Josh interrupted the thought, making me jump—how’s the Bug holding up in this snow?

She’s cranky.

Typical woman. He snorted, stuffing his hands into his pockets. I’ll take a look.

Where are those gloves I knitted for you? I asked, eyeing his frozen fingers and neglecting to mention I’d asked him to take a look at my car weeks ago.

Gods, I hate that woman.

The thought was so strong I found myself clutching at Josh’s arm for support. He glanced down, mildly surprised, but passed no comment. I quashed the thought that James would be furious if he saw us, and the suspicion that he could appear at any moment.

The grotesques of the university watched our passage through the courtyard, exchanging knowing looks, evidently thinking our simultaneous departure had some deeper meaning. I ignored them, intent on the path at my feet, smiling bitterly at James’s rose. It still stood tall in the midst of the wintery graves of its compadres. The courtyard lay at the heart of our horseshoe-shaped building, which was an odd amalgamation defying rational architecture. From the walls, the gargoyles continued to watch the proceedings in silence, and somewhere, lost in shadow, the chimera lurked.

James wasn’t dallying among the rose bushes today, yet I couldn’t shake the unsettling notion he was somewhere nearby, watching our progress. My ghosts had become such an intrinsic part of my existence that I almost failed to notice the sensation that first brushed me when they were present—a ripple across the skin, stirring the flesh enough to make me feel, just for an instant, that worms crawled beneath the surface, burrowing into my veins—an extremely unpleasant sensation, but one to which I’d become accustomed. Perhaps too accustomed, for now when I felt it, I brushed it aside, as if it were of no more consequence than a shiver caused by the draft from an open window, or a crick in the neck after falling asleep with wet hair.

I glanced up at the gargoyles, hoping they would shed some light on James’s sudden eremitic behaviour, but they maintained their flinty quietus. Irritated that my husband felt the need to play hide and seek simply because Josh was with me, I ignored the sensation, struggling to find my keys in the shadow of the ancient tree that loomed over my parking space. Another shudder rippled through me, and I looked about, certain I’d see my erstwhile husband somewhere close. Still there was nothing, and I dismissed the sensation once again, though less easily this time. It was only when I was in my seat, engine running, heater on full, that I realised Josh was still standing beside the car, preventing me from closing the door.

Shouldn’t you be getting home? I asked.

Um, yeah, about that …

I narrowed my eyes. What?

She’s kinda staying in the flat, y’know, until she finds a place of her own. Had to stay at Liam’s last night.

I was so shocked by the revelation he’d allowed her to move in with him, I could not make so much as a withering comment in response. Before I recovered, a teenage boy barrelled around the corner of the library. I was about to call out and ask if he was okay when he careened through one of the bins dotting the campus.