Bloodstone Page 23

  I climbed out of the attic opening and stopped—I couldn’t move another inch. I saw appearing out of nowhere a sheer drop descending into another staircase that I’d never noticed before. I held my breath and noticed the tiny ledge to my left. There was just enough room for my foot. I took my time because if I didn’t balance perfectly, I would fall down the steep steps below into—what? I peered down into the descending darkness. It appeared to be a long way down.

  I paused. The angry voice of the key stopped me in my tracks. ‘You’ll get me into trouble, you will. I’m the keeper of the keys. Bring them back, thief!’

  I slowly edged out, placing my foot on the ledge and balancing like a trapeze artist. Finally, as a last resort, I crouched and leaped to the steps below. I almost toppled down the stairs, but at the last moment, I regained my balance. Then with a triumphant backward glance, I placed the key in the lock and opened the door to the study.

  The keeper of the keys sighed deeply. ‘You’ve done it now. There’s no turning back.’

  The loud click of the front door opening startled me. I knew it had to be Mum. If she found me snooping around in the attic, I would be in deep trouble. Who knew how she might react? I sighed. Reluctantly, I closed and locked the study door and crept back down the stairs to the second level and my bedroom. I slipped the key into my pocket without another thought.

  The key sighed. ‘Thank heavens.’

  I muttered and swore under my breath.

  The next morning, I decided to talk to Mum and ask some questions about Dad’s disappearance, but she wouldn’t tell me anything. Frustrated, I planned to ransack the study again later. The gold key remained silent, tucked inside my jeans pocket. I just hoped that the voice of the key wouldn’t start ranting when Mum and Dad were around. That would be a problem that I couldn’t begin to explain away.

  Time dragged on into eternity, and the waiting seemed to last forever. Shadow followed me around the house as if he didn’t want to let me out of his sight. Esme had acted much the same. The two of them were driving me mad. However, Esme’s vigil paid off; she spotted the key as it slipped out of my jeans pocket as I undressed for bed.

  ‘What are you up to, Amelina? Where did you get that key?’

  ‘I’m going to search the study at the top of the stairs.’

  ‘I wish I could come with you and help you, but I can’t,’ she said sadly.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There are no mirrors up there.’ Esme’s simple reasoning rattled me for a moment.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry Esme, I’ll be fine. Shadow can come with me.’

  Shadow’s ears twitched. The black cat glided over to the mirror on silent feet and stared at his reflection. Esme walked from the shadows at the back of the mirror. She pressed her hands against the glass prison that held her captive. Her palms turned white from the pressure, and I wondered if she was reaching out towards Shadow and me.

  ‘Be careful, Amelina, you don’t know what’s up there,’ she warned. ‘Take care of her, Shadow.’

  Shadow’s eyes blinked once and then gleamed in what I took for “yes” in cat-speak.

  ‘I’ll take my chances, Esme. I have to. The answers to this curse have to be in Dad’s study. There is nowhere else to look.’

  She nodded. She bit her lower lip, and a drop of blood splattered on the inside of the mirror, captured for a moment before it left a red trail as it slid down the glass. I shivered and hoped that wasn’t a bad omen. I’d had enough bad luck and didn’t need anymore.

  I stretched out on my bed and waited until Mum and Dad were asleep in bed. I knew it was safe to proceed when I heard the reassuring sound of Dad’s gentle snoring. Anxious at what lay ahead, I opened my drawer and searched for my red jade crystal to take with me to protect me from harm.

  From the mirror, Esme watched me tiptoe out my bedroom door and head towards the stairs. In a dramatic stage whisper, she said, ‘Good luck.’

  I gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Shadow knew it was his cue to accompany me, and he followed, meowing softly. ‘Shadow, knock it off and be quiet,’ I hissed. I placed a finger to my lips in warning.

  When it was silent, I climbed the stairs to the attic and Dad’s study, being careful not to step on the boards that creaked. At the top of the stairs, I turned on the torch so I could see better and not disturb my sleeping parents on the floor below.

  Turning the key in the lock, I crept inside Dad’s study. Shadow followed. A reproachful groan erupted from the key. Then all fell silent. I flashed the torch around the room for the first time in years. In a corner against the wall, I spotted my dad’s old guitar. I remembered the guitar from happier times, whereas it was now just an abandoned instrument. Without a doubt, it had once been stunning.

  Intense sadness flooded over me. I cupped the red jade crystal in the palm of my hand, trying to calm emotions that threatened to overwhelm me. It disturbed me so much to see the neglected guitar covered in layer upon layer of dust. My father hadn’t played it for years. If only I could pick up the guitar. I would clean off the dust and play it to my heart’s content, hoping it would bring my dad back to the way he used to be. I knew better than to touch the guitar, and besides, Dad would be upset at my snooping. Guilt stabbed at my heart. I knew for certain that Dad would be disappointed if he found out that I’d been in his office at all.

  Again, my gaze drifted to the guitar. This time I found myself drawn to it, and I yearned to caress the smoothness of the wood-encased instrument. I battled my desire and jumped when the strings began to play on their own. A melancholy song twanged from the strings and I listened, enthralled. I wept genuine tears of sorrow. My emotions were raw, and a well of grief—long suppressed—released with my sobs. At that moment, it struck me that the guitar played the saddest song I’d ever heard. This song told our story, and I felt it resonate in my soul. This song was the story of my family.

  Shadow wailed. The cat’s cry mixed in a tragic note that blended with the guitar’s strumming beats, adding an extra layer of anguish to the song. I patted him, trying to reassure the cat that everything would be all right.

  Taking a tissue out of my pocket, I blew my nose and wiped my eyes. I walked over to the guitar and brushed away the layers of dust with my hands. When I had finished, I picked the guitar up and held it close to my chest. I could still feel the vibrations of the instrument resonate against my body even though I hadn’t played a single note. The wood came alive, and warmth flooded my hands. An appreciative hum burst from within the very heart of the house, saying, ‘Don’t stop. Play that guitar!’

  My absorption in playing the instrument was so great that I didn’t hear my mother’s footsteps as she slipped inside the study. Mum spoke, but I didn’t hear her. I continued, possessed by the sound of the guitar’s strings playing our heart-wrenching song.

  A mournful refrain echoed around the room and words tumbled from the guitar. Oh, Krystallos girl… Not yet sweet sixteen. To cure the curse, you must find the stone that speaks to your young heart.

  Mum raised her voice several times, but I never heard her. My mind was occupied with the words of advice that had drifted in song out of my father’s guitar. In frustration, Mum grabbed me by the shoulders and shouted, ‘Are you deaf? Can’t you hear me? I’ve been trying to get your attention, Amelina. Why are you in your dad’s study? You know he doesn’t like you being here. How did you get in anyway? It’s always locked when we’re out.’

  I ignored Mum’s questions and gestured at the guitar. ‘Oh, Mum, look at it. It’s truly a magical instrument. Did you hear the music? I just can’t understand why Dad would neglect such a stunning guitar. It’s awful,’ I groaned.

  Mum spun around and faced me. ‘Amelina, I’ve told you—your dad no longer plays. He’s too busy with other things.’ I picked up on the frustration in her voice. It was palpable, betraying her emotions. I tore my eyes away from the beauty of the guitar that had me entranced. I couldn’t understand what she was talking about. D
ad often sat staring out of the window, staring at his precious trees in the garden. He had plenty of spare time now that he worked fewer hours. However, Dad did nothing except read, watch television, or work on his puzzles. Why did he choose to be so dull?

  In puzzlement, I contemplated Mum’s ghostly face highlighted by the torchlight. ‘Why did Dad give it up?’

  Mum turned her face away and slipped back into the shadows. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘Please, Mum. I need to know. It’s tearing me apart inside,’ I pleaded, gently touching my mother’s arm, forcing her to return my gaze.

  She remained silent. When she spoke, the words tumbled from her taut lips. ‘All right.’ She swallowed hard and struggled to continue. When she did, her words were almost inaudible, as if they had weighed on her mind. ‘After your dad returned from his long disappearance, he became withdrawn and turned to his guitar for solace. All he could think about was that wretched instrument. He played it until his fingers bled and hardly stopped to eat or drink. The guitar became his only companion, his life.’

  Mum stopped for a moment, distressed by what she had just shared with me. She held her back straight, and her face reflected determination. A hint of tears wet her eyes as she fought to hold in the suppressed emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

  I hated to see my mum in such pain. We had our differences, but no matter what, she was still my mum. I moved towards her, and we clung together in a tight hug. Our embrace was such a natural response but not one we had shared for so long. I felt reluctant to draw apart, to release her, in case somehow she would crumble, but I had to. As before, she stood tall, hiding her sadness as best she could, but I noticed a change in her eyes, a gentle acceptance.

  Mum gazed off in the distance and started again as if remembering the pain that tore our family apart. ‘Your dad was obsessed with that instrument.’

  ‘I remember he kept asking for his guitar.’ I wrapped my arms around my body, seeking solace from the memories of my dad fighting his demons.

  ‘Yes, he did. I tried so hard to get him to stop,’ Mum answered, her voice welling with anguish. ‘But Amelina, he responded like an addict. It was a terrible thing to witness, a horrendous experience to stand by and watch your husband lose his soul.’

  ‘How did you get him to stop?’

  Her shoulders gave up the fight and slumped, and the tone of her voice dropped too. Finally, she found a melancholic place, and she continued. ‘I tried everything to make your dad stop. I even hid the guitar in this attic. I threatened to leave him, but it didn’t matter. His drive to play was all that mattered. Then one day his desire for that miserable instrument stopped. At the time, I had wondered if some sort of enforced punishment had ended. After that, your dad could barely glance at his guitar, let alone play it. Yet he refused to throw it away and locked it in his study.’

  ‘How weird. But Mum, in all that time since the curse descended upon us, I’ve never heard Dad play, or heard you fight about it.’

  ‘The instrument was cursed, Amelina. He played the guitar faithfully, but no sound or notes came out. The richness of musical sound was stolen from his life,’ she replied. Her voice became a whisper filled with sorrow. ‘We tried to keep it from you; we couldn’t bear dragging you into our misery.’ Mum placed her face in her hands as sobs wracked her body. After a moment, she regained her strength and wiped her eyes.

  ‘Oh, Mum. I finally understand what you and Dad have been through. Nothing could be crueller for a musician. He must have felt like he lived in a prison without bars. Poor Dad, he’s suffered so much.’

  Mum paused for a moment. ‘Yes. No one should suffer like that. The night he disappeared, you remember, we’d been playing charades. We were all having so much fun. Then, as you know, everything changed. The game became the most awful, fearful reality. The final card called for him to disappear and to sell his soul. He knew it. He read a threat on that card. He feared for the wellbeing of his family unless he obeyed. At the time, I didn’t understand. But somehow I guessed it. Years later he finally confessed what had happened. A wicked creature whom he would not name forced him to ride an enormous mechanical monster that speeds up time. This cruel rollercoaster hides below the earth in a tranquil meadow. A winged creature, a guardian of time, carries the key to unlock a monstrous device, a wicked rollercoaster which it brings forth from the earth. If you are an unfortunate victim, the rollercoaster ages you, stealing the essence of your youth. He wanted to spare us this terrible fate. Whoever created this device possesses the blackest of minds. The refrain of an ice cream van plays accompanying your suffering whilst you ride.’

  I reeled back in shock. ‘An evil rollercoaster, a sicko refrain—who in their wildest, most warped dreams would ever create such a horrible thing?’

  ‘Someone with no soul. Someone who has no heart. Yes, an ugly, twisted so and so, and that ride and the charades game is his or her idea of a sick joke. Your poor Dad, no wonder he’s never been the same person since.’

  ‘His whole appearance changed,’ I replied, my voice wavering on the verge of tears, trying to process all that Mum had told me.

  The memory made Mum blanch as if she’d seen a ghost. ‘Yes. He was so thin when he came back, emaciated, and his eyes looked old and rheumy like he had aged beyond his years.’

  ‘Mum, I felt so guilty at his horrible transformation. I had no idea what he had been through. I couldn’t even look Dad in the eyes after he returned. I didn’t recognise him, and all I saw was a stranger. I was afraid.’ Tears slipped from my eyes, and I wiped them away with my hand.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, pausing for a moment, swallowing hard, unable to continue. Mum struggled to speak and eventually found the words to express the heaviness of her heart. ‘I wished your dad dead,’ she said with anguish ringing in her voice. ‘I know it’s a terrible thing to say, but I did. I couldn’t bear to see him suffering so much.’

  ‘Don’t say that, Mum,’ I replied, my voice rising. I stepped closer to her sobbing form and wrapped my arms around her waist. I buried my head in her shoulder. ‘There’s always a way to make things better. One day he’ll be free again. We need to bring him back to who he was.’

  ‘Who he was? Oh, if only,’ she replied, her words stumbling as if she’d forgotten how to express her true feelings.

  ‘Don’t give up, Mum. Please, tell me more,’ I pleaded.

  What came next surprised me. Mum’s words didn’t falter as they had before; she released them in one long, emotional speech.

  ‘Whatever it was, the curse of time didn’t stop as we thought it would. It stole a huge chunk of his life. It aged him and stole his youth. And that was just the beginning. After he returned home, from God knows where the curse struck again, this time attacking his musical ability. It made his guitar playing addictive and destructive. This tormented him, so in a foolish desperation, he arranged for an exchange, a small chunk of his life measured in time, for an unmatched musical ability. The sweet, gullible man was tricked. The final blow silenced his playing. Your dad possessed a natural musical ability, but no one could hear him play.’

  Mum gazed at me with an exhausted smile, as if she’d run a marathon against her emotions and had lost the trophy.

  ‘I see. That’s why Aunt Karissa’s angry with him. Dad sold his gift of a musical heart and soul to the curse maker,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. Your dad tainted his pure Krystallos soul with his vanity and the obsessive desire to be the best and most admired guitarist. The crystals gave him many abilities, but he wanted more.’

  ‘My dad was a Krystallos.’ I scratched my head. That meant he’d had the capacity to harness the power of the crystals. I repeated the words once again in my mind. Dad was a Krystallos. That explained so much. He didn’t use his gift for the good of mankind, and his punishment for making a deal with the curse maker was losing his ability to play the guitar and share his musical soul. The notes had been silenced. I jumped when the realisation
hit me. ‘Mum, the answer to our troubles must be the curse maker?’

  ‘Your dad refused to tell me who or what the curse maker was. He couldn’t bear to talk about it; it was too painful, so eventually, I let the subject rest.’ Mum dropped her hands to her sides; the race to be free of her suppressed emotions had got the better of her. I stepped away from Mum’s arms and paced back and forth in Dad’s study, working all this new information through my mind.

  ‘I’ll find out, and I’ll make sure the curse maker never harms another person. I promise it will pay for all the evil it’s done. Dad mustn’t give up, he must play again,’ I said as I touched Mum’s arm.

  My mum’s face creased with anxiety, and her words became pincer-sharp as she continued. ‘You mustn’t interfere, Amelina. You can’t imagine what you’re getting into.’

  Shadow swished his tail in irritation. I had forgotten the cat had been here with us the whole time. He had been so unobtrusive, a silent observer of our misery. Unlike Shadow, I didn’t have a tail to make my opinion known, but I didn’t intend on following Mum’s advice. I had to help my dad. I knew that I would do everything in my power to make him well again.

  ‘You must return the key back to where you found it, Amelina. You mustn’t meddle in the events of the past.’

  ‘I haven’t got the key, Mum.’

  ‘Of course you have, Amelina. How could you have opened the door without it? It’s always locked. Dad keeps his key in a special place.’

  ‘Dad must have forgotten to close and lock the door,’ I answered, focussing straight into my mother’s eyes.

  Shadow leaped onto a cupboard, his ears trained on our words, desperate to hear what happened next.

  Mum scowled at my upturned face. ‘I doubt that. Don’t change the subject. If I find that you’re lying, Amelina… You don’t even want to go there,’ she said, her forehead furrowing into a hard line.