Page 13 of The Other Side

The stone dissolved around him, and for a moment, Osian was nowhere at all. Crossing always stole his breath. A flash of brilliant light blinded him, then darkness rushed back. When his vision cleared, he stood beneath another night sky. Time flowed differently here; there was no guarantee that night would fall on both sides of the Veil at the same time.

Fortunately, this rocky outcrop lay far from any tourist trail. In ten years of travelling between worlds, he’d never encountered anyone immediately after a crossing. Not once. Yet tonight, something felt different. He ran his fingers over his ears. They were no longer pointed, so it wasn’t that. His wings knew better than to come out.

A prickling sensation crept across his skin. Osian tightened his grip on the violin case while his satchel weighed against one shoulder. His pulse quickened. Something had changed. But what? He stood perfectly still, listening. The night remained silent. No sound of anyone moving. No voices. He sensed no mortal or other presence nearby, yet the unease lingered. Reluctantly, he turned and headed for the cottage, another long walk, but he maintained his alertness.

The place looked even more derelict than he remembered. The roof still clung stubbornly to the walls, but several more windows had surrendered to the weather or local youths. As usual, he cloaked the ruin in glamour, shaping it into somewhere he could live. He lifted his hand. Warm golden light bloomed behind the now intact windows, and he smiled.

Inside, a small sitting room welcomed him. There was a large red sofa and a rug spread across worn floorboards. Shelves lined the walls, crowded with books. The kitchen, on the right, was simple but functional, and contained everything he needed. Most importantly, there were bright flowers in pots of all shapes and sizes. They settled his heart.

The glamour was flawless. Not a speck of dust could be seen, though he suspected the real cottage held little else besides dust and spiders. A refrigerator with a small freezer occupied one corner of the kitchen, the power provided by Osian. He unpacked the food his mother had given him and stowed it away.

The cottage was exactly as he remembered it, created in the usual way, so why couldn’t he shake the feeling that something was off? Osian crossed to the window and peered outside. Glamour hid the cracks in the glass, but not the night beyond. The moor stretched away beneath the moonlight, silver washing over stone and heather. Nothing moved.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he muttered.

A sharp creak answered from somewhere in the house. Osian froze. The building settled. Old buildings made noises. This one certainly had enough reasons to complain, being constantly resurrected every year. He exhaled slowly and rubbed a hand over his face.

He carried his bag and violin into the bedroom. He could have glamoured clothes to wear here, but he was expending too much energy as it was. He could only read one book at a time, but he liked to see a lot on his shelf. The bed was large and comfortable and there was a small cupboard for his things. After the uncertainty, the familiar simplicity of making himself at home was oddly reassuring.

Then he took the list out of his pocket and read it. Fuck. Belem wanted Osian to buy things he intended to torture him with? Unfortunately, he’d have to. Somehow.

He lay in bed and couldn’t sleep. So he took the handful of coins out of his satchel and held them in his fingers. The last person to hold these had been Drum. He was sure of it. I’m here! Where are you?

The following morning, Osian headed out early to the place he always went to first after he’d arrived on this side. The track from the cottage wound through fields bright with summer grass before joining the main road. A couple of miles further on stood Watson’s riding stables.

Fi was in the arena, schooling a large bay. Osian leaned on the fence and watched her for a moment. When she finally caught sight of him, her face lit up.

“You’re back.”

“I am.”

“It’s good to see you. How’ve you been?”

“Fine. Have you and Will been okay? Anything exciting happen while I was away?”

“The PCSO disappeared a few months ago and hasn’t reappeared. Helicopters everywhere. Spooking the horses. Good job Rogue wasn’t here then.”

She led the horse over to the rail, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. “This is trouble.”

“A new addition?”

“Yes, and I now know why Rogue was a bargain.”

“The name didn’t give you a clue?”

“It should have. I’m trying to show him who’s boss and failing miserably.”

“Want me to have a go?” Osian offered.

Fi wiped her hands on her breeches. “I’d rather you mucked out stalls one to three. You do such a good job.” She fluttered her eyelashes.

Osian chuckled. “Always a warm welcome. You flirt with me when you know I’m immune. Gone for a year and the first thing you want me to do is shovel shit? No cup of tea on offer?”

“Afterwards.”

“Fine.”

“Are you around for a while?” she asked, a hopeful note in her voice.