Family in Darkness- Chapter 6
Knowing (This) Like I Do
Begal jerked awake at the thump as India chucked the diary at the kitchen wall. He groaned and grasped his head in his hands. Tentatively, England poked his head round the door. Don't worry, she mouthed, I'll deal with it.
To be honest, even with her head foggy, she'd expected it. The last two days he'd not been himself, jittery and forlorn when he thought no one was looking. Falsely chipper when they were. Even England had noticed, and since India was too wrapped up in his own head to notice, she'd been the one who kept him calm.
"Are you alright?" she asked him.
India grunted in reply, not even gesturing to the book laying forlornly on the floor. Sighing she made him a cup of tea. It was much harder than it should have been.
Get mug. Get spoon. Get tea bag. Stare at the tap in confusion before turning it the other way. Thoughts bobbed in and out of her mind, barely surfacing before being swallowed back into the depths of her exhausted fugue. Still she managed. India grabbed the tea gratefully, and slurped it down. There were heavy bags under his eyes, and his shoulders were stooped from tiredness. She couldn't blame him, her back was no better and she couldn't blame it all on the spell, days of reading useless books would do that to you. Of course, India had yet to realise that crucial bit of information.
He didn't do it.
This thought beat a little rhythm at the edge of her thoughts - blaring into prominence after every finished book. She was sure she had hinted at it the day they'd argued. But still they focused on the books, and the diary especially. Of course if you accepted her premise…
England's magic is not the cause
...Then all their work was for nothing. And both her and the child were getting worse. Not dramatically perhaps- there'd been no more fits, though the boys hands sometimes trembled. But in small ways. Her focus, normally obsessive, was flighty. Her reactions were slow and sluggish. And her thoughts were a mess.
Still. She looked at her brother curled around his nearly empty tea cup. It wasn't steaming anymore- she looked at the time- one of the things he'd taught her about this new world- an hour. An hour had passed her by without her noticing. She shook her head and re-focused. Her brother. She watched him go over and pick up the diary and flick back to the beginning. There was only one conclusion.
He doesn't know what he's doing. We've gotten stuck.
She sits there and tries to think. Rearrange the pieces in a way that makes sense. If not England then who? Or what? And most definitely, how? Whatever it was needed time, and power to do this. That couldn't leave too many people in the frame. But however she twisted it she couldn't see any more clues. Did they even need them?
She blinked.
"Brother", she said, he hmm-ed and looked up from his reading.
"Is there a mosque in this city?"
The mosque shined with inner light. Outside it was a plain brick thing, similar to the shops that squatted either side of it. But inside the walls were painted white and caught and reflected every mote of light that seeped through the small windows until the whole place was bathed in a warm white glow. Gently she rubbed her feet in the soft green carpet, grounding herself. At the entrance the boys rest- England fidgeting nervously as India naps in the chair.
A deep voice interrupts her.
She blinks and turns to the man who just spoke. Kind brown eyes peek out from bushy red eyebrows, and his leathery brown skin crumples into a smile. He's wearing plain clothes and an aura of gracious curiosity at her scrutiny.
"Sorry I didn't catch that," she says in Arabic after a while. The Imams eyebrows shoot up for a moment.
"Do not worry about it, it's not everyday I get to exercise my classic Arabic," he chuckles. "What brings you here, young one?"
"I've been forced 700 years into a future by an unknown curse and seek your guidance." To his credit he only blinks once.
"It was green," she adds.
"Ah?" he says. "Might I inquire as to when this- curse- was applied?"
"Just over a week ago?"
"And have you been experiencing some stress before this occurred?" His eyes have softened from confusion to compassion.
She thinks of the rebellion and the twins, the constant feeling of tension and desperation. "Yes," she admits, "But what's that got to do with anything?"
The imam nods like he expected this. "Have you considered talking to your doctor about these feelings?" She feels a hot flush spread across her cheeks.
"I'm not mad!"
He puts his hands up placatingly. "I never said you were-"
"Yes you did!" Bengal jumped and looked down. England was standing slightly behind her, arms crossed, like a little bodyguard. She looked at him in shock. Her eyes trailed downwards, specifically down to his feet.
"Take your shoes off!"
England blinked at her.
"What?"
"Do you see anyone else wearing shoes? Take them off and stack them on that rack over there." For a moment he just stares at her. "Now please." The boy gives her a forlorn look before sloping off to do as she says.
She hears a chuckle behind her and whips around to look at the imam, who is failing to hide a smile behind his hand. Her face feels like its about to burn off from embarrassment. "I'm so sorry, he just doesn't-"
The red bearded man waves it off. "It's alright, it takes time to learn these things. When did you take him in?"
She blinks, she didn't really take him in, they were simply housemates- all be it separated by substantial gulf in development. Still, she supposed to a human, they would look like mother and child.
"About a week ago." He winces.
"Big changes then? Have you got anyone to help you?" His voice is soft and his eyes are kind. Bengal finds she can't meet them. She looks down and twists her fingers instead.
"My brother." As much as he could help.
The silence yawned out in front of her. Compulsively, she tries to fill it. "It's just….not how it's meant to be." She blushes, her stomach coils. "I mean- I'm trying, I was hoping- things would be different. I was trying to make things different. But it turns out that it's not going to work, I'm going to fight the same battles over and over again. Even if I survive- I don't know if I can-"
Her voice chokes off and a heavy hand lands on her shoulder, grounding her. She takes a moment, she breathes. He lets her compose herself before speaking. Miserably she reflects how silly it is, unloading to someone who thinks she's crazy. But this glittering future with it's cars and antibiotics and computers- it's wearing on her. It's wearing on her not knowing what to do or how to act. It's wearing on her to watch the boy and watch herself just waiting for a seizure. It's killing her to watch her brother lose sleep over it. But in the back of her mind the worst is that she now knows, bone deep that when she goes home, her victory will be fleeting. That it'll vanish, like ash in the wind, and she will have to fight again, and again, and again. And for the first time, she doesn't want to know more.
In the face of everything it feels small, and selfish. But it's got a sharp grip behind her lungs, and the fear hurts. She doesn't want to have to fight forever.
"It sounds like this is a very stressful time for you. I know you won't like to hear this, but perhaps you should consider talking to your doctor, before consulting me. Treatments have come a long way since I was in practice-"
"She's still not mad." England was glaring at the imam, looking for all the world like he wanted to thump him. Unconsciously she put a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off, but shot her an apologetic look. Then a thought that had niggled at her finally floated to the surface:
"Wait, you speak Arabic?"
"You didn't know?"
"Who speaks Arabic?" India stretched and yawned as he unfurled from his chair.
"I do." said England.
"Really," India paused. "Why?"
Bengal rolled her eyes and turned back to the imam, who looked quite concerned, drowning out England's- " 'cause of Crusading in the Holy Land, obviously," with her own,
"Thankyou, but unless doctors have a treatment for curses I think you will have more luck with this." She winces as India continues to talk to England - "but why would you need to know?"- "'Cause I'd be a shit bodyguard if I didn't?" -
"Don't worry about them, they're always like this." The Imam turns back to her and raises his eyebrows. "What can you tell me about anti-curses?"
His face turns somber. "I can only repeat what I have already said, please, I implore you to seek medical advice first. Whilst magic can be the cause for many distressing events, the problems are far more often medical rather than magical." Gently, he places a hand on her shoulder. It rests there heavily, like a warmed brick. "If it's any comfort, your not the only one whose come to me with these concerns. In these uncertain times many seek greater explanations for their pain, why a young man recently came to me to request my help with a house fire he said was caused by a haunting!"
India froze mid sentence, "Wait, realy?"
The imam blinked, "...yes? I mean the man was in shock, grieving, his house had just burnt down- praise be to God, his shop wasn't destroyed too."
"Is he prone to delusions, the man, I mean?"
The imam began to lean away, brow creasing in confusion. "No, he always struck me as very sensible, a miracle considering- well, considering." At this point his voice dwindled to a worried murmur, aware that his words maybe weren't landing in the right ears. Firmly, Bengal shrugged his hand off her shoulder, and stepped away. He gave her a forlorn, pleading look, but before he could reach out to her India jumped in. "And you said there were others? More than usual?"
She stepped back, stomach churning like it had a monsoon inside. England followed, shooting her nervous looks. Head spinning, she took the seat her brother had vacated, tuning out England hovering by her side- didn't he say he was a bodyguard?- to cover her eyes and wait for the world to stop shaking.
After a moment she peeped between her lashes. She'd planned to pray. She'd planned to do a lot of things actually.
"England," she murmured, "could you pick me up a Quran from the shelf over there and bring it to me?" She was sure India had mentioned they gave out free copies in the car. It'd stuck with her, not only for the convenience but for the luxury, to have enough to give them away so freely. But she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Again, she peeped through her eyelids. England stared back. He blushed.
"Just because I can speak it doesn't mean I can read it or nothing! You gotta tell me what it looks like!"
"It's the one with the green cover, there's a whole pile of them on top of that shelf."
He nods and walks off with a forced and unnatural nonchalance. She wondered if he'd forgotten that they were free here. Probably. She suspected that it should be worrying, that he'd steal for them after knowing them only a few days, but she was too tired to feel much of anything. Except dizzy. She felt lots of that.
"-I mean I admit it was strange, the same green light and strange smells, but he'd just come off a nightshift, the eyes can play tricks on you in the dark-"
She closed her eyes again, thoughts fading in and out as her brother and the imam continued to talk in low, worried tones. She sat there, floating at the edge of consciousness rolling a plan in her head. It was crazy, probably stupid, but…
She jumped. England flinched for a half-second and drew his hand away from her shoulder, before shoving a small green book at her chest. She looked at it and blinked. A Quran. Yes. Good. She tucked it into her coat.
"Thankyou," she said.
England's eyes widened in shock. They always did, she noticed, when someone treated him with a pinch of respect.
"Wait. Are you saying these things are connected? Somebody is preying on my community?"
"I..perhaps." Then India turns to her eyes full of fire. "But first I have to check something."
India flew up the stairs, not even kicking his shoes off before taking them two at a time. He hurtled across the landing, swinging himself around the doorframe into the ruined master bedroom.
"What is it?" cried Bengal from downstairs. He collapsed to his knees and started hunting through the junk, papers flying everywhere.
"The fire!"
"What fire?" she panted from the top of the stairs. England was already at the doorway, barely breathing and hovering nervously behind him.
"The one the imam talked about. I've read about it somewhere before!" He pulled out a pile of newspapers - all nationals- unlikely to report on a strange house fire, especially one that didn't even endanger the building it was in. He discarded them just as Bengal entered the room and leant against the wall.
"Do you want us to help?" she said. He swung his vision around, books, books, Financial Times, books.
"I think it was on the computer actually," he muttered.
"That's the thing you were reading when we first came in wasn't it?" he blinked in surprise.
"You remember it?"
"Yeah, sure, just give me a moment." She picked her way across the mountains of splinters and paper, grabbed something with both hands and passed him-
The monitor.
"Ah," said India, staring at the great grey box with a carefully neutral expression, "Thankyou. Did you perhaps also see another box over there? Black? Made of metal?" A horrible thought crosses his mind. "Possibly full of wires?"
His heart sinks at their stricken faces and gradually the pair of them root through the detritus. After a few false starts, England, cringing, presents the computer to him.
What was left of it, anyway.
One side of it was wrenched open, and wires spilled out of the component-less casing, leaving it a husk of its former self. Even the fan had been removed. For a moment he despaired. Internally. It wasn't their fault. Then he took a deep breath and looked at where England had picked it up. There lay much of the rest- the motherboard, CPU, disk drive. And as he picked them up and turned them over in his hands he breathed a sigh of relief. It had been disassembled, not smashed.
After some more searching he found most of the remaining components- only the fan was destroyed beyond repair. It was cracked clean down the middle, likely an accident. He sighed. It was frustrating, but manageable.
"Sorry," said Bengal, looking sheepish. Behind her, England shuffled from foot to foot. They both looked exhausted.
"Don't worry. You couldn't have known, and I can fix this." He waves the motherboard at the rest of the computer. "You guys try and get some sleep." He looked at the wreckage. "This might take a while."
"I KNEW IT!"
Bengal jerks awake, head spinning. It takes a moment to coordinate her limbs, but she still manages to scramble to to India's room, England sneaking up behind her, yawning. Her brother had thrown himself backwards, hands in the air, surrounded by junk. The grey com- no- monitor, was flickering slightly but showed pages of big bold titles in English. A white fan blew on the wiring of th actual computer, whose left side was still exposed. India grinned.
"I was right. I knew I'd heard of that fire before." He tapped the glass with a responding plink! "Right here. Green flames, written down here as wiring gone wrong."
She blinks at him.
"Whuh?"
He ignores her. "England- not you, older you- was collecting news articles. Petty vandalism, arson that sort of thing- all over the city, no particular pattern, I thought it was nothing. Until I talked to the Imam. Three of the incidents here were brought to him by concerned members of the public who suspected magic was behind it and England-" he raises the black notebook "-was certain of it."
"All these incidents are in here. Some are marked as being false alarms. But the rest? He's recorded and attempted to replicate them." He opened up the book right it the middle."Like, listen to this- fifth of February-" He rattles of a translation of the entries, but her head is still trying process the last section. So she interrupts.
"Sorry, what?"
He sighs. "Ok, from the beginning-"
In the end, it takes three tries to explain it to her. It's unconscionable, even England starts to give her a funny look. But her head is still swimming from sleep deprivation, she could honestly just drop where she stands. But she feels she gets it. A thought swims up from the depths.
"See, I told you he didn't do it."
India's eyes widened in shock and confusion.
"Eh."
For a moment they just looked at each other equally bewildered. Then, a memory. Shit. I told Shahadeva didn't I? She feels herself flush in embarrassment.
"Um. Older England. I don't think he did it. He doesn't have any of the stuff." She pauses for a moment as her brother looks at her in stunned disbelief. "I thought I told you?"
"No you didn't." He says flatly. She rallies though.
"Well now, we know he was investigating…"
"Yeah, and whoever got them got us last week!" England piped up. She nods, but India still loks uncertain.
"...Perhaps," he says.
She sighs, she's tired and she's confused but this makes sense to her. "Look. I know he did something to you, and it still hurts. But that doesn't mean he did this. For the last two days we've been going round in circles. If your going to help, you need to let it go."
She knows immediately it was the wrong thing to say. His face falls, then hardens, and he folds his arms.
"I'm so sorry for my concern-" his voice is cold "- you'd think being the only one whose met the man in question, lived with him, survived him, would know. But apparently not."
She flinches. Stupid mouth. "I didn't mean it like that-"
"Perhaps I should just make some dinner hmm? Since that's all I'm good for." Then he rose and swept past her, furious. She stood stock still until he was gone before flopping onto his bed and cradling her head in her hands.
"Can..Can I go to my room now?" She glanced at England, surprised. His eyes flicked from her to the door India had left through. She sighed.
"Yeah, try and get some rest." He gives her a brief withering look, which ok. Fair. "Or look through some of the research, maybe there's something we missed." He nods and makes for the door. He pauses in the doorway, and for a moment he opens his mouth as if to ask something, but then he closes it, and leaves.
Finally on her own, she groans. What was she thinking? She knew older England was a sore topic, she knew the boy had grown up into- someone bad, dangerous, even. To bring it up like that and throw it in his face. And he was still suspicious. Still dabbled in dark magic. A suspect. Maybe he teamed up with someone. Maybe he hid the evidence better. India didn't make that sort of reaction up. And you just threw it straight in his face. Moron. She hated this, it was like she wasn't even in control of her own mouth anymore.
It couldn't go on.
Quietly she took the Quran out of her pocket, flipped it open, and began to read.
She leaves it an hour before shuffling into the kitchen. India's not cooking, instead his nose is buried in that dratted diary, and he's scowling. She sneaks around to boil the kettle and root around in the cupboard. Only when armed with tea and cake does she sit down at the table with him.
"Sorry, I didn't mean what I said." she says, setting them down in front of him. For a moment she thinks he'll reject it, but then he takes a sip of tea.
"It's fine. Not like you know any better yet." She flinches. "If you hadn't said it you'd still be thinking it."
The silence is somehow even more awkward with the sun streaming through the window, birds chirping happily. Bengal fidgets with the end of her scarf, trying to muddle her thoughts into coherent words. India sips his tea.
"It's still not fair to you though, I knew it was sensitive and I still said it." He gives her a Look. "I'm sorry!" Her voice becomes low and halting. "I just can't see how that boy could become someone so…" She waves her hand helplessly. So able to hurt you. All her life the twins had been this dominant, overwhelming force, able to whether wars and disease and migrations that would have killed lesser immortals. The idea that a tiny island nation- this tiny island nation could cause such harm was….
India sighed, and finally looked at her. He looked so old. "You've seen him through a tantrum though."
"...yeah," she says, "he's a sleep deprived thirteen year old."
India laughs, softly and bitterly. "Imagine that but cunning. And with guns."
"...What's a gun?"
"Swords then." He rubs his forehead and takes a bite of cake, as she tries to contemplate that. She can't.
"How long?" she asks, staring at her lap. He puts his cake down. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to! Sorry I'm babbling-"
"200 years"
"Oh."
"Yeah." He sighs and takes another bite of cake while she tries to digest that piece of information. Eventually he pulls the diary close. "However, while I was sulking I did find something useful. He taps an entry in February. "The family who were affected by the fire are Arjun and Ishaar Thakur. And Arjun's shop is right round the corner from us."
The shop wasn't very busy to India's eyes, which perhaps had something to do with the burnt out husk of the flat above. On the one hand, the fire clearly hadn't been that severe as the shop was still open. But its black and empty windows glowered down at the street in a way that was, quite frankly, menacing. A little alarm went off as he opened the door and the three of them piled in. A half a minute later, India slapped a bag of nuts on the counter.
"Just this today, mate?" said Arjun. He looked much like his profile picture, though he was taller than India had expected. A big, barrel chested man, he hunched, like he was afraid of taking up to much space, bushy black beard touching his chest as he looked down at India. He looked tired, but his smile seemed very natural, considering he was still working just below the burned out shell of his flat.
"Actually, Mr Thakur." The man frowned. "I was wondering if I could ask you about the fire upstairs."
"What about it?" His eyes where creased in confusion.
"Can you tell me what happened?" Immediately, Arjuns body language closes down and he rings up the nuts."
"Wiring failure." He says flatly. "Unusually bad, the police said they'd be able to tell us more when they've completed their investigation." The last words are said with a hint of scorn. Arjun clearly didn't believe a word of it
"Is it?," And here India took a deep breath, aware that the next sentence was going to make him sound like a madman. "Not magic?" Arjun paused, before looking him in the eye.
"What makes you say that, stranger?"
"Vihaan. And it's the green flames," says India, pushing across a printout of the news article. Arjun picks it up, then sighs before pushing it back to them.
"Look, I've already got someone looking into it -"
"Arthur Kirkland right?" says India. Arjun blinks and gives him a suspicious look, and India continues before he can interrupt. "He's missing."
The lie came easily, almost as soon as he'd started retracing Arthurs steps he'd realised that he'd need a cover story. He was going to talk to who he talked to, go where he went, in order to get inside his head. If he didn't want to come across as a deranged stalker, he'd need a cover story that couldn't be verified. He'd practiced it in the car all the way up. It was barely even a lie, really.
Arjun's gentle face morphed into shock and horror. India softened his gaze, and tried to look beseeching. "I was hoping you could help."
"Why haven't you gone to the police, I could tell them what I know-"
India tapped the news article still sitting on the counter. "We both know that won't help."
Arjun frowned. The sharp beep of the door signaled more customers entering the building, a group of laughing teenagers, who immediately gravitated to the drinks fridge by the counter. Then the man sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
"Meg! Can you take over from here!" he shouted. A muffled "sure," came from the back room, swiftly followed by a lanky redhead with angry red acne all over her face. "You going for the rest of the day?"
"Yeah, you wouldn't mind closing up for me would you?" A bored shrug. "You're a star." He turned back to them and beckoned them out the door, before asking.
"Who are you to Arthur anyway?" India's mouth went dry, and his stomach swooped uncomfortably.
"A friend," He croaked, lie souring on his tongue.
"Mum! Ishaar! I'm home." Arjun yells as he lets them into the house. A lean man with a white button up t-shirt and a neatly trimmed beard comes down the stairs to meet them.
"Hey, I wasn't expecting you back so early, everything ok?" He says with a remarkably deep voice and gives Arjun a quick kiss. He turns to India, who's hopping about on one leg, taking his shoes off. "Who's this?"
"Vihaan. He works with Arthur."
The man looks the three of them over. "Family business?"
India jerks his thumb behind him, to Arthur. "He's the family, I'm the business. We work together." He nods before looking at the other two questioningly. "Hazarika and Arthur." He says, gesturing to each in turn. "I'm afraid my sister doesn't speak much English. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the fire."
"Arthur's missing." Supplies Arjun, beseechingly. His husband nods before turning to them again.
"Well, it's nice to meet you anyway. Shame it couldn't be under better circumstances. Do you want to come through?"
As he walks through the house he can see that nothing in it sits straight. Piles of books and blankets sit crookedly on every surface, mashed next to wonky and occasionally cracked nick-nacks, glued together with some kind of glitter glue. Pictures hang at odd angles on the walls. With the exception of three- Arjun and Ishaars' graduation photos, and them in bejeweled and brightly coloured sherwani for their wedding. It looked warm. It looked lived in.
And when they entered the living room there was a full spread of cakes, biscuits and tea waiting on the table. Arjun scratches the back of his neck and chuckles awkwardly.
"Thanks mum!" he calls into the kitchen, a dark hand with an emerald ring waves him off. He turns to them. "She always goes a little overboard when we have visitors, don't worry."
They settle themselves down on the two overstuffed sofas that had somehow been squeezed in the modest room and pour themselves some tea. On one was India, flanked by his two charges. The other, Arjun and Ishaar- Ishaar gently leaning on his husband. Arjuns mum- Padma, the records had said- looked on from the kitchen.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
"What do you already know?"
He draws out the black book from his trouser pocket, "Only what's in here"
"Arjun nods. "Yeah. Can I have a look at that." India hands it over, and Arjun opens it to the right page and whistles. "Hey look Ishaan, he wasn't kidding. I'm amazed you managed to find us with the information here. It's pretty sparse."
India shrugs, of course England had avoided identifying features, he'd been a spy for over a hundred years. "It took a while."
Arjun nods. "I was just curious, 'cause this didn't really start with the fire." He open the book to another page- fifth of January, and hands it back.
"It'd been going on for a few months. Things going missing, windows and picture frames cracking in the middle of the night. They'd come in spates, one week we'd get loads and then we'd be fine. At first we just thought it was just unlucky." Arjun paused and took a sip of tea. "Then a goat was teleported into the bedroom."
India blinked. "A goat?"
"Arjun nodded emphatically. "I know right? One minute I'm fast asleep and the next I'm being trodden on by this mangy creature that's screaming it's head off. Though-" He smiles and nudges his husband, "- I still think he had better morning breath than you."
Ishaan rolls his eyes. "Fuck off."
Arjun snickers, then continues. "Still, waking up with a goat in your bed and your husband outside in the street is a bit beyond a bit of bad luck. So I started looking for people who knew about magic."
"Including Imam Abdullah?" He nods. India takes a sip of tea
"Arthur was the only one who offered to help without seeming like a massive scam artist. He comes in to get milk every Saturday at 11.30 without fail. So it was just luck that he overheard me whinging to one of my mates really." Arjun pauses, and give him a funny look as he chokes. "He was really good, actually. Very professional. Didn't want paying though."
"Seems he's actually a sensible person when he's sober." India gives Ishaan a questioning look. "I'm an A&E nurse in the local hospital, he turns up drunk at least once a month only to abscond the moment he's out of sight. We just roll with it at this point."
"..Sounds like Arthur to me." Little England looks up from where he's picking apart a piece of cake. "Not you." he clarifies in French.
Their hosts give him an odd look. "..His mum's French."
Arjun nods and continues his story. "Well we thought that was it for a while- Arthur said he was off to do his own investigation and nothing else happened and that, we thought, was that. Then the fire happened."
"It-" Arjun's mouth opens, then shuts and opens again, his face going pale. "I was in bed that night. The fire alarm didn't go off." His face is pale and he puts his tea down quickly to avoid spilling it. Ishaan pulls him close for a side hug, heedless of his audience. A hot coil of guilt and jealousy coils in India's stomach. He still has to ask though.
"I'm sorry," he lowers his voice to a soft murmur, like he's coaxing an animal out, "anything you can tell us would be helpful, but take your time." He looks at Ishaan, who gives him an uncomfortable shrug.
Arjun takes a deep breath. "Don't worry I already had to tell the police and Arthur. I can do it again. Ishaan- doesn't remember much about that night. I'll get to that part last though ok?"
"We'd both gone to bed early, it'd been a long day and we were knackered. But the next thing I know." Again he pauses, wide eyed. "It- it was like it was in January. But the goat this time, it was completely silent and nearly frozen- I only woke up because it stepped on me. That- that probably saved my life. The room was already full of smoke, and when I opened the door it was boiling hot and I could see this green fire creeping up the wall. I picked up the goat and ran."
Suddenly Arjun took a big gulp of tea. "When I got outside I could see the flames leaping out the windows of the box room- Ish uses it as a study so I thought-" he shakes his head. "But there's nothing in there that would burn green. The weird thing was I wasn't scared- it was like someone else had grabbed my body and was moving me about. I called the fire brigade and the police. And then I started looking for Ishaan. I couldn't find him, that's when I started to panic."
Ishaan grimaced, visibly wincing, as Arjun suddenly squeezed his hand for comfort. "I got lucky there- as soon as I set the goat down it ran off into the alley. A minute later out comes Ishaan."
India feels his eyebrows shoot up. "You mean-?"
"He was turned into a goat this time?" Arjun nods. "That's why he doesn't remember much, according to Arthur memory loss is pretty normal if you get transformed like that."
India nods. "And, err, what else did Arthur say?"
"Not much, he just looked very serious and asked us a bunch of questions about the night before but he said they didn't help much?" India's heart sank, but then Ishaan poke his husband.
"Actually they're was one thing." He turns to India. "We'd taken a bunch of photos of these 'arrays' to document what was happening, and after the fire." He blushed. "I snuck inside the police cordon and took some photos of my own."
India stared at him in were so many ways that could have gone wrong it wasn't even funny. DNA, arrest, being charged with arson, tampering with evidence…
"I know, I know!" said the nurse hurriedly, "but the police had finished their investigation- I checked! It was just for safety reasons." Arjun gave him an extremely tired look. "Which doesn't make it better I know! But look at this-"
He whips out his phone and shows him a photo. It's a room. Blackened and full of the melted and burnt detritus, it's hard to tell what it might once have been. The wallpaper has been burned away in many places leaving exposed brick and insulation. Sunlight spills in from the hole where the roof used to be. For a moment it's hard to see what he's meant to be looking at, everything is so damaged. Then Bengal gasps, and points. In the center of the far wall are four lines that might once have been straight, burned and sooty against a ruined backdrop. They go straight through the wallpaper and leave lines on the brick beneath. The center is obliterated. A halo of unshaped soot. But if India was a betting man, he'd bet on two concentric circles, filled with strange runes.
A summoning array.
"What did Arthur have to say about this?" India said it slowly, a million possibilities whirling through his mind. Arthur researching an intervention and fouling it up. Arthur researching the previous problems for his own gain and fowling it up. Or worse, getting it right. Combat magic. India had no idea if summoning normally caused fire, only that fire seemed to be exactly the sort of thing combat magic might want to produce. Chilling thoughts mingled with memories- drawing on them and giving them teeth. Famines caused by carelessness. Why not fire? Countries undermined from within. Why not a house? A nation slowly back sliding to the bad old days-
"He frowned and looked very serious, then put a blocking rune on the four corners of our building," Arjun flicks to a picture on his phone. A wheel like symbol in white paint sat at the bottom of the wall. The outside looked kind of celtic to India's untrained eye but the spokes looked like nothing less than a bundle of spiney forks. Vaguely he wondered if England was back on the psychedelics. It'd explain a lot. "We were a bit sceptical at first but the building hasn't had any problems in the last couple of months, so it must be working."
India carefully doesn't let his mouth fall open in shock. The England he knew would rarely help without a catch.
"Could you send me those photos?" His voice is shockingly normal. Perhaps it was unfair- England could be reasonable, even principled at to a strange timetable known only to himself. But India had learned the hard way that even people he saw as special-
"Yeah, sure." Said Arjun.
- even those he made feel special, were disposable. You didn't know why, even if you thought you knew when. These men did not know England. No one did.
Apart from him. Maybe.
She dipped in and out, dreams a kind of half waking hallucination- frightening visions of battle fields, then green flashes, then fire, then tentacles multiplied and refracted into lines and geometric shapes, to a refracted face of an unholy creature. Punctuated by wakefull paralysis, eyes darting a second before sinking back down. Falling, falling. Disorienting images flicking by mundane and mangled corpses side by side. Chased by monsters. Eventually she lifted a hand like lead and pinched herself. Heart pounding, sanity returned with wakefulness.
She'd collapsed on the sofa. By the time they had got home, Bengal could feel herself slipping in and out of sleep. She barely badgered the pictures out of him. The sun was still high in the sky. Did that mean she'd barely slept? Or was the day truly that long? She had no way to tell- time in this country didn't seem to run properly at all. Her phone buzzed. She jumped.
Her brother had been kind enough to change the settings to Arabic,as the Bengali setting had been illegible. It still was, mostly. But she found the messaging service eventually. It was Pakistan. .
16.00
Hey I think you fell asleep while we were chatting.
Or you accidentally hung up again. I'll send you the stuff.
17.45
Are you alright?
No, no she wasn't. But she wouldn't say it. Typing was hard. She managed though. Pakistan didn't respond. Probably dealing with her boss? Or maybe sleeping. Apparently that was a thing people still did. She fought the urge to laugh hysterically.
Instead she clicked on the photos folder. Then closed it, because apparently that was actually the camrat? She opened a few more till she found the proper one. She flicked through the Thakurs photos. They were mostly small stuff. Some looked like summoning circles, but others were squares or little overlapping triangles. She couldn't make sense of them, though some looked familiar. She knew India would have sent that to Norway. She flicked through anyway. Again and again she came back to the same picture.
It was their bedroom. Fifth of January. Post goat. Cool blue walls oversaw a ransacked room. Clothes and knick-knacks were strewn everywhere and the bed had been half stripped. The duvet looked wrecked, covered in dark smears. She was also fairly sure the goat had widdled all over it. Ew. nothing had escaped unscathed. It took her a moment to realise that there was no array.
Maybe they didn't notice? She dismissed the thought. They'd taken pictures of every other one they'd found, if they'd seen it they'd have a photo. And they'd had to fix the whole room, maybe even replace stuff- the duvet and bed looked especially battered. The duvet even had those strong brown lines that probably wouldn't wash out-
Wait. She blinked. Shook her head and looked again, closer. Then she went and pinched a duvet cover and a marker.
Because those brown marks weren't shit.
They were burns.
It took a lot of experimenting, toggling between the Ishaan and Arjun's photo of the room. It was no wonder no one had opened out the blanket, it really was spoiled as well as burned- goats were messy. And when she was done it was incomplete. But a great compass point, spokes wound with vine-like swirls stared back at her. And it had been burned straight into the blanket. That wasn't prepared. That was spontaneous.
She stumbled over to the wall phone, grabbed the piece of paper beneath it and did the only thing that might help.
She messaged Norway.