Norma shook her head dismissively. “I don’t mean your death. I mean this.”
She ran a finger over the torn skin of Harriet’s eyelid, reaching down to adjust her collar. “You look … well, the white hair suits you. I’m not sure about the open wounds, though.”
Harriet winced, turning to the side and cupping a hand over her eye. She’d forgotten about her battle scars.
“Sorry,” she muttered.
“That was our fault, Ma’am,” Rima said, stepping forwards. “I’m afraid that Harriet has had a bit of trouble settling in. But maybe now you’re here, that will all stay in the past. Don’t you think, Harriet?”
Norma turned to inspect Rima, looking her up and down. Her eyes skimmed over Felix and Kasper, landing on Leah and Claudia. She sniffed. “Oh, hello. And who might you be?”
Leah answered, since Norma was still looking at her. “I’m Leah, and this is Rima, Felix and Kasper,” she said, pointing each of them out.
Norma took a step closer and pulled Claudia out of her arms. “And who is this little angel?” she asked sweetly.
“Claudia.” Leah looked like she wanted to take the baby back off her. Claudia’s face scrunched up. She went red, like she was about to cry.
“What a darling.” Norma tucked Claudia against her hip, and turned back to Harriet. “Well, I’m sorry that you’ve been making a fool of yourself in front of all these nice people. Have you apologized yet?”
Harriet was abruptly mortified as she saw the last few days through the lens of her grandmother’s judgement. Harriet had come up short, failing to follow her gran’s advice in every respect. Her torn eyelid was proof of that.
“Oh.” Harriet forced herself to look at Rima. “Sorry. But, Gran – I’ve been trying to come home to you. I didn’t mean to abandon you when you’ve done so much for me.”
“I suppose it can’t be helped. It’s not like you meant to die. And we’re both here now.”
Harriet felt nothing but numbness.
Claudia twisted in Norma’s arms, reaching back towards Leah.
“Be still now, that’s a good girl.” Norma’s voice was firm.
A memory flashed through Harriet’s mind, before she could stop it. Once, as a child, when her parents had still been alive, her gran had taken her for a long, silent walk in the park. She’d tripped and scraped her knee. Her gran had helped her to her feet, and then knelt, pressing a thumb to the bleeding wound, which was full of gravel.
“Does it hurt?” she had asked, watching her carefully.
Harriet had bitten her lip, nodding, trying to hold back tears.
“I’ve got to get the gravel out,” she’d said, and scraped into the wound with her nail, tearing skin out alongside the grit. When Harriet had cried out, pulling away from her, she had calmly taken out a handkerchief and wiped the blood off her thumb. “Much better.”
Harriet suddenly wanted to grab Claudia from Norma’s arms. She swallowed. “Can I hold Claudia for a moment?”
Norma shook her head. “I’m not done with her quite yet.”
Harriet looked at Rima, wishing that anyone here was on her side. If this had happened a few days earlier, they would have been defending her right now. Protecting her. But after everything she’d done, she was on her own.
She didn’t even know what she wanted them to do. Take her away from Norma? Or did she want Rima to embrace Harriet, to show Norma that her granddaughter had finally collected some followers?
Norma cupped the back of Claudia’s head, eyes fixed on Harriet. “What’s your power, Harriet?”
Harriet closed her eyes. “Um.” It was like her brain had been turned inside out. She was wading through slush, trying to process everything.
Norma’s ankle was confusing her. The cast must have been taken off as soon as Harriet died. But then, Harriet had never even seen her go to the doctor’s, after it was broken. It had been so convenient, how her accident had happened just in time to keep Harriet living at home instead of moving away for uni. Keeping her within her control for another year.
“You do have a power, don’t you, Harriet?”
Her mind was blank. She couldn’t remember anything right now. Casting her mind back for an answer, Harriet remembered transforming into Norma using Oscar’s power, just before her gran had arrived in person.
“I can turn into other people.”
Norma’s eyebrows raised. “Well, well, well.” She looked down at Claudia, considering this.
“Mrs Stoker, I really would like it if you’d give my daughter back to me,” Leah said quickly, her voice pulled tight.
Norma rocked the baby in her arms. “Anyone that you like?”
It took Harriet a moment to realize the question was directed at her. “I think I can turn into anyone, yes.”
How did Norma know about powers? Harriet had needed Felix to explain it to her after she’d died.
Norma seemed to be lost in thought. Her hand was still cupped around the back of Claudia’s scalp. After a long moment, she released her and passed the baby back to Leah, whose worried expression relaxed slightly.
“Come with me, Harriet. I’d like to talk to you in private. It was very nice to meet you all,” she added to the others.
She strode away from her corpse without looking back. Harriet followed her, head dipped. She couldn’t make eye contact with any of them.
Let’s go back two thousand years. To another beginning, of the strictly chronological kind.
When the Romans first invaded Britannia, they would take in members of the local Celtic tribes as a method of keeping things civilized. It was a kind of peace treaty – We have your son/daughter/favourite dog, so please don’t attack our fort. You won’t like what will happen to them if you do.
Leah was the daughter of the leader of the Celtic tribe nearest to the Roman encampment, and when she was six or seven, she was “adopted” by an army general as one of these hostages.
She was mostly happy in the Roman encampment and liked her adopted family well enough. Her Roman father had actually been to the real, proper city of Rome when he was a young soldier. Everyone respected and admired him. The camp itself was clean, with good food and sanitation, and travelling theatre troupes for entertainment. She was even taught to read, write, and speak new languages. But despite that, she always wanted to go home to her Celtic family.
When she was a teenager, a promising young centurion named Fabian decided that the general might make a good father-in-law. He was determined to make his way up the ranks, and he would gain a lot from having the eye and ear of someone of a higher rank.
Fabian asked the general for his daughter’s hand in marriage over a fine dinner, bought with a month’s salary. Leah was fifteen at the time, meek and quiet, staring down at her plate and barely sneaking a peek at Fabian. But the girl was practically irrelevant. It was the father that Fabian needed on his side.
With much flattery and wine, a marriage was agreed. The girl said “Hello”, “Good morning” and then “I do” to the man who then became her husband. She could have objected. But nobody would have listened.
Fabian took his new wife to meet his younger brothers, Rufus and Vini. They congratulated him, teasing him for his keenness to settle down. They didn’t think much of the silent girl, but said she’d probably liven up with a little time. She must have barbarian blood in her somewhere, they said, loud enough for her to overhear.