The Changeling's Ghost (Thirteen Gates #1)

The Half-Empty Room

    

     My curly red hair clung pathetically to my forehead as I retreated from the shower and changed into something dry and warm, unequivocally the two best possible sensory combinations. I am willing to fight people on this. I had just put the kettle on boil and was looking forward to a relaxing afternoon of getting my homework done only to discover Aitamah, our housekeeping grimalkin witch, was in my room, pulling sheets off of the top bunk. She was a short and round woman, one of our distant cousins, with bushy silver hair that was always tied up behind her. Her old gnarly hands, dark in color, were strong and resilient, as was she. I just didn't understand what she was doing in my room, because in the last few days I had made it very clear I wasn't comfortable with that.

     "What are you doing?" I demanded.

     Aitamah glanced up at me, looking somewhat bewildered. "Preparing the space, Master Northcott?"

     I frowned. "Why?"

     She blinked. "I'm only following your parents' request."

     "My parents?"

     I left Aitamah standing there, unsure, and strode through the halls of musty bookshelves and warm orange light. Their study was in the eastern wing, and when I checked inside Mum was wearing her glasses, bent over a book about fencing styles of the 1900's while Dad sipped a cup of tea and read the newspaper. They definitely knew why I had stormed into the room--I could tell from the slight crease in Mum's eyebrows.

     "Why is Aitamah moving all of my-, our stuff?" I asked.

     "We need the space, darling." Mum replied, already looking down at her book.

     "Why? What's wrong with every other room in this house?" I insisted.

     "Have we not told you?" Dad looked up, confused. "I could have sworn you were in the loop."

     "Tell me what?"

     They two of them shared another look. They had a variety of different glances at each other but this one was a subgenre I had grown very familiar with in the last week and I suddenly became very uncomfortable. Their non verbal communication continued on for a few moments until finally Mum closed her book and set in gently on top of their shared wooden desk that rivaled Queen Victoria's Resolute. She sighed, a quiet and quaint noise.

     "Uh well, due to... recent events... we're being assigned a special agent."

     I felt my confusion and vague sense of betrayal only grow. "A... special agent?"

     She nodded gently. "Yes, a prodigy of the sorts, from America."

     My heart sunk. "America."

     "Yes, a very talented man who's going to need a place to stay. That's the last unaccompanied bed in the house, Asher." She pointed out. "You're going to have to let it fall back into use for a bit."

     I danced back and forth from leaning on different feet decisively. "What about me? I've been trying my best and I really don't think we need any help."

     "Tell that to our government, son." Dad chuckled from behind his newspaper.

     "But I really can do it!" I insisted. "I've been practicing hard, and I almost hit that sylph from earlier, we don't need any help. It's not even their business."

     "One sylph," my father said, with an almost amused hmph. My face burned with shame.

     "I'm sure, Asher, but we don't really have much of a choice." Mum mused. "Have a cup of tea and relax while Aitamah does her chores, it's nothing to get mad about."

     I clenched and unclenched my fists, still unresolved but she was right. My words had no weight in this matter. However, instead of relaxing like she suggested or as I had planned, I walked sitfly back to my room. I found Aitamah holding a large laundry basket full of the pale blue sheets from the bed above mine.

     "I'll take those." I said through clenched teeth.
Her eyes widened in surprise.

     "Master Northcott-!"

     I pried the laundry basket with a gentle amount of force from her. "I said, I'll take those."

     She shot me one last somewhat concerned look, but it wasn't really her place to call me out on my endeavors through small acts of youngblood rebellion. Aitamah left a small cat-like mrrh of disapproving amusement and simply stalked away. I quietly loaded the sheets into the washer and returned my room.

It felt really empty all of a sudden. I wanted to stop, I didn't want to tear apart the familiarity my own room. It was one of the few things that I had anchored onto in these past days. The only reason why I hadn't had a breakdown yet. I couldn't though, I couldn't just tell off Aitamah and then not do anything. My parents would be so angry and disappointed that I can't just suck it up and control my emotions, and I can't have that, not now. There's still a chance I can show them I'm good enough and I don't need some special agent to fill in for me.

     It was still raining as I kept working. I started by pulling a pile of books off the bedside table built into the top bunk. It was the lamest selection, an animal encyclopedia, a guide to the wild life in the united kingdom, even a London A-Z. It was endearing selection but also straight out of every touristy location south of Scotland. There were pictures too, but I didn't give them half as much time, resorting to simply turning the ones that were left on their faces and moving them into a drawer. I left up the miscellaneous pictures of wildlife, they were nice enough to look like stock images or something even professionally done. It was just the images with evidence of people that I removed. I was okay with this, some of them were hard to look at anyway. It started raining even harder outside, nature opting to throw in a little wind. I sat on the floor with the collection of personal items that had taken of space in the room. The cup of tea I had brewed earlier had gone cold, blast. I took the books and returned them to their places on the bookshelves, I discovered more were missing and out of order so I spent a few minutes tidying them up.

I ran my shirt sleeve along my cheek, mopping up the very few tears that dared make themselves known. I hated them because I knew I could do better. I could do better. I also didn't have time to wallow in self pity, because I had work to do. I have to become stronger, and faster, and more precise. I had to show them I'm good enough so the 'special agent' would depart and leave us alone. Our family, our rules.

     I was momentarily shocked from my trance as I heard a plink behind me.I glanced over to see me cold cup of tea had fallen off the side table and spilt all over the embroidered rug. Ah, brilliant. I guess I'll clean that up as well.

     Leaving my room to find a towel in the kitchen was a trip because while the rest of the house looked like something out of a very wealthy sixteenth century castle, the kitchen was fairly modern. Sixteenth century ovens tended to be risky and dangerous, as they do. As I was wetting the towel, the winds picked up and rattled the windows looking out into the garden. I prickled uncomfortably at the loud noise but did nothing more than quicken my pace as I hurried back. Though the windows in my room as well, rattled back and forth with similar rage. I drew the drapes closed just to ease my nerves.
It was as I tossed the towel into the rubbish bin, I realized I would probably have to clean out the other half of the wardrobe, also brilliant. Half the clothes I disagreed with, but there were some jumpers and button ups that were nice so I just moved them to my side. That should be enough for all the revolting, gaudy, American tuxedos this guy owns. Then the laundry was finished so I hurried to that without delay, though part of me wished it wasn't the top bunk I had to redecorate.

     There was a crash of lighting outside and I jumped, effectively breaking me from my trance of fashion examination. The windows rattled ominously again. If I didn't know better I'd swear Mother Nature was angry at us. I don't blame her, I'm boiling with rage myself.

     I sat there in my know considerably empty room, feeling considerably more empty inside, and watched as our windows rattle with violent, almost human force.

     Probably poltergeists. Nothing I can't handle if it gets too bothersome.