Foxblood
Book One: A Brush with the Moon
Raquel Lyon
Synopsis
One incident can change your life. For Sophie, it was the day the fox attacked her.
All Sophie ever wanted was a way out. Only a few weeks ago, she was a quiet art student with an overbearing mother and no higher dream than starting university and reuniting with her BFF, but destiny intervenes in the form of a fox bite.
If being attacked by a rabid animal isn’t freaky enough, her new town has secrets. People are dying, and Sophie feels she is being watched. Then there’s the arrogant and annoyingly sexy Sebastian with his plummy accent and come-to-bed eyes creeping her out. She should stay well away, but then he does live in the spooky manor house, and curiosity is her middle name.
This book was written, produced, and edited in the UK, where some spelling, grammar, and word usage will vary from US English.
Copyright 2010 Raquel Lyon
Cover art by Rebeccafrank.design
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Prologue
THE STONE WALLS closed in, becoming her tomb. All around, the creatures advanced, hungry for blood, and below her, the belly of the castle vibrated with death. Struggling to escape the chains that bound her was useless. She was powerless before the monster that now turned to greet her. Red eyes bored cruelly into her from a face that used to have human features; a face that belonged to someone she had once thought could be her friend. But friendship was the stuff of fantasies, just like the figure she now feared. It approached, laughing, talons outstretched, reaching for her throat. She resigned herself to death.
Chapter One
“SOPH? SOPHIE! I can tell you’re daydreaming again, you know.” Beth’s voice echoed through the receiver. “Do you think you could quit playing with the fairies for just one minute and listen to me? This is important!”
I had no idea what had got her so pumped up. Beth was easily excited, and I often switched off midflow to give my ears a rest. I’d already been tired when her name lit up the handset, but I’d never leave her call unanswered.
“Sophie Maeva Crevan, listen to me or I’ll put the phone down and you’ll regret it.”
Her use of my full name had the desired effect.
“Okay, I’m listening. Get on with it. You’re giving me an earache.”
“I’ve done it. I’ve found us a place. I told you I’d get one in time. Repeat after me: ‘Beth, you’re the best.’”
Finally. I had begun to think that I’d end up kipping on Mr Morrison’s floor, and Beth’s father has never been my greatest fan. “You found us a place? Really? Can we afford it?”
“Only eighty a week, with utilities included, and it’s huge.” Beth was clearly pleased with herself. I might not have been able to see her face, but I could imagine the goofy grin spread across it as she spoke.
“No. I don’t believe you. There’s got to be a catch.”
“Um…well…yeah, but it’s no biggie. Nobody else seems to want it because it’s over the undertaker’s, that’s all.”
“That’s all? Great, Beth. It sounds exactly like the kind of place I’ve always imagined living in.”
“Now, don’t be ungrateful,” she said. “I’ve worked really hard to find somewhere. It wasn’t easy, you know. All the good places have already gone.” Beth’s frustration seeped down the phone line. “Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. The last undertaker died, and the new guy doesn’t want to live in the flat. He’s been trying to rent it for months without getting a single sniff. Goodness knows why.”
“Really? I’m shocked.”
“I’m picking up the keys on Thursday, and we can move in straight away. You’ll need to bring your biggest paintbrush, though. It needs a little TLC.”
“Big paintbrush, check. Don’t worry. I’ll be there next Friday, as planned. I can’t wait. I might even let you pick me up from the station.”
“Sure. Just let me know what time, and I’ll be there holding a huge banner saying, ‘Welcome to your new life.’ Believe me, you’re gonna love it here. The surfer dudes are to die for.” She sighed. Typical Beth. Mind in the gutter.
“Yeah? Well, they’re all yours. I plan to concentrate on my studies, without any distractions,” I said.
“Now, you know that’s not gonna happen, Soph. Uni is all about the parties, and I need my wing-girl. Don’t worry. You’ll still have plenty of boring painting time. So, I’ll see you Friday, and you’d better have your happy face on,” she said, ending the call abruptly.
Discarding my mobile phone onto the pretty patchwork quilt my Nanna had made as a present for my seventh birthday, I looked around the room. Every available bit of wall space was crammed with my creations from the past fifteen years.
I’d first picked up a paintbrush at the age of three, when my Nanna bought me some huge pots of bright, sloppy poster paint for Christmas, and every painting I produced from that first baby set had ended up stuck on her kitchen cupboards. I’d loved my Nanna. She’d died when I was twelve.
My head sank into the pillow, and layers of my life stared down at me, pictures from the past. Yet on the floor, an open suitcase held a promise of the future. I’d already packed some clothes and treasured possessions, but I was struggling to reduce the rest of my stuff to a more manageable amount.
I couldn’t wait to get out of Brumpton. This dreary, forgotten town full of crumbling, dingy buildings with boarded-up windows and a cloud of depression suffocating the skies was not where I planned to waste my life. And besides, I had too many bad memories of the place.
Mum had moved to Brumpton after she got married, and unlike the majority of residents, she managed to find a job. She still worked in the same place she had for the past fifteen years…the local supermarket. It was the kind of store where there was only ever one of every item on the shelf, and it was also one of the few shops still left trading. Mum hated every minute, but she only complained to the bottom of a wine glass, and at least the bills got paid.
I vowed never to end up like Mum.
“Sophie! Your tea’s ready,” Mum called from downstairs.
“I’ll be down in a minute.”
I couldn’t wait to tell Mum that Beth and I had got a place, and that she wouldn’t have to worry about me bunking down in some seedy B&B somewhere. But she’d probably fret anyway. She was clingy like that.
“It’s getting cold!” she shouted.
“I said, I’ll be down in a minute.”
She was at it again…worrying. Mum always worried. She worried about my studies. She worri
ed I wasn’t eating properly. She worried I spent too much time on my own, painting—saying it wasn’t natural. Whenever we argued about it, she accused me of being strange. Apparently, I should have been out socialising more, getting drunk with my mates like other normal teenagers, but every time I went out, she worried I wouldn’t come home. Sometimes, she even worried about how little of my money I spent—right before tapping me for a couple of quid for her latest bottle of booze.
It was true: I had saved well. At fifteen, I managed to get a Saturday job at the local pet shop, Miow Chow, and I would still have been there if they hadn’t finally given up and shut their doors two months ago. But money was never my reason for working there. I loved the animals. I studied their anatomy and even sketched them on quieter days. I always bought my clothes from charity shops, and nights out in Brumpton never changed. One night in one club that didn’t look too closely at fake I.D. cards. So, yes, I had a healthy stash, but my savings were my insurance, my means of escape, and I was going to need every penny.
I picked up a dirty coffee cup and gave my table a quick tidy, chuckling to myself as I remembered Beth’s comment about the surfers.
One of Mum’s favourite discussions was the subject of boys. She was always asking why I didn’t have a boyfriend. But I knew she’d still nag me even with a man in my life, so my answer had always been the same: I’m not interested. It wasn’t much of a lie, and it kept her off my back.
Dragging myself away from my thoughts, I went downstairs to the kitchen, where Mum was busy dishing out the tea, and I noticed we were having fried food…again.
“There you are, Sophie. Could you set the table, please?” Mum said, clearly flustered.
“Sure. Can I get you a drink?”
“Thank you, darling. I’ll have a small glass of rosé.” I raised my eyebrows with the unspoken question. “Yes, I know,” she said, “but I’ve had a terrible day, and it helps to settle my nerves.”
It had taken a while for Mum to accept that I was moving away. She’d said she understood my need to go, but I could tell she wasn’t pleased about it, and I just knew she’d be emailing, texting, and phoning at all hours of the day to check up on me. I often wondered how she’d cope without me to help around the house, but at least she would still have Todd, and at fourteen, I thought it would be a long time before he gave up his home comforts.
Right on cue, the back door opened and Todd came lolling in, all six foot of him. People said we were similar in looks, but he had a few more freckles and darker hair.
He shook off his wet jacket and glanced at me. “All right, sis.”
He’d always looked up to his ‘big sis’, so I thought he’d probably miss me, but it would do him good to be a bit more independent and do his own homework for a change.
He plonked himself down at the table. “What’s for tea? I’m starving,” he grunted.
Sunday brought a beautiful, sunny morning. I rose early and threw back the curtains to let in the warmth. The holidays were nearly over, and I needed one last painting trip before having to face the monotony of finishing my packing. So I gathered my materials together, threw them into my oversized shoulder bag, hooked a wooden easel under my arm, and set off.
Without knowing why, I turned in the opposite direction from my usual route across the fields and found myself on the outskirts of town, near the old power station. It had long been deserted—since the explosion that had killed my father and many of Brumpton’s other menfolk—and some of the wire fencing had come away from the post enough for me to squeeze through. My curiosity sparked, and I made my way around to the back of the building, wading through knee-high, sun-scorched grass to a place where a tall, slim chimney dominated the skyline. I loved the lines it created and the way the sunlight bounced off the old bricks. Eager to transfer the scene to canvas, I unfolded my easel, opened my paints, and set to work.
Slowly, my painting began to take shape, and I leaned back to ease my stiffened neck. The sun was high in the sky, so I closed my eyes and listened to the cooing doves in the nearby trees as I enjoyed the warmth on my face.
Without warning, a sharp jab pierced my elbow. I grabbed my arm and jolted upright only to find myself staring into the yellow eyes of a fox. It looked like any other wild red fox. A little bigger than I’d imagined a fox would be, up close, but other than that, perfectly normal. And yet it had just bitten me. Why would a fox attack me without provocation? I hadn’t done anything to antagonise it. I wasn’t a threat.
The fox tilted its head and blinked—or was that winked?—before turning tail to disappear into the undergrowth.
In that brief moment I’d locked eyes with the animal, I’d forgotten all about my arm, but as I watched the fox’s colourful brush weave out of sight, a searing pain brought me back to reality, and waves of nausea pulsed through my body until I thought I was going to throw up. Trying to remain focused, I hastily packed away my things and ran home as quickly as my shaky legs would carry me.
Through blurred eyes, I saw my house. I was almost there. The front door came into view, and my hand touched the handle. I turned it and blacked out.