Feynard Read Free Page A

out to enfold the Human’s thread of life with his power, even as the Lurk had cradled him.
    He must keep the Human alive at all costs.

Chapter 1: In the Library
    K evin used to hide in the Library. It was his favourite place for two reasons–reading was his lifeblood, and Father and Brian avoided it religiously. They advanced no reason for this behaviour, nor did he expect one. Skeletons aplenty rattled in the Jenkins family closet. As the runt of the litter–to borrow one of his brother Brian’s insults–Kevin knew any inquiry would be received in a dim light.
    The Library at Pitterdown Manor had been Victoria Jenkins’ pride and joy. Though he had only met his Great-Grandmother in person a handful of times, this impression stuck clearly in his mind. Great-Grandmother, who was always addressed by her title and never by first name, was an avid collector of books and manuscripts, and had amassed great rooms full over the years. She spoke fondly of the Library, as of a dear old friend.
    Father disparaged the ‘eccentri c old witch’ in private. Brian had once insinuated that the sole reason they visited was that as direct descendants of Victoria Jenkins, they stood to inherit a substantial estate, although the manor’s dilapidated condition did make one wonder. At the time, his snide remarks had earned Brian a sharp cuff, but Father had salivated over the inheritance often enough for everyone to appreciate the true picture. Avarice was his weakness. Avarice, coupled with a taste for the high life. Thus they were always on their best behaviour when visiting Great-Grandmother. Brian, as the elder and favoured son, always accompanied his parents to dinner, while Kevin was left with the nursemaids. During their visits, he took to secreting himself in the Library with some book or other, and thus whiled the hours away.
    In those early years, the Jenkins family made an annual pilgrimage to Pitterdown Manor. Brian and he would engage in the inevitable territorial squabble across the back seat of their battered old VW van as they thrummed ever northward from England’s lush green south to the borderland of Scotland, home of enigmatic dark tarns and buttery shortbread, where Kevin imagined the thin skirl of wailing bagpipes still sounded over the bones of brave Highlanders slain by the traitorous English. Last time, he had avidly devoured the story of William Wallace, which changed his perception of Scotland forever. Now, its austere majesty called to his heart in a whisper of desire.
    They usually took tea after Edinburgh, as the shadows lengthened into twilight, when Kevin’s tiredness peaked and Father began to cast anxious glances at his watch. He would doze the last stretch, stirring only when the wheels crunched onto the winding gravel drive leading up to the main house. Liveried servants greeted them, unloaded the luggage with miraculous efficiency, and conducted them to once-sumptuous rooms. Most of the servants had been replaced after Great-Grandmother’s death. These recollections brought a grim slash of a smile to Kevin’s lips. He suspected that they had been dismissed for causing Father some offence in the years before it all changed.
    Today–he counted swiftly upon shaking fingers–yes, today was their twentieth anniversary as owners of Pitterdown Manor. This anniversary marked the Jenkins’ elevation to riches and lordly living–not instantly, for there was a protracted legal battle Father had fought to gain control of the full estate, which had ended to his satisfaction. When the will was read, Father received what he regarded as his just reward–sole, undisputed ownership.
    Twenty years had also passed since Mother had become ill of a strange, wasting disease, never to rise again. She spent brief, dying days in a drug-induced delirium.
    She and her son, so alike.
    It was twenty years, too, since he had last ventured further than the main gates leading to the world beyond.
    Yes, these walls encompassed