Page 17 of The Angel Maker

Six

That was a nice day, wasn’t it?

Katie remembered her family going to see her father’s first shop. After toiling for years in the garage, he had been able to rent a small unit in Barton Mill on the outskirts of the city, close to the countryside. Katie was thirteen then; Chris, eleven. The old mill was situated on the bend of a curving hill, with a river churning away below. It appeared impossibly precarious to her: a huge stone edifice half supported by thick, black wooden struts that stretched almost endlessly down to the muddy banks below. When they got out of the car, she walked over to the fence and leaned over the railing, peering down at the water. It was so far below her that for a second she felt dizzy.

“Wow,” she said. “Come and look at this, Chris.”

She heard thechitof his sneakers behind her as he walked across to join her.

“Chris, don’t,” her mother called sharply. “It’s dangerous.”

Katie looked over her shoulder and saw Chris frozen halfway between her and her parents at the car, pulled equally in two directions at once. There was a slightly helpless look on his face, as though he wanted to be brave but knew deep down that he shouldn’t. That he should do as he was told.

Katie watched him deflate a little.

He turned and walked back to their parents.

By then, she was used to them being overprotective of Chris. On one level, she understood it, because she often had the same impulse. Her brother was small, but there was a vulnerability to him that wasn’t simply down to his size. It was something more innate. A sense that he was desperate to find his place in the world but was perpetually at odds with it, like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit.

Even so, it didn’t escape her attention that her mother hadn’t called toherjust then. That it had been Chris she was concerned about, not Katie.

Never her.

She followed her family inside.

The Mill was a new conversion. Everything smelled of sawed wood and floor polish. A corridor led between units with glass walls, many dark and empty but several already occupied. Their parents wandered farther, but Chris stopped by a unit. This shop was closed and dark, and her brother formed binoculars with his hands and peered in through the window. Katie stopped beside him. Close to the glass, she could see a display of elaborately decorated boxes painted with beautiful, swirling imagery. Dungeons & Dragons; Space Explorer; Dark Knight. There were racks of dice: regular ones, of course, but also ones with ten and twenty and a hundred sides. A little farther in, battalions of tiny, intricately painted figurines were arranged on a sculpted table.

She looked up at the sign above the door.

GODS PLAY DICE.

“What is this?” Chris said.

“Role-playing games,” she guessed.

“What’s that?”

“It’s when people pretend to be elves or soldiers, or whatever, and then they roll dice, and stuff happens depending on the number. A fantasy game. Make believe.”

He was silent for a moment. “It all looks socool, doesn’t it?”

Katie considered that. She had never played anything like it herself buthad a vague conception of the kind of person who did, andcoolwasn’t the first word that sprang to mind. But it would have been unfair to say so. Chris seemed hypnotized by the sight in front of him now, and if it turned outhewas going to be that type of person, then she didn’t want to be mean about it.

“Yeah,” she said. “It looks really cool.”

He looked at her hopefully. “Maybe we could play it together sometime?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Your birthday’s coming up.”

He smiled at her, and any resentment she’d felt outside disappeared for now. Their mother and father had been arguing a great deal recently—about work; about money; about who did what and who didn’t do enough—and even though they always tried to keep it from them, the atmosphere at home had been tense. Chris was more sensitive than Katie, and had spent more time clinging to her than she was comfortable with. There had been a fair few moments over the last year or so when he’d bugged the hell out of her. But that smile of his always undid the damage. It made him look about half his age, and had the kind of purity that made him seem like a small flame you wanted to cup your hands around and protect.

Of course I’ll play a game with you, she thought.

Because I love you.

“Come on, loser,” she said.

The unit her father had rented was a couple of shops along. A plain sign above the door readWICK’S END, which was a joke she’d had to explain to Chris after having it explained to her first. Her father was unlocking the door as they caught up. When the lights came on, she almost gasped in shock. An enormous rainbow filled the window before her. The plywood shelves within were lined with candles of different shapes and sizes, all arranged by color in a bright, beautiful display that covered almost every square inch of the glass. At first glance, it was impossible to take in the sheer intricacy of it—how each candle came together to build the whole display—and for a moment she was transfixed by it.

---