by Anna Day
Once Nate’s cleared the boat from the water, he sets off in the opposite direction from me and Katie. We creep after him, stopping only when a speck of light disrupts the black, a distant thrum filling my ears.
‘What’s that?’ Katie asks, her whisper almost unintelligible.
I peer into the light. It’s a tunnel of yellow, a cone, brighter at its point of origin. Behind it, I can just make out the glint of metal, the shape of something large and curved.
‘A Gem helicopter,’ I reply. I’m amazed my voice comes out at all. My breath seems to burn the lining of my mouth.
We crouch low and squat behind a block of concrete, shivering and pressed together for warmth. I’ve never been so cold. The water has mostly evaporated from my skin – which looks more like blue corrugated metal beneath the stars – but it hangs in my hair and to my underwear. I would give anything for a blanket right now.
The helicopter lands, the noise blasting my ears and temporarily distracting me from the pain. Katie and I wriggle forwards, trying to get a better view. Two men step from the chopper. The first man steps in front of the light; I can see his profile and his halo of blond curls. It’s Howard Stoneback. The man who shot my little brother. My insides seem to open up, split in two by a giant crevice. My heart begins to race, my breath quickens, and I forget completely about the cold and the fatigue. My body fills with red-hot rage and I begin to violently shake. I want to kill him. I want to make him bleed the way he made my brother bleed. The fury surprises me, but this does nothing to dampen it.
Katie rests a hand on my shoulder. ‘You OK?’ she mouths.
I manage to nod and focus on my breathing. In, out. In, out.
The other man steps into the light. He has his back to me but he’s a Gem without doubt: tall, broad shoulders, thick brown hair.
Katie and I shuffle a little closer so we can just pick out their voices over the gentle lap of the river, the ringing in my ears and the scratching of rats. The man with his back to us speaks first. Something about his voice is oddly familiar.
‘It was quick thinking anyhow, Nate. Well done.’
Nate looks at his feet. ‘I didn’t think he’d . . . kill them. It was awful.’
The man with his back to us touches Nate on the arm, and in doing so, shifts his body so that I should be able to make out the three-quarter angle of his face. But the way the helicopter light falls, his features are just one large shadow. ‘The Imps are savages. Surely you know that by now,’ he says.
‘You forget that Thorn’s a Gem,’ Nate says.
The faceless man adjusts his posture, and I can tell he’s slightly annoyed at being challenged. ‘Yes, but an Imp by heart. Just as you, it seems, are a Gem at your core.’
‘I still didn’t mean for her to die,’ Nate says. ‘Or Saskia and Matthew. They didn’t deserve that.’
The faceless man speaks softly. ‘Of course you didn’t. But now you must focus on the future, Nate. We’ve come so far. Just think, our actions will cement the fate of the Imps for ever.’
‘I know,’ Nate says.
At that moment, the faceless man moves and his features emerge from the shadows. Every one of my muscles freezes.
It’s Willow.
19
VIOLET
I clamp a hand over my mouth, biting down on my knuckles with rage. That two-faced, wormy, weasel of a bastard. How could he work against the Imps, after pretending to be part of the alliance, after clutching Rose’s body to his chest?
Willow speaks again. ‘And one day, everyone will thank you for what we are about to do . . . even my son.’
I peer through the darkness, trying to stop my face from trembling so I can get a proper look. Although the resemblance to Willow is striking, this man is older, his skin stretched as though it’s had the wrinkles smoothed away, and his eyes hold none of the warmth or kindness. Even though he’s stepped from the shadow, the light doesn’t reach his eyes, and I doubt it ever will.
‘Who’s that?’ Katie mouths at me.
‘Willow’s dad,’ I mouth back. ‘Jeremy.’
‘Dilf!’
We turn our attention back to Nate. He looks awkward, small.
‘What news do you bring?’ Howard asks.
‘Two girls have arrived,’ Nate says. ‘Young women. Late teens, early twenties. They’re both Imps, and they’re kind of . . .’ He pauses for a moment. ‘ . . . familiar.’
I gaze at Katie. A flicker of a smile crosses her face, making her freckles dance.
‘Baba was expecting them,’ Nate says. ‘They’re researching the London alliance. They seem harmless enough.’
Jeremy Harper nods. ‘Well, Oscar’s been working night and day. Night and day. And soon, the solution to our little infestation problem will be ready.’
‘Did you plant the canister?’ Howard asks Nate.
‘Yes,’ Nate says. ‘At Headquarters, they don’t suspect a thing.’
My brain works slowly, numbed by cold and exhaustion. Canister? Does it contain a toxin of some kind?
Howard reaches out and pats Nate’s back, as though he’s a proud dad at a football match. I want to run up to Nate and shout: He shot you. He killed you. Run away from him as fast as you can. But I’m paralysed by fear and ice and rage.
The three figures move closer together for a moment and I can no longer hear what they say. They shake hands and Jeremy and Howard step back into the helicopter. Katie and I scrabble beneath a sheet of scrap metal as the helicopter takes off, just in case the lights find us, hunched and shining in the dark. The chug of the blades sounds deafening after straining in the silence for so long, and the ground around us illuminates so that I can see every speck of dirt. I fear that the light is so fierce it will somehow penetrate through our metal shield, revealing our semi-naked bodies. But it dims and the chop of the rotor falls into nothingness.
We lie completely still. I don’t feel cold any more. I just feel really, really tired. Like my body is filled with weights and I’m sinking into the ground. The world closes in around me as I drift off to sleep.
‘Violet?’ Katie whispers. Her voice sounds far, far away. ‘Violet? You need to wake up now.’
‘I am awake,’ I reply. Or maybe I just think the words. The line between reality and dreams becomes flimsy, permeable, like a piece of tracing paper.
‘Violet,’ she snaps, her voice suddenly loud and close in my ear.
I open my eyes with a start.
‘Where were you just then?’ she asks.
‘I don’t know, I . . . I just wanted to rest,’ my voice sputters out.
She grunts. ‘Great, hypothermia. Come on, we need to get back before we both pass out.’
I stumble into the river, barely aware of the silt beneath my shoes or the water lapping against my skin. I watch my arms extend before me. They could be someone else’s arms. Two dead, corpse arms stuck to my body, moving of their own accord like they’re possessed.
I think I’m kicking but I can no longer feel my legs . . . I can’t feel anything.
I’m about half way to the shore now . . . the river is at its deepest . . . the expanse of water beneath me must feel so soft and still.
My eyes flicker shut, my corpse arms float at either side of me, my legs give up.
The comfort of dreams awaits me now. No more exhaustion, no more cold, no more fear . . . only the gentle push-pull of my breath as I slip into unconsciousness.
ALICE
That evening, Fanboy posts again.
A tiny drone flew through the open bedroom window and hovered before Nate. He thought for a moment that it looked like a massive bug, and wished he could swat it with his shoe. But instead, he plucked it from the air, pressing a fingertip against its glossy side. The drone emitted a faint beep, as though acknowledging Nate’s identity, and then unfolded in his palm to reveal a tightly rolled note.
Nate smiled. All this technology and it still boils down to note passing.
He read the words with
nerves growing in his stomach.
Tomorrow night, 12 a.m. Bank Station.
Beneath the writing sat the tail-gobbling rat. Nate traced the shape of it with his finger.
His first Taleter meeting.
Howard smiled as the gadget in his hand lit up, confirming that somewhere in the stinking Imp city, the Imp-boy known as Nate had received his message successfully. Howard reclined in his oxblood chair, swilling back a glass of Scotch. Tomorrow he would finally reveal the last piece of his plan.
And then nobody could stop him.
He closed his eyes, tears of joy threatening to tumble down his cheeks. In just a few days he would achieve his one, true goal: the annihilation of every Imp on the planet.
Horror forms in the pit of my being. I can’t swallow, I can’t move. I can hardly breathe. The words begin to merge together on the screen so they look like a load of lines and dots. The annihilation of every Imp on the planet. In just a few days.
Violet. Katie. Nate.
Holy shit.
I slam my laptop shut, sweat and tears mingling on my face. What the hell am I going to do? I have to get Violet and Katie to that meeting so they know what they’re up against. Could I write some more fanfic? No. There’s no guarantee that would work.
I have to send Violet a message.
I pull on a pair of jeans, borrow Dad’s argyle sweater and tuck my hair into one of Mum’s berets. At a glance, I’ll pass beneath the radar.
Just before I leave the house, Danny messages. His name lights up my phone and my chest in equal measure.
Al, I’ve found the IP address. I reckon
Fanboy’s using a local internet café.
You fancy a stake-out tomorrow? x
Sure thing x
Bloody Fanboy, if I find him at that café I’ll wring his scrawny neck.
I get to the hospital in record time. Crazy-mop-top-Millie doesn’t wave at me like she normally does, which means I’ve foiled at least one person. I glance at my watch. If I’ve learnt one thing hanging out with Nate, it’s when the meds trolley does its rounds. I pull my beret over my ears and head to the ICU, expecting the normal glances, but it seems my outfit has succeeded in making me invisible. I’ve got the same brain, the same personality, the same body. I’m still me. Funny how a few items of clothing can make such a difference.
I approach the ICU. There’s the trolley . . . sitting, waiting, inviting me to knock it over. So I bide my time, ignore the palpitations in my chest, and watch as the nurse pops into the ward. Then, I storm down the corridor and shove into the trolley with all my might. There’s a loud crash, followed by the pitter patter of pills scattering across the tiles. I duck inside the ICU and conceal myself behind the nearest partition curtain, too scared to even breathe.
The staff rush to the commotion, cursing their bad luck.
Quickly, I stride towards Violet’s bay. Adam is fast asleep beside her bed. Bollocks. I really didn’t think this through. But if trolley-gate didn’t wake him, I doubt my next move will. I study his sleeping face, unable to stop the jealousy growing inside – my parents never slept beside me when I was unconscious. My mouth fixes in a thin, determined line. I realized a long time ago that my shit parents don’t matter, my friends matter: Nate, Katie and, of course, Violet. I run my fingers through her thick, dark waves, releasing the scent of flowers.
When I was there last time, in the world of The Gallows Dance, I gave up everything to save her. Living as a Gem. Willow. And I’d do it again. In a heartbeat. I’d do anything for her.
Even if it means hurting her.
I pull a small kitchen knife from my handbag. The blade catches in the glow from the corridor, and for a second, it looks like an angry, sharpened tooth. My stomach hurts, my throat burns, and yet I have to do this. Because if rat tattoos and bullet wounds can cross between worlds, then so will this.
I kiss her on the forehead and carve the words ‘BANK, MONDAY, 12 A.M.’ into the fleshy part of her forearm. And then, just in case she doesn’t work it out, I carve my initial.
20
VIOLET
I don’t remember reaching the shore. I have a strange, broken image of two pale hands reaching towards me, their touch so hot it made my skin ache.
Then there was the slap of wood against my stomach as I landed on something dry and hard. The distant swish of oars in water. The stars seemed to stretch further than the darkness which held them; the sky becoming nothing more than the spaces in between.
The next thing I’m aware of is this pain in my arm. Like a knife, stabbing into me again and again. I try to scream, but my mouth fills with river water, cold and bitter as it sprays on to my face. I try to move my arm, try to wrench it away from whatever it is which is making it hurt, but it’s like my corpse limbs aren’t connected to my body any more, and all I can do is lie there, limp and half dead, coughing and aching, my arm on fire. I suddenly wonder if Baba didn’t die in the flames, if I’m somehow still feeling her pain. Then I must pass out.
When I wake, Ash leans over me so his face is all I can see. He rolls me on to my side, the riverbank slipping beneath my body, and thumps my back. Painful, deep wretches threaten to rip me in two. My arm feels like it’s been dipped in magma, and I swear I can feel something warm flowing over my hand and seeping across my body.
‘What the hell were you thinking?’ he whispers to me.
I try to answer, but the slightest movement of my throat makes the coughing start again.
‘We were following Nate,’ Katie says, laying my clothes over me. My skin’s so numb from the cold, I feel only a strange, dull pressure, as though the river anaesthetised me.
‘Katie, don’t,’ I manage to say.
She laughs, a sad exhale, and begins pulling on her own clothes. ‘I think we’re a bit past that now, Vi. If it weren’t for Ash, you’d be dead.’ She turns to him. ‘How did you find us?’
‘Thorn planted a tracker in your clothes. Don’t worry, I re-routed the signal so it reaches me first. As far as he knows, you’re still in bed.’
‘Why?’ I manage to croak. ‘Why are you helping us?’
‘You kinda look like you need it.’ He looks down at me and almost smiles. ‘And Baba made me promise.’
I grab at my arm and groan; pain strikes beneath my muscles again.
‘Christ, you’re bleeding,’ Ash says. ‘You must have cut your arm pretty bad.’ He presses his hand on to my arm and I feel myself push back slightly, grateful for the blunting of the pain.
‘You can’t go back to Thorn’s like this,’ he says. ‘We need to get your arm fixed up, and he’ll smell the river on you. Then you’ll be answering his questions instead of mine.’ He moves his head from view, and I see the stars again. I let my lids half close so that the clear boundary between light and dark disintegrates.
‘Nate,’ I whisper. ‘We have to help Nate.’
Ash bites his lip for a moment. ‘Come on, let’s get you back to mine. You need a hot shower and some food.’ He lifts me with such ease I feel like I’m flying, and I let the gentle rocking of his step lull me into a trance.
The next thing I know, I’m lying on a sofa and he’s tucking a heavy blanket around me.
‘Who are you?’ he whispers to himself, brushing my skin with his fingertips as he folds the fabric beneath my shoulders. ‘Why do I feel like I know you?’
‘Ash . . .’ I begin, but talking still hurts, my tongue weighed down by exhaustion.
‘It’s OK,’ he says. ‘Just rest.’
My eyelids gratefully lower, and yet my lacerated brain can’t stop thinking about Nate. Who is Oscar, and what is the solution to the infestation problem? And what’s in that canister Nate was talking about? What have you got yourself into, little brother?
‘Vi?’ Katie says.
I open my eyes. Katie stands beside me, her hair dulled by the water and a towel thrown around her shoulders. She looks like a piece of marble. Pale and veiny and like she’d be cold to the touc
h. But I guess she still looks better than me. ‘Vi, you massive waffle-crust, it was your idea to swim across that bloody river, and I ended up having to drag you the last half.’
‘Thanks,’ I manage to squeak.
‘If Ash hadn’t spotted us I think we would have drowned,’ she says.
My eyes flick around the surroundings. I’d expected to be back at Ash’s ma’s house, which I visited last time, even though that would have made no sense – it’s half a day’s walk from the river. But this looks like part of a warehouse, the front converted into a sitting room. I notice the feminine touches – flowers in a teapot, sketches on the wall – and try to swallow down that unwelcome jealousy. He lives here with Daisy. Of course he does.
‘Just stop making out you’re Superman,’ Katie says gently. ‘You’re clearly more Captain Underpants.’
‘What are you on about?’ Ash asks. He sits beside me on the sofa so that I can feel his back against my stomach. It feels like a hot-water bottle, and I have to resist the urge to curl around him. He pulls back the blanket and begins to clean my arm with a wipe which smells strongly of antiseptic. ‘They’re Gem wipes, they should stop it hurting so bad.’ As he strokes my skin, the pain begins to fall away from me. I suddenly feel lighter, like maybe I can move again.
‘So Nate’s the traitor,’ he says, almost to himself. ‘I should have listened to Dee. He’s been acting so differently these past few weeks.’
‘Please don’t tell anyone.’ My voice sounds small, pleading.
‘Why not?’
‘Thorn will kill him.’
He exhales, his breath hitting my cheek, hot and quick. ‘You’re right. I’ve seen enough of my friends die at Thorn’s hands.’
‘Someone is making him bad, I just know it,’ I say.
‘Who?’ he replies.
My eyes swivel to Katie, begging her for a clever response. The cold has slowed my brain and other than blurting out an evil author from another dimension I’ve got nothing.