‘Yeah,’ I say.
‘That must be hard. Knowing when you’re going to die.’
‘It’s not. It’s written. That’s the way it is.’ I rub a smudge of dried blood off her cheek with my thumb. ‘You’re supposed to be dead right now, little Twist.’
Her eyes narrow. ‘I’m not though.’
I drop the rag back in the bowl. ‘Yet.’
She leans forwards. I could count all the brown and burnt orange hues in those curious amber eyes. I could bite her bottom lip and see if she tastes as good as she smells.
‘I’m not afraid of you,’ she says.
She should be. It would be so easy to kill her; to end this.
My heart hammers against my chest. It would also be so easy to scoop her up in my arms, to hold her, to have her legs to tighten around my torso. I want to kiss her neck. I want to hear her unravel.
Fuck.
I have to get away from her. I knock the bowl as I move back onto the edge of the mattress, and the bloody water sloshes over the sides onto the carpet. I rub my face with both hands and then drop them to my thighs. A ghost of a smile plays about her pale lips.
‘Is this amusing to you?’ I ask. ‘Do you think this is fucking funny?’
This is fucked up. She shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be thinking things like this. She should be dead.
Her back straightens, and the humour drains from her face. ‘No. Why did you bring me here?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Are you going to let me leave?’
‘No.’
A heavy silence hangs in the air. This is all wrong.
‘What happens next?’ she says.
‘I don’t know.’
I always know. But right now, I have no fucking clue. My mouth is dry, and my throat tightens. There’s a dull burn beneath my skin, and I supress the urge to rub the tattoo above my heart.
I could make it all better, maybe, if I just did what I was written to do. But would the Creators forgive me now? Have I taken this too far already?
I said Blotters don’t get scared. They don’t.
So what does that make me now?
I’m fucking terrified.
Chapter Seven
Elle
I grip the edge of the metal chair and watch the Blotter warily.
His jaw is clenched, and his hands are in fists. There’s a thin layer of sweat on his body and it makes his tattoos shine in the dim light. He says he isn’t scared. He is. He must be.
‘Not knowing isn’t a bad thing.’ I talk to him as if I’m coaxing a wild animal, and his eyes narrow.
‘You don’t fucking get it. You don’t understand anything.’ He looks at the exposed pipes beneath the metal sink but seems to be focusing on something faraway.
I open my mouth—
‘Shut it. I’m thinking.’
I cross my arms. ‘A Blotter thinking. I thought I’d never see the day.’
His head snaps up, and a vein throbs in his thick neck. My heartbeat races. I’ve pushed him too far. Adrenaline floods my system, and I prepare to run.
Then he surprises me.
He laughs.
It’s a low, throaty sound that seems to come from somewhere deep inside. He looks almost innocent. It’s as if the darkness has lifted. No amount of laughter could undo the ink that marks his skin and soul, but still, it is a nice sound. Unexpected.
There are cracks in everything.
After a moment, it makes me laugh too.
He pinches his bottom lip before dropping his arms to his sides. ‘You really do have a death wish, little Twist. Why are you trying so fucking hard to antagonise me?’
‘Maybe for the same reason you brought me here.’
‘And what reason is that?’
‘Curiosity.’
The smile falls from his lips. ‘Curiosity is a sin. And I’m a Blotter. Do you understand?’
He stares at me, and his breathing is heavy. It’s as if he’s containing a storm in his chest. His face flushes, and his whole body is taut. He puts his head in his hands.
‘Fuck. I can’t do this. I can’t do this . . .’
I catch the words ‘Creators,’ and ‘repent,’ and ‘forgiveness.’ He’s starting to think if he killed me it might make everything okay. I don’t have time for him to decide it won’t. More Blotters will come. They’ll be here for both of us soon.
I glance at the door. He’s not going to let me leave. He will overpower me if I try. He is bigger than me, stronger. He was created that way. A physical fight won’t end well for me.
My strength does not lie in muscle.
Nonsense tumbles from his lips as his hunched shoulders rise and fall. I have to do something. I have to provoke him into making a decision, one way or another, before it’s too late.
He has a storm inside him. But I created the hurricane.
I grip the bottom of my chair and hope I am right about him.
‘Hey,’ I say softly. ‘Look at me.’
His eyes are bloodshot when he does. With all my force, I kick him in the chest.
He grunts as he falls back onto the mattress. I knock over the chair in my haste to get to the exit of his bedsit. My heart pounds because I know it isn’t a good idea to turn my back on a predator.
His hand slams against the door by my face as I pull it open, and it clicks shut.
The Blotter’s scent floods me: masculine sweat and salt. His breaths are hot and angry on the back of my neck.
‘You’re not going anywhere.’
‘I’m not staying here while you decide whether or not you’re going to kill me.’
‘Turn around. Now.’
I flatten my back against the door. His body cages me, traps me.
‘Do you really think I’m going to let you walk out of here?’ he says.
‘Do you really think you can make me stay?’
His lips twist into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘I can make you do whatever I want, little Twist.’
I swallow. His hand is by my face, and I can see the Sacred Stylus tattooed on his forearm. It reminds me of what he is. A soldier for the Creators. A killer.
What if I was wrong about him?
I struggle to keep my breathing steady. ‘I know what you’re trying to do.’
‘Yeah? And what’s that then?’
‘You’re trying to scare me. Because you’re afraid.’
‘Blotters don’t fear anything.’
‘Blotters don’t deviate from the path that was written for them. But you did.’
His hand curls into a fist against the door. ‘Careful, little Twist.’
‘No. You’re not going to hurt me. You would have done so already.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘You want me to do as you say. You think if I do, you will gain the control you lost when you deviated from the path that was written for you.’
His jaw twitches, and I know I’m right. ‘Shut it.’
I grab the front of his vest, and his hand snaps to my throat. I breathe in sharply, but he doesn’t squeeze like a part of him wants to—he just leaves it there, the top his thumb pressing the underside of my chin.
‘I cannot be controlled. Tell me why you brought me here.’
He brings his face closer to mine. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Yes, you do. You’re afraid. You’re afraid because you didn’t follow the story the Creators wrote for you. But their story doesn’t matter, because I have a story too. Tell me why you brought me here.’
His skin is damp with sweat, and I smell the slightly acrid note of fear on it. ‘You’d be wise not to provoke me, little Twist. I’ve killed people far more dangerous than you. And you’re naïve if you think you’re safe with me.’
‘No. You’re naïve. You’ve lived your whole life serving the Creators, thinking there’s a point to everything you’ve done, every life you’ve taken.’
He slides his hand from my neck into my hair.
‘Shut it.’
‘But you’ve wondered,’ I say. ‘I see it in your eyes.’ I grab his wrist as his grip tightens.
‘Blotters. Don’t. Wonder.’
‘But you do. Tell me why you brought me here.’
‘No.’
I need him to say it. I need him to admit it to himself so we can move forwards. ‘Tell me.’
‘No!’
I pull on his vest, and he slides his thigh between my legs, holding me against the door. The air feels too hot. ‘Tell me!’
He cries out in exasperation. ‘What the fuck do you want me to say, Elle? I did it because I wanted to.’
‘And . . .?’
‘Because . . . because I don’t want to kill you.’ He sighs and then rests his forehead against mine. ‘I’m not going to kill you.’
I touch his heart. The dandelion seed is inked just above it. ‘Why?’
His breathing begins to steady, but his eyes burn with intensity. ‘Because I’m curious.’
Chapter Eight
Elle
He stares down at me.
He confessed his curiosity—a trait so blasphemous, so unusual for his kind. I should be relieved. I should be pushing him away and deciding what happens next. But I’m caged within his body, and I’m curious too.
I’m curious about his body and his tattoos. I want to trace them with my fingertips. I want to know if they brand his ridged torso and follow the hard V of his hips.
I wonder what his skin would taste like. Would he taste like salt and the rain? If I sunk my teeth into his flesh, would he make a sound? Would the ink that connects him to the Creators bleed from his veins?
His eyes drop to my lips, and I hate that a man I’ve just met is provoking such an ache within me. I hate that I’m thinking these things about a monster.
A flash of amusement crosses his face. It’s as if he knows he’s regained some control over the situation. ‘What are you going to do now, little Twist?’
I close my eyes and try to calm my speeding pulse. What is wrong with me?
‘The Blotters from the market, they’ll come for me. Won’t they?’
He steps back, and his arms drops to his sides. He exhales. ‘Yeah.’
‘We need to leave before they get here.’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘We?’
‘Yes, we. I presume they’ll be after you now as well.’
He walks across the bedsit, picks up the metal chair, and turns it to face me. He sits down and rests one arm over the back. ‘I can handle a few Blotters.’
‘And then what?’
His expression hardens. ‘I told you. I don’t fucking know.’
I lean back against the door, fixing my gaze on a damp spot on the ceiling.
‘What’s wrong?’ he says.
‘You. You’re frustrating.’
‘I’m frustrating?’
‘Yes.’
He leans forwards. ‘I admitted I’m curious,’ he says. ‘I’m curious about you, little Twist. I’m curious about what you taste like. I’m curious about how it would feel to take you against that wall. I’m curious about what you would sound like when I made you scream. But I’m not curious about going on some crazy little Twist adventure while you carry out whatever terrorist schemes you have planned.’ He glances down at my rucksack sitting by his feet. ‘What exactly are you up to?’
‘I thought you weren’t curious about my little Twist adventure.’
His brow furrows. ‘I’m not. I—’
‘I created the impossible door. I created the hurricane. And I’m heading through the Drafts to reach the Final City. That’s all you need to know for now.’
He laughs, but there’s an edge to it. ‘You’ll never make it to the Final City.’
‘I will.’ Silence stretches between us, and I exhale. ‘You can’t stay here. They’ll come for you too. You broke the rules. You twisted from the Creator’s story.’
‘I told you, I can handle—’
The sound of male voices in the corridor causes us both to look at the door. My insides twist. It’s too late. They’re here. There are no windows to escape through, no impossible door, no hurricanes—just me, the Blotter, and a group of men who mean to kill me.
‘Shit!’ My outburst provokes a genuine smile from the Blotter. ‘Is something funny?’
‘Yeah. You. I like you scared, little Twist.’
He’s on his feet and striding towards me by the time I remember my rucksack. ‘There’s a knife—’
He grabs my arm and drags me across the room, picking up my rucksack as he passes it. ‘Get in the cupboard.’ He flings the doors open. ‘Inside. Now.’
I push against him. If I’m going to die, I will not die hiding. That’s not how my story Ends. He lifts me up, though, like I’m one of the dolls they have in the Inner Drafts and deposits me ungracefully inside. I stumble through his hooded tops and vests and hit my head against the wall.
‘I’ll deal with it,’ he says.
‘Are you insane? You’ll get killed. And then they’ll kill me. I’m not dying in a cupboard—’
The Blotters pound on the door, and he points at me. ‘Shut it. And’—he glances warily at the wooden bottom of the cupboard—‘you’d better still be in here when I’m done.’
He slams the door shut. I push, but there’s a thud as he grabs something and slides it across the handles of the cupboard. Panic surges through my body. I do not want to be trapped in a dark space that smells like him and damp clothes.
There’s a crash as the door bursts open.
‘Where is he?’ says one of the Blotters.
Breathing quickly, I push my eye against the crack between the doors, trying to catch a glimpse of what’s going. Gunfire fills the air, and I throw myself back.
He’s going to die. The curious Blotter who was supposed to kill me will die. And I don’t want him to. I don’t want to die either.
I throw my hands over my ears until a deadly silence fills the cupboard.
My chest is heavy. My throat constricts, and I swallow, straightening as footsteps approach the door. I cannot let my emotions get the better of me. I have to survive. The element of surprise is all I have on my side. Blotters don’t get surprised. It might be enough.
I leap forwards as the doors are flung open.
A strong arm hooks around my waist, and I’m yanked into a hard body. My hair whips my eyes and gets caught in my mouth. I cry out, jamming my elbow into his ribs. He curses. And I still.
The walls are black, my earlier question answered: Blotters do bleed ink. The scent of it is heavy in the air, metallic and acrid. There are five bodies on the floor. Men with broken necks and gunshot wounds.
But my Blotter is not one of them.
His heart beats fast against my back. When my breathing steadies, he releases me. I turn and look up at him.
There’s something animalistic about him right now. His pupils are big and wild, his skin is flushed, and his top is drenched in black Blotter blood. His breathing is ragged and uneven.
He looks every bit the monster he’s supposed to be. He could have killed me a thousand times already. He really has been holding back with me.
‘Are you hurt?’ I ask, and my voice is quiet.
‘No.’ He takes a step back and rubs his face, smearing ink across his cheek. ‘No, I’m not.’
We stare at each other, both unsure of what happens next. Unsure of what to say.
‘Come with me,’ I say.
‘You won’t make it to the Final City.’
‘You can’t stay here.’
‘You don’t get it, little Twist. I can’t leave.’
‘I do get it.’ I take a tentative step towards him, and he flinches, his eyes still wild. ‘This is familiar, and you don’t know what to do now you’re not following the Creators’ story anymore. You’re not ready to make your own yet. But that’s okay, because until you are, you can be a part of mine.’
I lightly touch his forearm
, and he tenses.
‘But you have to decide now, because I have to go.’ I glance at the tattoos that mark him as a monster, and the blood on his vest that proves it. ‘And if you’re coming with me, you need to change into something that covers up your ink. You’ll draw the wrong sort of attention where we’re heading.’
He drags his teeth across his plump bottom lip. And I can’t wait for him any longer. I grab my rucksack and step over one of the corpses. I look over my shoulder as I reach the door.
‘Well? Are you coming?’
He looks like one of the statues of the Creators they erected in the courtyards of the Citadel. Still. Metal. Unbreakable. Then he exhales and averts his gaze to the ceiling, shaking his head.
I try to hide my disappointment. I try to hide that I wanted him to come.
‘You won’t make it to the Final City, little Twist,’ he says.
‘Yes. I will.’
He closes his eyes, the corners crinkling. He looks like he’s in pain again, and I wonder if it’s the tattoo of me that’s causing it. ‘Not alone, you won’t.’ He touches his mouth. ‘You know where you’re heading next?’
I grip the pocket of my trousers and will myself not to do or say anything in the next few seconds that might scare him away. ‘Yes.’
He opens the cupboard doors. He peels off his bloody vest and drops it on the floor to reveal his muscular back. It has as many tattoos on it as his chest. I’ve barely had a chance to look at them before he pulls on another top and throws a large black hoodie over it. He zips it up as he crosses the room.
‘You’re going to be the death of me, little Twist,’ he says, pulling the hood over his buzzcut.
The corner of my mouth twitches. ‘Do you mean to tell me you’re coming on my “crazy little Twist adventure” after all?’
He lets out a low sigh. ‘Don’t get smart with me. Come on.’ He puts his hand on the small of my back and gently pushes me out into the corridor. ‘Let’s get on with it before I change my mind.’
Chapter Nine
Jay
This is fucking insane.
The curious girl strides down the corridor away from my bedsit, her white-blonde hair wild and tangled down her back. I traipse behind her, head down, scuffed knuckles stuffed in my pockets, following like one of those ridiculous puppy dogs they have in the Inner Drafts.
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