‘I was half-convinced you were dead,’ he murmurs. His breath tickles warm on her hair. ‘I thought I saw something going past the branches, so I followed. Not the wisest idea I’ve ever had, but I’d seen nothing since I left the village. Nothing, and no one, and this was…’
He shakes his head against hers. The friction hurts her tender scalp. ‘I don’t know what it was. A shadow, I think.’
He pauses, but Kira can’t rouse a response. Buried in the cold, it takes several moments for his words to be more than noise. Smarting, drilling, migraine noise.
‘Ahh.’ Callum shakes his head again. ‘It really was a bad idea. I kept seeing this shadow up ahead, and I was starting to think I should probably stop following, but then I found you.’ A tiny huff escapes his lips. ‘All splayed out under a tree. You weren’t moving, and it was so much like finding Romy that…’ He tightens his arms around her. A pause, a sigh. ‘What happened?’
That is a very good question. The thought comes thick and slow, like sludge. Before she woke up in the forest, where was she? What did happen? How did she get from here to home, from home to here? The women were closing in, and then…
‘They thought I wouldn’t wake up.’ Kira lifts her hefty head, washing cold with the truth. Colliding with Callum’s cheek, she winces. She’s oh-so-sunburn-sore. ‘Sorry.’ She works her anaesthetised mouth. ‘I mean, the women put me in a dream and didn’t expect me to wake up from it. The cold was meant to kill me, and I was meant to join them.’
Leering faces, the burning pool. The blood-freezing screams.
‘The women?’ Callum repeats in a frown. ‘The people who chased you from the village? They caught you?’
Shivering, Kira leans into his chest. ‘No. Different women. They were…’ The defiled. The denied. The forever. Her breath hitches, and she swallows. ‘They’re the last thing I remember from here.’
Callum pulls his coat tighter around them. ‘Okay, but I’ll need a tad more than that. The village chased you, and you ran, and these different women took you and put you in a dream so you could join them?’
‘I guess.’ Twisting her defrosting lips, Kira shakes her head. ‘But why would they want me to? And why didn’t they just kill me themselves? Maybe they couldn’t, because they’re dead.’ The words drop to a murmur. ‘But they could touch me. They could touch me, and they could hurt me, so they could have killed me.’ Her head thunks back to Callum’s shoulder. ‘God, this place. It must have been a game.’
The jumbled thoughts hang before her eyes, impossible but not. ‘They could have killed me, but they didn’t. They preferred to stick me out in the cold and make me think I was home.’ Darkly satisfied, Kira huffs. ‘I guess I’m bad at dying.’
She’d sleep, and then she’d die. It’s a fair enough assumption. Why would she want to wake up? No outsider would rather be here than home, and would never think home is the lie.
Callum inhales, ready to speak, but Kira cuts him off. ‘You were there.’ She twists around to look at him, wide-eyed with memory. The dream’s end is coming back: the reason she woke up alive. ‘I didn’t know it at the time, but it was you. Definitely you. You told me the dream wasn’t real, that it was the same as the other dreams, even though I don’t remember any other dreams.’
Callum’s stare is a work of art. Confusion to bemusement to something close to humour, he works his eyebrows. ‘What?’
Kira sighs. ‘Yes, I know. I hear myself. But hear me out in turn. Maybe there were other dreams, and maybe there weren’t. I don’t know. But you forced me to listen to you and forced me to stop dreaming. I heard your voice, even though you weren’t there when I woke up. When I woke up the first time,’ she adds at a bonus raised eyebrow. ‘I woke up before and tried to find some kind of shelter, but I fainted. Or I guess that’s what happened, because now I’m here. Were you calling, or something? Did I actually hear you?’
Callum raises the other eyebrow. ‘Not at that point.’ He inches one shoulder up, a careful shrug. ‘When I left the village I was, but when I found you, I was following the shadow.’ He shrugs again. ‘I don’t understand what you’re talking about, but I definitely wasn’t involved.’ His lips inch toward their familiar teasing territory. Looking away, he covers them. ‘Sorry to disappoint.’
Slowly, Kira nods. ‘No, it’s…yeah. Of course it wasn’t you. It must have been some clever part of my brain, telling me I couldn’t stay asleep. Like in any dream, I guess, when you’re realising it’s not as real as you thought. But the voice.’
She taps her lip. ‘That was real. It was yours in the dream, but outside…wait.’ She frowns at Callum, finger paused in the air. ‘You followed a shadow?’
Callum stares. ‘And you only pick up on this now?’
Kira stares straight back. ‘I was busy.’
She lifts the ends of her hair: frozen. Sweeps a hand along her jeans: damp. ‘Coming back from the dead takes time.’
Callum rolls his eyes. ‘You weren’t dead, but point taken. Yes, I followed a shadow.’ His voice snags on the words, an actor struggling to believe his lines. ‘Maybe whatever it was woke you up and led me to you; stranger things have happened. Like whatever the hell you’re talking about.’
He scratches the back of his head. Flummoxed. Flabbergasted. When all of this was just beginning, she was thinking in words like that.
‘Can you rewind a bit?’ Callum stretches, scraping the ceiling with his gloves. Dust motes of snow drift down to their heads. ‘Start again from about three chapters back? Someone tried to kill you? No.’ He lifts his palms. ‘Someone put you in a dream and tried to kill you? What happened to the angry mob?’
Disgruntlement grumbles in Kira’s throat. ‘When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous.’
So does the rest, but she tells it anyway.
When she finishes, he’s quiet. The wind moans through the silence. Powder patters past the snow-cut den. The Kyo were truthful there, at least: the door of branches, the low, carved space, crudely hacked from the snow. She’d been so concerned about Callum, watching for her through the cracks.
He shifts against the packed wall. ‘Well, you really are bad at dying.’
Small and rueful, she laughs. ‘I did tell you.’ A shrug, between resignation and longing. ‘I’ve had ample opportunity.’ She twists her fingers into her sleeves, stained with dusty white. ‘It’s strange. I never thought I’d miss Devon. It’s staid, and it’s predictable, but right now, I’d kill for an old grouch to tell me I should dress more like a girl.’
Callum snorts. ‘So.’ He holds his hands a foot apart. ‘On a scale of one to a cave of banshees?’
‘I’d take church-based activities, measly public transport, and a lack of supermarkets any day. No.’ Kira smiles properly. ‘Every day.’
Callum smirks against her hair. ‘And I’d take long-nosed neighbours, endless winters, measly public transport, and all those bloody cats. Speaking of banshees and scales,’ he adds, as she huffs another small laugh, ‘on a scale of one to dead, exactly how dead is dead?’
‘Not zombie dead, if that’s what you mean.’ Kira pokes the corner of his mouth, turning down. ‘Which, by the way, is a good thing. They were more like horror film ghosts. You know, the ones that haunt asylums and run at you in the dark.’
Her skin prickles at the memory. She shakes it off. ‘Whatever. They said they were dead, and I believe it. I’m certainly not going back to find out.’ She rubs her arms. The prickles have bobbled to goose bumps. ‘The longer they think me dealt with, the better.’
And when they realise she’s not?
She stills. The bottom of her stomach drops out. ‘They’ll know.’
She pulls away from Callum, winded. ‘Oh, God. They’ll know I’m still alive.’ She crawls across the tiny floor to peer outside. A blizzard roars around the forest, obscuring all but the night. ‘These women watch everything.’
Slowly, she sits back. Beyond the branches, there’s nothing but snow. What di
d she expect to see? The ghost from before she fell? Here, at least, they’re huddled, sheltered. Nothing can creep up from behind, take them by horrific surprise.
‘They can’t watch everything all at once.’ Callum traces invisible water, the pool. ‘Not in something so small. There’s no space. Besides which, they’re mad.’
‘Maybe not.’ Kira drags her knees to her chest. ‘But they showed me you, and my parents, and Romy. Even Lena, because of course she’s following us.’ She lifts a listless hand and drops it. ‘Sooner or later, they’ll see I’m still alive and come find me. Maybe they can just take me the way they did before. I need to, I don’t know.’ She rubs a spot on her boots. Snow-stained and scuffed, they’re as weary as she is. ‘Leave. If they see us both here, they might take you, too.’
Callum laughs, a derisive ‘ha.’
‘Not a chance.’ He nods at the snow. Fat flakes float through the gaps in the web, whipping about in the storm. ‘Quite apart from the fact that we’re staying together, do you get what’ll happen if you leave? You’ll either wind up lost and die from exposure, which is what the crazy, dead women want, or you’ll wind up at the mercy of the forest’s creatures of death. Either way, the banshees are happy. We’—he emphasises the word—‘are not leaving here until morning. If the snow hasn’t stopped, maybe not even then.’
Her boots are too far gone for salvation. Kira rubs at them regardless. ‘What happens when they come for me?’ She fixes on the wrinkled leather, pressing hard on the stains. ‘They’re mad, Callum. They’d kill us both, and you’re not’—she juts out her chin, rubbing—‘dying because of me.’
‘Kira.’ Callum borders on exasperation. ‘Remember your own words: these women watch everything. If they watch everything, they’ll already have seen you. And if they’ve already seen you, and they want to kill you, why aren’t you already dead?’
Panic flares and settles. Kira looks up. He’s right; she’s alive, but still.
Callum spreads his hands. ‘You can’t be that important to them if they’ve let you sit here and fret. And there’s no point running off into a blizzard because you think they want you to die. Listen.’
He manoeuvres himself to sit next to her. She’s never seen him so sincere, so urgent…except, perhaps, in her dream. ‘If they want you,’ he says, ‘they’ll find you, and if they don’t, then they won’t. I know that’s not encouraging, but it’s more than likely true. Leaving won’t make a difference.’
‘It will if I go alone.’
‘No.’
‘No one’s dying on my account, Callum.’
‘No one’s going to die at all.’
Kira lets her head droop. There must be straws; there must be something to clutch at.
Romy.
‘Romy’s still in the forest.’ Straw acquired, Kira looks up. She sounds eager, desperate, but so what if it works? She won’t put Callum in danger. ‘If I left now, I could catch her up. She was moving far slower than I would, and considering she’s half the reason we’re here, it makes sense to use any advantage.’
‘Kira.’ Frustration flares in Callum’s voice, like someone revving an engine. ‘Stop. I get that you’re scared, but you’re being stupid. You can’t catch your own left foot in this.’
Kira glances from him to the branches, the storm. ‘I could try.’
‘You could, and you’d die.’ Callum’s voice is terse. ‘Romy’ll be holed up like us. You won’t find her, and going alone won’t change that.’
‘Callum.’ Kira rubs her forehead. It sounds like a plea. ‘Just listen. If I go alone, you stay alive. You’ve only known me a few days. It’s never been your fight, but you’ve gone through all of this, and it’s selfish to drag you through more.’
‘Fucking no.’ Callum clenches his fists on the snow. Kira starts. ‘How many times?’ he snaps. ‘Neither of us are leaving until the storm is over. I don’t care what you say, or any reasonable excuse you think you’re going to find; going out there would be suicide.’
Callum’s face is as set as his resolve. Good. Missing the point and refusing to leave makes it easier for her.
‘The whole idea is me going alone.’ Kira rocks onto her knees. ‘I told you: you’re not dying because of me. If I leave, you can go home.’ She makes for the branches, steeling herself for the cold. ‘You said it’s what you want.’
‘No.’ Grabbing her arm, Callum yanks her back. ‘You’re twisting everything, and it’s ludicrous. Did the women turn you mad as well as stupid? We are not splitting up.’
‘We are.’ Stubbornly, Kira wrenches against him. ‘Let me go. I’m not a little girl, and if I want to leave, you can’t stop me. Ah!’
Callum lets her go, and she topples. Before she can struggle back up, he pushes her down, pins her arms, and traps her legs between his own. Aggravation blasts through her. Yet again, she’s wedged fast.
‘Why do people do this?’ She growls. Apart from her feet, head, and hands, none of her limbs will budge. ‘In the Kyo, they used magic. The dream you used force. He held me to a wall until I listened.’ Glowering, she tugs on her wrists. ‘The real you has done that, too, if you recall. Hey.’ She ramps up her wrenching as Callum starts to smirk. ‘It’s not funny. I was saving your life.’
‘No, you weren’t. You were being a martyr.’ Although his trap doesn’t loosen, his anger melts away. ‘And it really is quite funny.’ He bows his head, puffing out a laugh. ‘Amazing. That’s what it is. You’re so impossible that live people, dead people, and dream characters come to the same conclusion: if you need to listen, you have to be restrained. I’m sorry, but that’s funny. Oi.’
He jams her legs tighter as she tries to lift her knees. ‘Is accepting defeat too much to ask? This position is neither flattering, comfortable, nor making me feel like a gentleman. Ow.’
His face flickers with pain. Kira tracks his glance. His fingers are red and leathery, his knuckles yellow from ageing bruises and bubbled with un-popped blisters.
‘Oh, God.’ Fresh guilt flashes through her. ‘What happened to you? Why didn’t you say? Get up, Callum. Let me see.’
Suspiciously, Callum sits back against the wall. ‘Why didn’t I say?’ he repeats dryly. His tone is spiced with teasing. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Something to do with a bid for freedom? I didn’t think I’d be on a winner with “please don’t struggle, my hands hurt.”’
‘Shush.’ Scraping a handful of snow from the entrance, Kira presses it to the blisters.
‘Ow.’ Callum winces. ‘I did that already, but thanks. I think. And as for what happened’—he flashes his eyebrows—‘crazy women, two-point-oh. When you ran out of the hobbit-hole, Iris kicked her husband, threw her elbows everywhere, and got away. I tried to grab her, but she picked up a stool and knocked me over. I didn’t see it coming.’
He gestures widely: what can you do? ‘I landed with my hand in the fire. It could have been worse, though. The stool was only small, and I didn’t burn that badly. Oh, so now you’re smiling.’
He lifts his gaze heavenwards, his arm still swept. Scouring another handful of snow, Kira bites back her amusement. With his arm still out, he’s a scruffy-haired Jesus.
Jesus in a ski coat, but Jesus nonetheless. ‘Very sorry.’ She inclines her solemn head. Praise our Lord and Saviour. ‘But now the tables have turned, perhaps you’ll be more sympathetic.’
The storm patters snow through the branches. A flurry flutters into Callum’s face. He grimaces. ‘Puh. Women are cruel.’
‘You were beaten up by a crazy lady who said I had a tail.’ Slyly, Kira looks up from his hand. ‘To quote you, it really is quite funny.’
Deadpan, Callum holds her gaze. ‘What she actually said was that your mother had a tail.’
It’s too much. His insulted manner, the implications of his words. The whole situation, unreal and getting worse. They argued about leaving a snow hole, in the middle of the night, in a storm. Letting him go, Kira ducks her head.
‘That makes no
difference.’ She starts to laugh. It’s the queen of lies, and that makes her laugh more. ‘Jesus.’ She sinks backwards to the floor. Her chest shudders, hilarity gasping, and she shakes her head at herself. ‘What’s wrong with me? She—she said my mum had a tail.’
Carefully, Callum eases down beside her. ‘She did. Or at least, she implied it. And I have no idea what’s wrong with you.’ He smirks. ‘I’ve stopped trying to figure it out.’
‘Hey.’ Kira bats half-heartedly at him, placing a hand on her heaving chest. ‘I could—wait.’ She lifts a finger, breathes in deep, and swallows the last of the laughter. ‘I’m done. What I was going to say’—she regards him pointedly—‘was that I could be a whole lot worse. I could be beating you up with a stool or breaking my own fingers. All things considered, I’m doing okay.’
She rolls onto her side. The blizzard shows no signs of letting up, and snow has crept into her boots. She nods down her legs at the makeshift door. ‘Can some of that wood be spared?’
‘No need.’ Callum points vaguely into the shelter’s dark depths. ‘There’s loads back there. I was planning on lighting a fire if you hadn’t woken up when you did. I’d have waved your hands in front of it, or something. With all your adventures and escaping, I forgot.’ He grins. ‘I don’t know who built this place and filled it with sticks, but I’d love to kiss their feet and tell them they’re stunning. Without them, I’d be cursing my life up a tree.’ His grin falters to a frown. ‘Oh, no.’
Kira averts her eyes, but too late. ‘That face.’ He taps her cheek. ‘I recognise that face. What is it?’
Nothing. Everything. ‘Just…’ She pulls off her gloves, finger by finger. They’re clammy and unpleasant from scraping the snow. ‘I know I was laughing about it, but what if the woman was right? The hobbit-hole woman. Iris.’
She flinches at another shriek of the wind. It’s too much like the Kyo, like Enny’s scream as she broke her neck. Framing it as a wriggle for comfort, she shifts closer to Callum. ‘It makes me wonder why all this happened.’ She toys with the wool on her cuff. ‘How it happened, really. Mum knew where to go to help Romy, so…’ She trails off. The thoughts, never mind the words, are so hard to get out. Huldra. ‘What if she is who they say she is?’
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