by Harold Wall
"I thought he was your friend."
"Not anymore. His dad and mine work together. They both went for a promotion and my dad got picked. Mike got bitter. Now everything's this dumb competition." Like a dog
shivering off the rain, Will shook himself. "Not that you're a prize. I mean, clearly you're not like, the wooden spoon, you'd definitely be silverware" He saw her face. "I'm going to
stop now."
"I think that's best," she said gravely, then at his stricken expression, let a smile sneak out. "And for the record, screw the silverware. I'm pure diamond, and don't you forget it."
He laughed, and that wiped the last of the tension from the air. "Then we'd better get back to the lab so you can shine."There
was something in the air. Not the kind of something that would have made Phil Collins strike up a tune, either. Sunny breathed shallowly as she followed Leanne Ducharme
through the greyish haze which shimmered like petrol fumes. She was all too familiar with the sour, gritty taste of the emotion it represented.
So much hate. It had been there yesterday, too, but not as thick.
The school was a riot of sensation. She had to stay vigilant. Something innocuous – a scribbled note in a textbook, a combination lock – could explode on her like a grenade. Like
the graffiti in Celia's locker, slopped on in a snarling mist of rage and disgust and glee.
"Oh wow," said Leanne, wobbling to a halt like a newborn gazelle. Sunny peered over her shoulder into the canteen. "That's bold."
Her skin crawled. The symbol stretched from floor to ceiling, yellow as buttercups to everyone else. But through demon eyes, the air in front of it rippled and churned like the
pulsing of a jellyfish. Emotion so visceral it lived, hungered, devoured.
"Yeah," she echoed through dry lips.
And they were sat right in front of it. Of course. She wanted to run away, but that wasn't the deal. Stay safe, blend in, be normal. And the gossip girls were about as normal as it
got.
"Are you okay?" asked Leanne halfway through the lunch line, her brown eyes confused. "You've been quiet."
"A little creeped out, I guess," she admitted.
"Is someone bothering you?" squeaked Leanne indignantly. "Is it Lewis? I can make him stop."
She shook her head, navigating the tables. It felt different, the chatter muted. "To be honest, the graffiti's kind of out there."
"Oh, that." Leanne flapped a hand and nearly lost her tray to gravity. "It's not aimed at you."
Suddenly she didn't seem so funny, tottering around on her stilettos, squeaking and squawking at every little thing. "Who's it aimed at?"
"You'd know if it was you," said Leanne primly. She settled her tray at the table, next to Mike. "If you were one of them."
Sunny didn't miss the warning look Mike shot her.
"That's what I heard, anyway," added Leanne hastily.
Sunny braced herself as Mike flashed an enormous smile. "Hey, beautiful. Saved you a space."
"I'll never fit there," she said brightly and put Leanne between them before he could protest. "Hey, where's Ness?"
She used her most innocent voice, the blithe newcomer who knew nothing, kept her eyes lowered to her lunch. She didn't need to see, after all, to feel the wash of emotion; anger,
loathing – and shame, brief and light as a bubble bursting.
"She's out," said Kirsty around a mouthful of hamburger. Her meaning was clear.
"Oh," said Sunny vaguely. "She seemed nice."
"She seemed a lot of things. Turns out she's not any of them. And we don't like liars." Kirsty's smile had a brittle edge. "Or drama."
"Know what we do like?" said Mike, leaning over Leanne as if she wasn't there. He was far too close, and Sunny could feel confidence emanating from him like radioactive waves. Maybe that was unfair.
After all, radiation had its uses.
"Pina coladas?" she offered. "Getting caught in the rain?"
His expression went blank. Not everyone had spent their formative years exposed to Aurenna's taste in music. "You, princess. And I have got one hell of a throne for you." He
patted his lap, his grin growing.
Sunny stared him down. "No."
His smile didn't fade. "Just kidding. So what brought you to Ryars Valley?"
Uncomfortable truth was probably the quickest way to curtail this one. "My mom's not well. She was in an accident and it's damaged her memory. She doesn't remember my dad."
His face creased into something gentler, an expression she wouldn't have expected. "Sorry to hear that. That's tough." He hesitated. "They think she'll recover?"
She shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Even if she remembers, the doctors said she won't be the same." Her heart twisted; she didn't want to feel this, now. "She's already different."
Mike nodded slowly. His voice was unusually quiet. "Yeah, I know that one. My mom's got MS, the progressive kind. The day my dad had to get her the wheelchair, she cried all
day. You don't – you don't want to see your mom cry, you know?"
He glanced up, and there was a sudden vulnerability in his eyes. She knew it: she recognised it. It didn't matter if you were unstoppable on a football field, if you were a demon
who could spin the world on her finger like a basketball – when someone you loved was damaged, irreparably, irrevocably, you were powerless.
"Mike, you're bringing us all down," announced Kirsty, flicking a piece of sesame bun at him. "I've seen your mom in that chair. She corners like a Nascar driver. Quit playing Sunny
for sympathy."
A cuff to the side of her head left her ears ringing. She staggered and fell, all sense of up or down obliterated. When her vision cleared, she was staring at the ground, which
trembled. No, she trembled, angry at her own vulnerability.
I don't want this! she cried out, fighting the dream. Once was enough. Why do I have to live it over and over?
A shadow fell over her and she looked up into green eyes, alien eyes, wolf eyes. "Prey doesn't talk," the boy said. "And that's all you are."
She had not known enough to be silent. "It's not even part of what I am," she shot back. "Where are we going?"
He'd smiled lazily. As he leaned in and sniffed, rubbing her hair between his fingertips, Celia flinched back. But she couldn't evade his voice, rich and throaty and full of something
very like hunger. "Not afraid. Not even under your skin." He'd inhaled again. "And so sweet. When this is done, I'll hunt you. I'll have you. You'll smell like all the rest when I'm
done, fear and blood. And I'll break you."
He drew back, his smile replaced by the emptiness opening in his eyes like a crevasse. There was excitement thrumming in his words, which was almost worse.
"That's where we're going."
For once, Celia was glad to see Don Ivan, sauntering into the clearing like he always did, because it meant that bit of the dream was done.
Only he didn't. She willed the dream to carry on – she wanted it over, but instead, the wolf bared his teeth in a slow grimace. It seemed that his face was longer and more gaunt
than she remembered, an oval of skin around a vast, notched maw that was ivory teeth and bristling darkness.
This wasn't how it went.
Contorted as an evening shadow, he filled her vision. She scuttled backwards through the cage of trees. His voice was all animal. "Run, human."
And she did, feet fumbling, hands clawing for anything she could use to get further from him. She tore through the wild wood, which curved and churned like a labyrinth in motion.
Though her muscles were burning, she was not quick enough – could not be quick enough.
Behind her, a howl vibrated on the air. As if in answer, goosebumps prickled her skin, and suddenly it was hard to breathe, hard to be anything but a panicking small creature
scrabbling for life against all hope.
Wake up! she screamed a
t herself. Wake up, it's just a dream!
Celia didn't look back. She tried again to wake, but every stumble was enough to jar her concentration. And evercloser, everlouder came the sounds of pursuit.
She couldn't escape by running. And she couldn't wake unless she was stood still.
No, whispered that frightened animal part.
Yes, she answered, sick to her stomach, but all human. Yes, this is how it has to be. This is not real – I won't let it be real.
And she stopped. She breathed in, and it hit her: there was no scent. She knew the smell of woods, wet soil and crushed grass and leaves, and this one smelt of nothing. She was
in bed, at home, trapped nowhere more sinister than her own head.
Around her, the world wobbled, like the view through a raincovered window. For a moment, she felt the marshmallow softness of her pillowA
snarl snapped her fragile hold on reality.
Before her was a monstrosity – neither wolf nor man, but a patchwork nightmare of the two. Skin and fur rippled over his body, which was too tall, oddlyjointed. His jaw dangled,
dripping white foam. And he was naked. Very obviously naked.
Its mouth reformed into a gaping grin. "Too slow," it said in a garbled voice. "Like all the others, slow and weak. Nothing but prey for anyone who wants you." It sniggered. "Like me."
It stepped forward. Time to go.
She closed her eyes on it, ignoring the fear. She was at home. She was in bed, warm and safe. At the edge of her senses, she felt reality like the clingy gossamer of a cobweb.
Claws closed on her arms. She didn't baulk. She didn't dare. She did not listen to the things it slurred in her ear, because she could feel the weight of the blankets on her body,
clenched in her fingers. Only dimly did she see jaws part above her throat, hardly felt the spittle flecking her.
There! For an instant, she was in two worlds, her vision filled with a terrible flash of teeth and darkness, and pain, oh god, painShe
woke with a strangled cry, staring into nothing. She was beaded with sweat, her heart thundering. That last image played in her mind – she had felt the teeth crunch into her
throat, felt her own body limp and fading.
Arms wrapped around her knees, Celia stayed huddled for a long time, waiting for dawn. There in the dark, in the strange hollow time when she knew everyone human was asleep,
she had never felt more alone.
Nothing but prey for anyone who wants you.
It was so close to what Riose had said. And it felt like truth.
o0oScreeching
a word that made Kurt shake his head ruefully, Sunny hit the floor in the basement.
She took Kurt's hand as he hauled her up. "Well, he's right," remarked her father. "Your balance is off."
"All right," she conceded grudgingly. "Maybe he does know what he's talking about."
"Of course he does. I trained him." Kurt took an easy stance, staff raised. It was textbook perfect. "Again."
"You're just going to thump me," she grumbled, but mirrored him.
"Only if you let me," he pointed out. "Better day at school?"
"Sort of."
They traded a flurry of blows, none of them more than warm up. All through, Kurt kept up a quiet stream of feedback. He paused to let her correct her footwork. "Making friends?"
"I think so," she muttered. "Some of them don't like each other."
"Sounds about right," he said casually.
"Really?" She blocked the barrage that rattled her defence from every direction. What she'd felt at the school had seemed intense. Very intense. But perhaps it was always that
way. She'd been human before, guessing at the emotions boiling in people. Maybe this was the new normal: a world that blazed like the northern lights, but held no heat. Maybe she
was overreacting to it all.
"Plenty of people don't get on." Sadness billowed from him like a solar flare before he reeled it in. It never even showed in his expression, but she knew who he was thinking of.
"Me and Malefici, for example."
"You don't hate him, though."
A rare break in his guard – she swung in and clobbered him on the knee. Kurt doubled over and held up a hand for mercy.
"What makes you think that?" he said, voice muffled. She wanted to see his face; there was a note there that unnerved her.
"You could have betrayed him, if you wanted, when Herod came. You could have taken me and run, and he'd be dead. Or wishing he was, anyway. That's what someone who hated
him would do." She shrugged. "I know you don't like him. I think he likes you."
"That is not the high accolade you make it sound," he said straightening. "Very perceptive, sunshine. No, I don't hate him. I did, for a while. It's kind of a rite of passage if you work
for Nightfire."
"Can...can you show me how it felt?" she asked.
He gave her a long look. "Why?"
"I feel things – I see things, and I don't know if they're normal. I need a – a –"
Kurt smiled faintly. "A barometer?"
"Yes. That."
He sighed. And behind him, emotion unfurled like ragged wings, dark and greasy and vast. With one tentative finger, she reached past his shoulder and brushed the edge of hatred.
Light bled out of the world, leaving it dim and dangerous, as if every surface had an edge to slice her open. And in it, she was reduced to a rage so primal it existed only in pieces:
in the grim drumbeat of her heart, the bite of her fingernails in her clenched fists. The air felt tight, or perhaps that was the anger too big to be contained in something as small as
her skin. She wanted to move, to fight, to tear and rend and destroy – wanted vengeance with a hunger that consumed her. She
"Enough, I think."
Her vision cleared. Sunny breathed in shakily, and it was like surfacing from the depths of the ocean into pure clean air.
"How could you feel all that and let him live?" she blurted.
"I needed it, for a time. It stopped me feeling other things." He was thinking of his son, she knew, who had been culled to prove a point to someone. "There are plenty of reasons to
hate Malefici. But not the reasons I was holding onto. He didn't kill Johann. I doubt he gave my son even a passing thought. What he did do was perpetuate a world where lives
could be nothing more than the punctuation on someone's pithy point."
He spread his hands.
"But as Aurenna said, so had I. I trained him, and I knew what he was, and I did nothing. Hate blinded me then, but worse, I had blinded myself when I let Bane Malefici walk out
into the world without even trying to make him someone better."
He looked at her, and he said quietly, "I have tried not to be so blind twice. I failed you too, sunshine."
She didn't know what to say. So instead, she hit him in the stomach.
"Why?" he groaned from near the floor.
"What sort of parent do you think you are?" she demanded, hiding her rough voice under volume. "I'm supposed to be the one who disappoints you, not the other way around! And
last time I checked, no one made me fall on my sword. Literally, at that. You don't get to be sad all over what was definitely my crowning moment of glory. If anyone has a monopoly on angst, it's me."
He sounded like he was laughing around the agony. "I yield."
"Good," she said smugly.
"And that was underhanded," he added. "The car needs washing. Consider it your job."
She debated complaining. But there was something...normal about chores. "Deal."Three
days without uninterrupted sleep was three too many. Celia drowned the worst of it with her mother's black coffee, spooning in enough sugar to take away the bitterness.
Nothing could take away the lingering memories of her dream.
Luckily, Sunny wasn't feeling chatty either, so they got to school in sleepy silence.
&
nbsp; The day didn't get any better from there. She was so hazy that lessons blurred into one another like episodes of a soap opera. When the lunchbell went, at least it meant the day
was half over.
She was shuffling her stuff from bag to locker when an arm looped around her waist. She turnedAnd
all she saw was a misshapen thing, lips skinned back over dull greying fangs, hooked claws reaching for her.
Books avalanched to the ground as she threw up her arms, the fear biting into her muscles.
"Cee?"
She blinked – and it was Jo in front of her, hurt radiating in the soft sound of her name. It was just Jo. People were staring, and Jo looked as if she'd been slapped.
"I'm sorry," she said shakily. "I thought you were..."
"It's pretty obvious what you thought." Those quick hard words didn't quite cover the quiver in her voice. "I get it."
"No, you really don't." She caught Jo's hand as the wildcat turned away. "You surprised me, that was what I meant."
Those green eyes hardly seemed to see her. "Darling," she said softly, sliding from Celia's grasp like she was smoke. "Never lie to someone who can smell fear."
And she was swept away into the lunchtime crowd before Celia could even try to explain. Yes, she was afraid: yes, of a shapeshifter. But no, not you. Never you.
She stooped to collect her books, which were scattered like confetti on the floor.
"What was that?" said Riose's quiet voice. She closed her locker door to reveal him. For a moment, his face shimmered weirdly, but she bit her cheek and her vision cleared. "You
looked – scared."
"It sounds nuts," she muttered.
He raised an eyebrow. "You're forgetting that I've had five years of Finn's harebrained schemes to find love. Or the closest thing that involves bodily fluids. I can take a lot of
crazy."
She laughed tiredly. "I had this – this dream last night. A bad dream. An old one." She kept her voice low. He leant in, and she did the same, the pair of them slouched against the
lockers like it was a normal day and a normal conversation. "About the night when the wolves took me."
He didn't move, exactly, but there was a new tautness to his body. "You dream about it a lot."