Invisible Monsters

by H L Macfarlane

  “Poppy?” Rachelle yawned. “What are you doing up so early?”

  “Dying,” she muttered, eyes barely open. She finally found the energy to shrug Nate off her before continuing, “Who wants to jog on a Saturday morning? Weekends are days off.”

  “Somehow I don’t think Andrew understands that.”

  Poppy made a face; Nate ruffled her hair.

  “C’mon, Morph, don’t be like that. No point going back to bed now you’re up. Unless…”

  He gave her a filthy look that Poppy was far too tired to acknowledge. Dorian saw it, though. The muscles along his jaw tensed up at the knowledge of what exactly Nate had been trying to do before Dorian had walked in and interrupted him. Knowing that Poppy was in no way, shape or form capable of any kind of decision-making when she was this tired, Dorian silently went about making her a cup of tea whilst he made himself a coffee.

  “What’s everyone getting up to today, anyway?” Fred asked the room at large, ignoring Nate’s previous comment.

  “It’s nice out again, so Rachelle and I thought we’d see if anyone was up for a picnic by the loch and generally just kicking about doing nothing in the sun,” Casey said. She turned to Dorian. “Nobody’s coming up today to observe us, are they?”

  Dorian shook his head. “Play away to your heart’s content.”

  Casey sighed dramatically. “I wish. We’d need booze for that.”

  He perked up immediately. Only Cassandra O’Donnell could provide him with the most natural segue-way into his get Poppy drunk plan. He flashed her his most brilliant smile; Casey blushed in response.

  “That’s an excellent idea, Casey. So you guys didn’t have the sense to bring any alcohol with you? I’d wondered why you’d all stayed sober.”

  “Nah, people brought booze,” Nate chimed in, “but most of it was demolished after two weeks. Folk were just drinking in their friend groups. None of us thought we’d be here for so long, or so far away from, you know, a shop.”

  Dorian ignored the jibe. “I could get Patrick to bring through some alcohol next Saturday. I’m sure the instructors would enjoy kicking back with you guys, too.”

  Casey’s face was bright with enthusiasm. “Really? Oh my god, you’d really do that for us?”

  “Of course. You’ve been here for weeks now; lord knows you all deserve to get drunk.”

  “Absolutely trashed, you mean.”

  He chuckled. “I would never endorse such a thing.” But Dorian glanced almost imperceptibly at Poppy, who was still in no mood to respond to anything being said even as she frowned in suspicion. Her frown only deepened when Dorian handed her the cup of tea he’d been making.

  “The hell is this?”

  “Caffeine loaded with sugar, just the way you like it.”

  Poppy looked at the liquid as if Dorian had roofied it, then shrugged somewhat and retreated into the corner to lean against the wall to drink it in peace.

  “We better start organising stuff for next Saturday,” Casey said, looking at Nate. “Wanna help me rally the troops?”

  “What needs organising when it comes to drinking?” Fred wondered aloud. Casey merely laughed.

  “You’re no fun, Fred. There’s tonnes to organise. We need to get some playlists together, and set up the social area for dancing, and think up some hideous drinking games, and –”

  “Okay, okay, I get it,” he interrupted, throwing his hands up in protest as he made a beeline for the door. “You guys have fun with that. I’m going to see if Andrew wants a jogging partner, since King is catatonic.”

  Poppy didn’t respond, too content with drinking tea and waking up as she was.

  Nate looked at her incredulously. “God, you are really not a morning person. C’mon, Casey, Rachelle – I’m sure Robin will want in on this. John, too; he’s been dying to have a social. Probably misses all his ardent followers back at uni.”

  And so the rest of them left without making any breakfast, which Dorian had assumed they’d come into the kitchen to make in the first place, leaving only himself and Poppy.

  When Poppy finished her tea, she put down her cup on the table then splayed her fingertips across her forehead as if she had a migraine.

  “Save John Campbell this week,” she muttered. “Should have thought of him before.”

  Dorian put down his coffee by Poppy’s empty cup and stalked over to join her in the corner. “Is he the overly-loud, brash one who interrupts almost everyone?”

  She nodded. “His family’s rich as fuck. No way we’d get away with spiriting him away.”

  Dorian almost smiled at her use of we, though he didn’t comment on it lest Poppy scowl at him. “At least he seems like a pretty decent guy.”

  “Yeah…most of them are. That’s the problem.” She chuckled darkly. “Never thought I’d say that people being decent was a problem.”

  “But some of them aren’t, though. So who’s up this week: Nicolas Frey or Thomas Pope?” Dorian had been sure to remember their names after the goat incident.

  Poppy’s eyes hardened immediately. “Tom first.”

  Dorian closed what little distance there was between the two of them, grazing his fingers across Poppy’s hips as if he was about to pull her in against him.

  “You’re wearing my t-shirt again,” he murmured. Poppy didn’t even push him away.

  “I wear it to bed. Get over yourself. And get your teeth away from my neck. We’re in public.”

  “I’m fairly certain people would misconstrue what I was doing, anyway,” Dorian replied, decidedly doing the opposite of what Poppy ordered. He ran his left hand up from her hip to her hair, sliding his fingers through it in order to clear it away from her neck.

  He bit into her before Poppy had a chance to protest further.

  She gasped when he broke her skin. “Do-Dorian!”

  But she quickly quietened down with one, furtive glance at the kitchen door. If anybody came in she’d have to hope they ‘misconstrued’ what they were seeing, which Dorian was gleefully happy about.

  He pressed her further against the wall as he continued, the familiar surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins once more as he filled up with her blood. Poppy raised her hands up to Dorian’s chest in a feeble attempt to push him away, but ultimately she thought better of it and merely clenched the fabric of his top between her fingers.

  Poppy’s skin was hot against his mouth as Dorian licked away the last of her blood, the wounds in her neck closing up before his very eyes. He’d gotten better at taking less, and Poppy’s body had gotten better at healing faster. There was barely a two-day lag before she was back to normal, now.

  His mouth lingered on her pulse for a few moments as he tested how far Poppy would tolerate his close proximity. When she said nothing, he brushed his lips up to her earlobe, intending to bite it.

  “Don’t you dare.”

  Dorian burst out laughing at Poppy’s immediate rejection, pulling away from her in the process.

  “Fine; I get it,” he said, wiping his mouth whilst Poppy pulled her hair back around to cover her neck. “You’re giving in though – even you must know that.”

  She scowled. “Fuck off.”

  “No thanks for the tea?”

  “Thanks for the tea, and fuck off. Better?”

  “Much.”

  He turned and left the kitchen before Poppy could say anything else, body thrumming with energy and life and power as he casually raised his hand in good-bye.

  Saturday couldn’t come quickly enough.

  NICOLAS FREY

  Poppy

  “Right, its official; I miss Tinder.”

  Only Cassandra O’Donnell could have come out with such a line whilst sitting in a luxury hot tub, at sunset, in the Highlands of Scotland, with her two closest female friends.

  Rachelle wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, Casey, you can’t be serious?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to shag a guy I don’t know, is there?”

 
; “That’s not the point.”

  “So what is the point?”

  “What about Patrick?”

  Poppy stayed silent, though she longed to comment on the matter. She still hadn’t gotten over the fact that she’d overheard Patrick boasting to Aisling, Nick and Steven that Casey was his. Poppy knew she was going to save Casey, of course, so in reality she was in no danger, but that didn’t mean she wanted her to sleep with the monster posing as a man, either. In fact, Poppy was completely and utterly against it, though she couldn’t vocalise her issue with the whole thing whilst not being able to tell Casey why she was against it. On the face of it Patrick was a fantastic match for her friend; Poppy had no reason to deter her from exploring anything with the man.

  Apart from the fact he isn’t actually a man. And wants to eat her. Just the minor stuff.

  Casey waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, I’m into Patrick, but I know he’s into me. So it’s a sure-fire thing, you know? I’d rather try it on with a guy who’s a challenge first. Like Dorian.”

  “But he’s Patrick’s best friend! And…”

  Rachelle stared pointedly at Poppy, who had to fight not to grimace.

  She raised an eyebrow instead. “Go on; finish that thought, Rachelle.”

  “Aw come on, Poppy. You can’t possibly be so oblivious that you don’t know how he keeps looking at you. Almost every word out of his mouth directed at you is a flirt.”

  Poppy had to wrestle away the thought of Dorian in her bed. If she reacted to it even slightly then Rachelle and Casey would be sure to pick up on it, and then she’d never hear the end of it.

  She sighed emphatically. “Just because a guy acts like that doesn’t mean I have to accept his advances.” It wasn’t untrue, but it was altogether too ineffectual a statement to cover the entirety of Dorian’s interactions with Poppy.

  Though how am I supposed to tell Rachelle and Casey that the guy cuts and bites me open every week and I can do nothing about it, and now he’s making me feel weird when he does it? she thought. Poppy could almost laugh at the tragic absurdity of it all.

  “See?” Casey nodded enthusiastically. “Poppy gets it. They’re not entitled to anything. And besides, Poppy has Nate.”

  “I don’t have Nate.”

  “So turn him down properly, then.”

  Casey’s words came out perhaps a little harsher than she’d intended going by the slightly apologetic look on her face the moment after she’d uttered them. Poppy supposed she couldn’t blame her for being annoyed – Casey was just as close with Nate as she was. And Poppy hadn’t turned Nate down properly.

  But what was she supposed to say? Somehow she doubted Nate would buy ‘Sorry, I’ve signed my life over to the devil and I don’t have it in me to sleep with you so casually anymore’.

  She sighed. “You’re right, of course. I know I need to turn him down properly. It’s just…”

  Rachelle splashed hot, bubbling water into her face. “Poppy, you do know that you’re actually allowed to like Nate, right? You don’t have to turn him down just because you’re not in love with him. Casual is fine. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

  “You’re only saying that because you and Robin are blissfully in the casual stage right now.”

  Her best friend blushed furiously. “How do you – we thought we were being pretty sly about it.”

  “Don’t make me laugh!” Casey burst out, though she already was. “You think I can’t hear the two of you when you’re in bed? My room’s next to yours, remember?”

  The comment made Poppy flinch. If Casey could hear Rachelle and Robin when they were trying to keep quiet, did that mean Andrew had heard Dorian when he came to Poppy’s room? He certainly hadn’t mentioned anything about it.

  For the first time Poppy considered whether it might really have been the right choice to pretend that she was sleeping with Dorian already, simply to dispel any suspicion regarding their behaviour. But even as she thought it she staunchly rejected it; she didn’t want to be associated with Dorian like that, whether fake or otherwise.

  You’re giving in though – even you must know that.

  That’s what Dorian had said to Poppy. It was maddening that he said it; to be so presumptuous as to come to such a conclusion on his own.

  What was even worse was that it wasn’t entirely untrue.

  “You know what?” Poppy called out over Casey’s teasing of Rachelle. “Fuck talking about boys. Casey, go screw whoever you want. Rachelle, just have fun with Robin and don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

  “And you and Dorian? Nate?”

  “There is no me and Dorian. And I’ll sort Nate out myself. So let’s talk about something else. Please.”

  Casey narrowed her eyes. “Are you okay, Poppy? You seem…off.”

  “I’m just a bit tired, is all.”

  Casey wasn’t buying it, and neither was Rachelle.

  “How’s your arm?” she asked.

  Poppy had replaced the bandages previously wrapping her arm with a compression sleeve. It was far less inconvenient for her to work around, and didn’t need constantly changed after getting wet. She wished she could get away with wearing nothing at all, but that would involve faking a scar. Poppy didn’t have the skills, nor the tools, to pull that off, and she was certain it would definitely be more hassle than keeping her arm covered for now.

  Besides, in less than eight weeks she wouldn’t have to pretend she was hurt anymore, and fourteen of her club mates would be dead.

  A chill ran up Poppy’s spine despite the hot water, which only served to concern her friends even more.

  “Poppy?”

  “I’m fine,” she said quickly, not looking at them. “My arm’s fine. I just regret having ever fallen in the first place.”

  “You’ve been totally different since you fell,” Rachelle murmured. Casey nodded in agreement.

  Poppy knew she had to tread carefully. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re way more…serious?” Casey suggested. “I don’t know how to put it. Even when you’re acting like an idiot you still just seem more –”

  “Responsible,” Rachelle cut in. “It feels like you’re more responsible. Are you finally growing up now life after university has caught up with you?”

  Poppy almost laughed in relief at the very plausible excuse Rachelle had handed her on a plate. “I had to grow up eventually, right?”

  “I thought you were gonna be the first one they scouted this summer for sure,” Casey said. She twisted her auburn hair with her hands, squeezing out tiny droplets that fell back into the water, then plaited it with expert fingers before reclining her head against the edge of the hot tub. She let out a huff of air. “To be honest I thought all three of us would’ve been picked by now.”

  “I was kind of thinking that, too,” Rachelle admitted. “Well, definitely the two of you at least.”

  “I know, right?! How the hell did Craig freaking Hunt get chosen over me on the basis of his diving? It’s ridiculous.”

  Had the two of them been looking at Poppy at that very moment they’d have noticed how pale she had grown at their comments. Her friends were complaining about not being chosen as food. They were complaining about being alive, and they didn’t know it.

  Poppy hoped they never would.

  “Guys, I don’t think it really works based on how good we are,” she said, which in reality was, of course, the truth. “I think different scouts are looking for different things. Casey, Craig was probably picked because the scout was looking for a guy. And I’ve been injured and I’m unpredictable and I’m lazy. Honestly, who’d be stupid enough to want to work with me?”

  When Poppy laughed she was relieved to hear it sounded genuine. Both Casey and Rachelle seemed to feel better after Poppy’s explanation, which could only be a good thing.

  “I guess you’re right,” Rachelle said. “You are a lazy shit.”

  “Mean.”

  When the sun finally finished set
ting – which was late, given that it was mid-July, the three of them finally extricated themselves from the hot tub and made their way back to their rooms to change. It was only when Poppy was finally alone once more that she collapsed in a heap on her bed, feeling very much like a disaster of a human being.

  “They said I was more responsible,” she muttered under her breath. “Responsible for murdering people, maybe.”

  A knock on the door startled Poppy out of her head far sooner than she was expecting. Wondering whether she could simply ignore it, she stared at the door until the person on the other side announced who they were.

  “Poppy?”

  “Andrew? Is that you?”

  “Yes, it’s Andrew Martin Forbes.”

  Poppy chuckled. “Thanks for the clarification. Come in.”

  Andrew’s eyebrows rose so high when he saw Poppy that she could hardly see them through the tawny hair that fell across his forehead. His face turned scarlet almost immediately; for a second Poppy though he was choking on something.

  “What’s wrong, Andrew?” she asked.

  He turned away. “You – um, your t-shirt…”

  Poppy glanced down and remembered that she hadn’t bothered putting shorts on yet, and her t-shirt was crumpled around her chest from rolling around on her bed in worry. She didn’t have a bra on. From where Andrew was standing, Poppy realised that far too much of her was on show.

  She sat up immediately and pulled her t-shirt down to cover as much of her as possible. Laughing sheepishly, she said, “You’d think by now I’d have learned how to conduct myself in front of other people. Apparently not. Sorry, Andrew.”

  He peeked back around to make sure it was safe to look at Poppy once more, then cautiously sat on the bed a respectable distance away from her.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve seen more of Casey than that, though I didn’t mean to and then she stayed naked just to embarrass me for as long as possible but then Rachelle told her off.”

  Poppy grinned, feeling an irresistible urge to tease Andrew. “So how do I compare with her? From what you saw, anyway.”