Dystopia: YA Paranormal Adventure Romance

by Anthony Ergo

  I start to feel guilty for leaving Aaron and heading off to bed last night. Maybe if I had stayed I would have been the one comforting him instead of Zara? While I had a nice dream about Mum, he endured nightmares from the moment he closed his eyes. Zara walks back in carrying a mug of coffee and sits on the sofa, taking up the space between us.

  "What are your defects?" I ask her, maybe a little too intrusively.

  As usual, her reply is instant and to-the-point.

  "My Precog skills allow me to glimpse future events, but my defect is that I have hardly any memories of my youth. It almost feels like every time I have a premonition about the future, a recollection of my past is wiped out. I'm now left with a handful of childhood memories. I've lost so many of the good days I shared with my mother."

  I feel guilty for asking and even worse for ever feeling sorry for myself. If I have nothing else, at least I have my memories of Mum. Zara doesn't even have that. She's left with a mental asylum detainee; a person who looks like her mother, but who is only a shadow of her former self. The stupid, jealous feelings I had before this conversation have ebbed away. I begin to wonder whether I'm the one in the wrong. If Aaron and Zara are together, did I go behind her back in kissing him? Have I betrayed the one person who has done the most to help Dad and me? I curse myself for my romantic notions.

  "We should head off before Mum wakes up," says Aaron. "I know somewhere we can go to grab breakfast."

  My stomach rumbles at the thought of food. I check my watch. We have less than sixteen hours to find Dad.

  "Then what?" I ask, suddenly impatient to get on with things.

  "I'll tell you my plan over breakfast," says Zara.

  Brains and beauty. How did I ever think I could compete?

  + + +

  Aaron takes us to a busy cafe, his reasoning being that it's safer for us to stay in public places. As we enter, three college kids leave having clearly bunked off their day's lessons. It's risky behaviour; the government is harsh on people not being where they are meant to be. Just last week I was as carefree as those college kids, preparing to leave home. If Zara and Aaron didn't work at The Agency, I'm sure they would be just as happy-go-lucky. It's a strange choice of career; for an Agent, the worry of bad grades is replaced by the threat of death followed by eternal suffering.

  We order some food and sit at a corner table, trying to act as inconspicuously as possible. Aaron rips open packets of ketchup and squeezes them over his bacon and egg sandwich while I sip orange juice through a straw. Zara is quiet, staring blankly at her coffee. The cafe is empty except for the bored staff, an arguing couple and a truck-driver gorging away. Aaron gives him a run for his money having ordered two meals all to himself, plus an extra large milkshake. I feel queasy just looking at the mountain of food on his tray.

  As he reaches for the salt cellar he accidentally knocks it over, spilling a small cone of salt on the table top. Straight away I take a pinch and throw it over my left shoulder. Aaron looks at me like I'm an alien and I decide to answer his unspoken question hanging in the air.

  "It's an old superstition. Throwing salt over your left shoulder wards off the bad luck you earned by spilling it."

  Zara cracks her knuckles and the noise makes me cringe. I hadn't noticed this habit of hers before now. Maybe she was never stressed enough to do it.

  "I'd call it obsessive compulsive behaviour," she says.

  "So what's your plan?" I ask, ignoring her jibe and putting her bad mood down to stress.

  Zara pulls out a notepad full of scribbles and circular coffee stains but doesn't seem in a rush to answer my question. I rub my neck, still feeling a bit stiff from sleeping in a strange bed. I've pinned my hopes on Zara and Aaron, maybe unfairly. After all, they're not that much older than me. They may have special powers, but they're still new to the ways of The Agency. Not forgetting that we're up against Menzies Blake and Jack Ketch; a Necromancer and a Poltergeist.

  Zara and Aaron must be feeling the same strain; an atmosphere hangs over the table like an invisible cloud. As I stare out of the cafe window I can't help but feel that Zara is glaring at me.

  "Something up?" I ask innocently.

  "You tell me," she replies, coldly.

  Aaron seems to be amused by the sudden air of tension.

  "Easy girls, you don't want to make a scene."

  "Shut it, Hart," snaps Zara.

  Aaron loses his jovial nature like a kid stung by a bee. Maybe that's the attraction of Zara for him; the phrase "treat them mean, keep them keen" springs to mind.

  "Hey, what's got your goat?" he asks her.

  Zara violently tears open a sachet of sugar, spraying grains across the table.

  "I've been going over the information we have. I listened back to the recording of Menzies Blake in the Tyburn tunnel. He said something about Sasha that we need to talk about." I can barely remember the conversation, but Zara had recorded it on her mobile phone. "I'd like to know why he thinks Sasha is too powerful to be kept alive."

  Now I realise why she has been so distant from me all morning. I shift awkwardly in the uncomfortable plastic chair.

  "I've worked closely with your father for the last two years," says Zara. "He never even mentioned that he had a daughter, never mind one with powers. If we are going to find him, we need to know everything about him, and you."

  Zara respects Dad in a way I can't understand, but the secrecy of my existence, and my true identity, has clearly upset her. My relationship with Zara is far from simple. I look up to her like the older sister I never had, yet she seems to look at me with jealousy. I pull the dagger from my pocket and hold it out in the palm of my hand, as my Mum had once. Holding it is the closest I've been to her in years. As I stroke the blunt blade I realise it's strangely cold, like it contains something otherworldly. I place the dagger on the table and slide it forward.

  "Funny looking letter-opener," says Aaron.

  Zara leans forward, takes her glasses off and folds them.

  "I've seen this before. It appeared in my vision of you in the forest. I didn't fully understand its significance." She picks up the small dagger and hands it to Aaron. "Maybe you can use your Empath skills to tell us what it means?"

  Aaron takes the small knife and cups it between both hands, then closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

  "It's an Athame," he answers, bewildered. "It belonged to a White Witch. It's used to direct energy, to channel power. What are you doing with an Athame, Sasha?"

  I take a long suck on the straw of my drink, buying time, trying to work out how to relate what Dad told me in the Tyburn tunnel. I find it difficult to maintain eye contact with Zara at the best of times. Our breakfast lies between us, almost forgotten. There's no easy way to tell someone your darkest secret, so I decide on the direct approach.

  "My mum was a White Witch and. . . I'm kind of one too."

  Aaron nearly chokes on his breakfast. Zara's cold exterior seems to melt away. I'm conscious of her staring at me and continue to speak to avoid further embarrassment.

  "Dad told me in the Tyburn tunnel. What does that mean?"

  Zara continues to stare at me without blinking, like she's searching me for answers.

  "It means that you can use the Athame in the same way as your mother did."

  "Dad said my mum was an Agent. Did you know her, Zara?"

  "I knew of her, but she was part of The Agency before I joined. Blake has a file on her; he keeps records of all Agents, which was why I was suspicious when I saw it."

  The cardboard folder with my mother's name on it was within inches of my grasp. Blake has the answers to my questions about what happened to her on Dystopia Day. I'm sure he knows even more than my father. Right now, the chances of ever hearing from either of them again are bleak.

  Aaron passes the Athame to Zara and she rotates it carefully in her hand.

  "Over the years The Agency has been home to people with unique skills and powers: clairvoyants, mediums, psych
ics and the like. But White Witches are very rare."

  She stares at me like she is seeing me for the first time and I shift uncomfortably. Aaron shakes his head in disbelief.

  "Sasha Hunter, daughter of a Clairist and a White Witch. Can I have your autograph?"

  Zara elbows Aaron in the ribs, then hands me the Athame.

  "Sasha, if this is true, you're our most powerful weapon."

  I tuck the small knife inside my pocket, not totally convinced I'll ever be able to use it properly.

  "I was pretty powerless to help Dad in the Tyburn tunnel."

  I want to learn to master the thing that belonged to my mother, and I know that Dad could help me do that. The image of him suspended mid-air by the ghost of Jack Ketch stings my mind's eye and I try to force conversation to make it go away.

  "So what else did you come up with, Zara?"

  She produces a small pad and flicks though pages of notes.

  "I've transcribed the entire recording of Blake's conversation. He said that Jack Ketch will take Agent Hunter to the place he is most powerful. I've been trying to think where that could be."

  Aaron chews reflectively, then picks up the sandwich and opens his mouth to take a bite.

  "This pig had a really pleasant life. Now I feel really guilty about eating this. Man, being an Empath has its drawbacks. . ."

  He turns to me slightly with that loveable silly grin on his face to indicate he is just messing with her. I can't help but laugh, which seems to irritate Zara all the more.

  "Can you two focus for just one minute? Hart, do you remember what we found out at the Tyburn convent?"

  "Not much, really," says Aaron, taking a bite. His feelings for the pig have clearly evaporated. "It was just some boring history stuff. The nuns told us that prisoners from Newgate Jail were taken by cart to Tyburn to be hung. The important prisoners were kept at the Tower of London and executed there. Gruesome or what?"

  I pull the hangman game out of my pocket. For the last few days, it's been my link to the other side; a portal by which Jack Ketch has taunted and toyed with me. As I carefully unfold the paper, it crumbles into brown flakes which disintegrate onto the tabletop in a dusting of ash.

  "What just happened?" I ask in a panic.

  "I think the Hangman Ghost has stopped communicating with you," says Zara.

  "But why?"

  "Because we're close. I have a theory why Jack Ketch has been communicating with your dad, but I'm not sure you'll want to hear it."

  Over the last few days I've heard and seen things — awful things — that I never thought possible. They say knowledge is power and I need all of the knowledge I can get. I feel ready for anything.

  "Please, tell me."

  Zara clears her throat and takes a laboured breath like she's about to break bad news.

  "Jack Ketch is one of the most active Poltergeists we've known. Menzies Blake certainly seems to have taken a big interest in it. Using the Ouija board Ketch told us he is looking for a host; a human body he can possess. I think he's chosen your dad."

  The thought of the Hangman Ghost possessing Dad makes my stomach lurch. I knew my father's life was in danger, but now he faces a fate worse than death.

  "We need to find him! Zara, can you see into the future and tell us where Dad is?"

  My voice has a desperate tone and I feel tears beginning to well in my eyes.

  "Sorry Sasha, my precognitive skills don't work like that. I only get small glimpses of the future; it's like quickly flicking through the channels on a TV. It's not easy to sort out which future belongs to which person."

  "Maybe you could just give it a go," I plead.

  I'm all too aware that asking her to do this means wiping another childhood memory from her mind. If there was any other alternative, I'd choose it, but our options are dwindling and time is running out.

  "I'll try my best," Zara replies in a determined tone.

  She closes her eyes tightly and I can see her eyeballs shooting left then right in rapid movements.

  "It's dark. I can see a castle. It looks like some kind of dungeon, but that doesn't make sense. Blake is there, as well as your father, and so is Jack Ketch…"

  Aaron takes another inappropriate bite of his sandwich.

  "That's it!" he says, dropping the food. "Blake said Jack Ketch will take your dad to the place where he's most powerful. In life, Ketch was most powerful at the place where he acted as jailor and executioner of powerful people. We were looking at the wrong place. Tyburn wasn't his residency, it's―"

  "The Tower of London," finishes Zara. "The nuns told us that people were executed there too. And if Sasha's theory on the time scale is correct, we only have until midnight to find Jack Ketch and save Agent Hunter."

  Aaron takes one last slurp from his milkshake before tossing the contents of his tray into the nearby bin.

  "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go catch us a Poltergeist."

  Chapter 23

  Thursday 19 September 4:09pm

  We take a tube train, then make our way to the Tower of London on foot, trying our best to merge into the crowds of tourists. In the distance, on the opposite side of the Thames, The London Eye rotates slowly like an exhausted fan. The giant Ferris wheel is a stark, modern day contrast to the foreboding ancient walls. The Tower of London, a medieval castle turned popular attraction, is a complex of stone buildings set within high perimeter walls. A tall, square stronghold rises from within its heart, known as the White Tower.

  We approach the information centre where tourists mill around, taking turns to photograph each other. I watch them with disdain. How can they be so oblivious? Don't they know how dangerous this place is? Zara's eyes are everywhere and I know without asking that she's on the lookout for Menzies Blake. Aaron fiddles impatiently with the zip of a yellow raincoat he has purchased to wear over his gym clothes.

  "Nice weather for a day out," he mutters sarcastically, looking up to the gathering rain clouds. "So do we buy some tickets and queue to get in?"

  "Jack Ketch is in there," says Zara, "but Blake isn't. He's waiting until the place is quiet, and so should we."

  I check my watch; the tourist crowds are already starting to disperse.

  "But the Tower will be closed in an hour," I say.

  "And then it will be dark," says Zara. "That's when we make our move."

  If Zara has a plan, then she's not about to share any of the details just yet. I lean against a wall and listen to a castle warden, known as a Beefeater, as he talks dramatically to a party of tourists. He makes animated movements with his arms while dressed in his distinctive black and red costume.

  "During its long and illustrious nine-hundred-year history, The Tower of London has developed a reputation as one of the most haunted places in Britain."

  "Great," I mumble to myself.

  "It's not so bad," says Aaron. "It's mainly the residency of Spirits and Apparitions. We might bump into some of Henry the Eighth's wives, or the two princes murdered by Richard the Third."

  I want this to be a joke, but Aaron delivers it deadpan.

  "Don't worry too much," says Zara. "Not all the ghosts here are dangerous. Ninety-nine percent of all ghosts are harmless; they are nothing more than loved ones who have passed over making occasional trips back to this world. It's the other one per cent you need to worry about."

  Zara realises that she's doing little to calm my nerves so she settles for a different approach.

  "Here," she says, handing me some loose change. "Why don't you go and get us some coffee, and plenty of sugar. We could be hanging around for a while."

  + + +

  The sun begins to set, smearing red across the late evening sky. Heavy, dark clouds creep over London and a fog sweeps across the Thames, descending on the Tower like a cold, dank curtain. A sudden and brilliant flash of lightning shimmers across the river and the first drops of heavy rain begin to fall. It's the type of rain that Dad humorously calls "wet rain"; the kind that d
oes a good job of soaking you through.

  I take a preventative pump from my inhaler; stormy weather always seems to trigger my asthma. The Tower looks even more foreboding in the dark, the night shadows settling on its imposing walls. With all the tourist attractions closed and the novelty stalls packed up, the atmosphere has changed from earlier in the day. Other than the occasional passer-by sheltered under an umbrella, we're alone.

  As the rain begins to fall harder, we take cover under the overhanging branches of a tree set back from the Thames river walk. I'm old enough ─ and superstitious enough ─ to know that this is the one thing you shouldn't do during a thunderstorm. Just as I'm about to question it, Zara ushers us toward the outer wall of the Tower. This section of the wall has eroded and sits lower than the rest, yet it still stands a good ten feet high.

  "Everything has a weak point," she says.

  It's a typical Zara saying, and I make a mental note to remember it. Glancing left then right, Zara motions to Aaron, who moves into position. With his back against the wall, he clasps his hands together to provide her with a foothold. Zara manages to climb up the first part of the wall, then uses Aaron's shoulders as a step and lets her upper body strength do the rest. As her outline reaches the top of the perimeter wall it looks like the fog will swallow her up. With one thigh on either side of the wall, she peers out over the grounds, like the lookout on a pirate ship, and then gives the thumbs-up.

  "She's impressive, for sure," says Aaron, looking at Zara in awe.

  He turns and motions me toward him. Zara made it look easy, like a professional gymnast. Physical exercise has never been my thing. Aaron takes my hand and I know that he will feel my fear. Our fingers are loosely woven together; mine, slender and pale; his, warm and strong. He pulls me torward him and wraps his arms around me in a protective embrace. When he looks at me momentarily I think we may kiss again. A warm heat blooms inside of me and works its way onto my cheeks. He grins a knowing smile and I feel myself blush. Leaning closer, he whispers to into my ear.