beats per minute

by Alex Mae

  It was Warwick, drenched. He moved inside and pulled her against him. Warwick was an athlete and extremely fit; but his chest was heaving. He must have run here at break-neck speed.

  ‘It’s Raegan,’ he rasped. ‘The rope climb... she was near the top and she fell...’

  ‘Now.’

  The order came from Yali, but didn’t seem to; it reverberated all around, and next there was a smashing sound – Robert had lifted a large object from the emergency box and flung it against the wall – and the room was jumping, Bree could hear her heart pounding in her ears, and reality curled at the edges. Then, it was as if something huge and powerful flew past, the force of which knocked her and Warwick against the opposite wall.

  It had all happened in a blur of motion; impossibly fast. Yali was gone.

  Chapter Nine: More than Kin, Less than Kind

  ‘You took your time.’

  ‘Not now, Con.’ Max’s voice was rough with tiredness. The hospital room was dim enough that Con could not be sure if the shadows under Max’s eyes were really as deep and dark as they appeared, but it was obvious that his friend was exhausted.

  ‘Trouble in Siberia?’

  He shook his head. ‘They’re doing quite well, actually. No, the trouble is a little closer to home. Makes me glad I shipped the rest of the Unit out. I’m not sure how much longer we can continue here at Prime.’

  Con looked at him sharply. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Don’t ask. You know I can’t-’

  ‘Not more of this ‘classified’ bullshit, Max, please.’ Con sounded as irritable as he possibly could, given that they were whispering. ‘I’m not asking you as an employee of the Sentinel. I’m asking you as an old friend. As... a grandfather.’ The last word caught in his throat.

  For the first time their attention wandered to the small, crumpled figure lying in the nearest bed. A few minutes passed before Con had recovered enough to speak again.

  ‘Is she in danger?’

  ‘The Fay haven’t found us – yet. But they’re getting close. The number of sightings in Ireland is increasing faster than we can manage. They attacked again tonight.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Near Cork.’ Max’s jaw was so rigid with tension that his mouth barely moved. Con suddenly appreciated the strain that he was under. ‘It was bad, Con.’

  ‘And the Regent from that area-‘

  ‘Dead. They’re all dead.’

  Max answered Con’s next question before he could ask, speaking so quickly it was hard to make out. ‘They got Silvia.’

  She had been one of Max’s favourites. Con knew her well enough to ascertain that this was also a worrying indication of a growing threat. Silvia had been one of the most fearsome Regents in the Sentinel’s arsenal. The Fay were getting stronger.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  They stood in silence for a moment, heads bowed in respect to their departed friend.

  ‘We have to protect the cadets from this,’ Max said finally. ‘They cannot know. The Unit should be a safe haven. Secure.’

  Con’s reply was swift and unforgiving. ‘You’ve already failed there. Just look at her.’

  Max did not argue. Instead he moved closer to the bed, studying Raegan’s unconscious form as Con instructed. ‘How is she?’

  ‘You tell me. You’re the one with all the fancy Healer reports and what have you. I’m not even supposed to be here – as you so politely reminded me when we spoke earlier.’

  ‘There are rules, Conall-‘

  ‘I don’t give a stuff. I know the training is dangerous, that you have to take risks, prepare the cadets for what awaits them in the real world – but she hasn’t even been here a week, Max!’

  Again Max did not reply directly. Con wondered if he was lost for words. Unless… could it be that his ruthless friend actually felt a smidgen of guilt?

  ‘My Tribune himself retrieved her from the Labyrinth. This should prove how seriously we are taking her wellbeing. Whatever care she is being assigned, I’ll double it. Whatever it takes.’

  ‘Triple it.’

  Con felt the light pressure of a hand on his arm.

  ‘She will be okay, Con.’ For a moment, stripped of artifice, Max looked like the boy Con once knew; the friend he remembered.

  He hoped he could trust him now.

  ‘Please, Max. Please. Protect her.’

  ***

  Raegan was flying. Over fields and mountains she raced, swooping down low enough to skim the water of the winding rivers with her fingers. Marie and her mother, high above, danced among the stars. They were waiting.

  Then it was as if she suddenly remembered that she didn’t know how to fly. She was falling, falling... and the beauty around her bled into darkness.

  Years passed before her feet touched solid ground.

  She was alone. She was blind.

  Then the damned ticking started.

  She wanted it to stop. If only she could remember where the clock was – if only she could see – she could make it stop. She pressed her hand to her ears, and opened her mouth to shout-

  The cold intrusion of a finger against her lips stopped her. She started. There, in front of her, was a girl in a pale blue nightgown, her feet peeking out minutely from the swathes of material. The curious light in her liquid black eyes seemed to fill the darkness.

  She could see! Though Raegan did not recognise her companion, she smiled at her with euphoria. The girl’s teeth gleamed like tiny pearls. She held out her hand.

  A ticking clock awaited; the old-fashioned watch her grandfather still kept on a chain in his pocket. The girl tapped a finger to her nose.

  Then, without any warning, she threw the clock into the darkness. Raegan jumped back, certain the world would collapse around her ears. But there was no destruction. There was creation.

  A door, materialising out of nowhere. What should she do? She turned to ask the girl – but she was gone.

  And then the door flew open. Out came a stream of beings, hoods masking their faces; on and on, they poured out, rushing toward her, filling the small, precious space. She tried to take a step backwards, to escape, but the floor beneath her feet had become a ledge jutting out into blackness and she was teetering on the edge.

  Their white hands were outstretched, they were mumbling, chanting...she knew a white hot blaze of panic...

  A hand on her arm.

  ‘Time to go, I think.’

  That funny Mr Fettes was on the other side of the ledge. Standing on thin air. He reached for her.

  ‘I can’t.’ She was afraid.

  ‘You can. You will fall, and that will bring you to your senses. Come to me.’

  They were closing in, now. All around was black with the material of their cloaks. She was suffocating in darkness.

  ‘Raegan, please!’

  The sound of his voice was like a chink of light – she leaped toward it-

  ‘Argh!’

  Raegan awoke, on the floor, with an unpleasant thud and the sensation of cold stone beneath her bum.

  Her first realisation was that everything – absolutely everything – hurt. Not just her rump from where she had landed, but her head, her shoulders, her arm... her eyes drifted down to inspect the damage. Her arm was in a cast, and gave an almost indignant throb as she looked at it. The opposite wrist was also bandaged.

  Her second realisation, as her eyes gradually adjusted to the absence of light, was that she was in some sort of hospital.

  And she wasn’t alone.

  ‘Don’t get up, please,’ she grumbled, heaving herself back into bed painfully, which took some serious effort when both arms were not working properly. It gave the phrase ‘leg-work’ a whole new meaning. ‘I’d hate to stress you out, Grandda.’

  It was gloomy but she could just about make him out, perched on the window-ledge. His grin was wide.

  ‘This is a high security facility, you know,’ Con shrugged. ‘I’m not really supposed to visit at night.
Have to keep a low profile.’

  He waggled his feet, which were a few inches off the ground. ‘Max told me I should stay outside, in fact... but as long as my feet don’t touch the floor I shouldn’t set off any alarms.’

  She wanted to ask what that meant, but her brain and mouth seemed disconnected and sluggish. Finally, she managed to ask, ‘But won’t you get in trouble?’

  ‘I don’t care. Someone’s got to watch over you, lass. Left to your own accord, you only hurt yourself.’

  A wave of tiredness swept over her, so strong that she could feel her eyes closing against her will. ‘What happened to me? I can’t remember...’

  ‘Sleep, sweet girl.’

  Suddenly her eyes flew open. ‘Mr Fettes!’

  Even in the dark, Con looked shifty. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He was in my dream.’

  ‘Aye... and what was this dream about?’

  ‘Well, I think I was flying…erm. That doesn’t matter. He was there. Larger than life.’

  ‘Raegan.’ Con leaned onto his knees, as far forward as he could without overbalancing. ‘You just said you dreamed about flying, sure. The Pope could have appeared in your dream. What of it?’

  ‘It was real. Not the dream. But him. He was floating in the air like a… genie.’ Raegan stopped speaking, realising miserably that it sounded pretty far-fetched. ‘Did I hit my head? Is that why I’m in here?’

  Con smiled. ‘Relax. It’s not good for you to get yourself worked up.’

  ‘I’m completely loony, aren’t I.’ Her head ached from the effort of talking.

  ‘Not completely.’ Con cleared his throat. ‘In fact, this isn’t the first time Mr Fettes has appeared in your dreams – even if you don’t remember it.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Don’t get excited. Lie back. ‘ When he was satisfied that she was settled, he carried on. ‘Because I wanted to know if you were having the dreams, Raegan. You see, as well as being an old and dear friend, Mr Fettes is also a curious type of being known as a sandblower.’

  This didn’t ring any bells with Raegan, but then the room was beginning to go in and out of focus. She closed her eyes.

  ‘Sandblowers have the ability to see into people’s dreams. They can also be in several places at once – if the energies are right. Sort of like astral projection. That probably sounds more exciting than it actually is. See, sandblowers are reliant on vessels to channel their powers through, vessels they themselves make. Always crafted out of glass. It was a bottle on your dressing table that has allowed him to access your mind at night...this bottle, in fact.’ He slid it out of his jacket pocket sheepishly.

  Raegan made a small sound of protest.

  ‘I know. I am sure when you are at your full strength you will be very angry at me. I placed the bottle there; I invaded your privacy. But I was desperate. Your father and mother had tried to keep you hidden from the Sentinel for so long. Though I disagreed with their choice I felt that there was nothing I could now do but continue to mask your true identity. But I knew the Sentinel would be looking for you, and I knew that if you dreamt of their mages it would mean they were close.’

  ‘Mages?’ Raegan was fighting the silky mist of unconsciousness that was lapping at the edge of her vision. With a determined effort, she forced her eyes open.

  ‘The Sentinel have a team of magickal experts in their employ. The hooded figures that you saw in your dream were shamans, attempting to trace you. Mr Fettes accessed your sleeping mind. He told me everything. I knew, then, that your parents’ theory was incorrect; that nothing could stop the Awakening. There had also been reported sightings of several Fay in our area. And so I gave you the locket, to protect you.’

  ‘Because a Regent’s essence is more appealing to the Fay,’ Raegan sighed, repeating the words Ingmar had spoken in a recent History class. ‘Do you think Christian knew what I was, and that was why Marie-‘

  ‘No.’ Con leaned forward again. ‘You know that a Fay cannot feed off a human younger than sixteen.’

  ‘Yes. Too young to have a fully-formed essence.’

  ‘Though this does not always stop a Fay from trying – often the younger the life-force, the more potent and delectable to them. But trying to feed off a being younger than sixteen will certainly kill the human, quickly, and in most cases will drag the Fay down with them. The Fay steal time partly out of a terrible fear of death. The risk is enough to keep the vast majority at bay.’

  ‘My age saved me.’ The words were drunken and slow.

  ‘Yes. But your powers were beginning to form, and your essence was beginning to grow brighter and brighter; and though he would not have been able to discern what you were becoming, Christian would have found you more attractive than any other because of that.’

  ‘He knew it was my birthday.’

  ‘Is that so? That, too, was unfortunate.’

  Raegan could not even respond now. The tug of sleep was too strong.

  ‘Rest. Try and remember that Mr Fettes is a good man, and will never access your mind unless there is no other option. He helped bring you back to us tonight.’

  She managed a whisper. ‘Don’t go.’

  ‘Your Praetor may have something to say about that. I think this will be the last time he permits such an intrusion. But I will watch over you until dawn. Sleep, mo chroi.’

  ***

  Sleep she did. It was feverish and long; she seemed vaguely aware of the light changing several times, of murmured voices around her, of hands on her head, over her heart, and of faces close to her own. At one point, she thought she opened her eyes to lock with another pair: her mother’s, deep green, and troubled.

  She must have drifted back off. When she came to again, the circular room was empty; a blinding sea of white with several other empty beds, lined with narrow windows.

  Perched on the end of the bed was Bree, almost unrecognisable out of her black fatigues in a white vest and slouchy green combats, thick hair piled loosely on her head. She looked up from her magazine with a smile. ‘Hey! You’re awake.’

  Raegan’s throat felt so dry she could only gasp for water.

  The crystal clear liquid had never tasted so good, and neither had the yoghurt and dry toast that followed; Raegan was so hungry and thirsty that she didn’t even mind being fed like a child.

  When she’d had enough, she looked at Bree’s toned arm curiously. ‘Have you always had a tattoo?’

  Bree burst out laughing. ‘You’ve been out of it for over twenty four hours and that’s the first thing you ask?’ She pulled her arm across her body, eyed the celtic band for a moment and shrugged. It should have been oddly incongruous when paired with her elegant French manicure; yet somehow it worked. Raegan smiled to herself. That was Bree all over - she might be Lady Clifton, but she could rip a man apart with her bare yet well-moisturised hands.

  ‘Bit of a cliché, isn’t it? I was going through a ‘bad girl’ phase.’ Her upper-class drawl was wry. ‘I ran away from home, thought I could escape all this family duty destiny bollocks, set the world to rights. Didn’t last very long.’

  ‘Then what did you do?’ Raegan squinted at her through sleep-fogged pupils. Her eyes felt strange, as if they couldn’t quite get used to all this bright light.

  ‘Trained as an actress. The clichés continue.’ Having disposed of the breakfast tray, Bree came back to sit beside her. ‘Enough about me. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Sore.’ Raegan answered truthfully.

  ‘I’m not surprised. The nurse will be along to see you in a bit. Try and relax, for now. You can press this little clicker if you need some pain relief.’ Bree nudged the little plastic box toward her. ‘I wouldn’t go too mad though – you’ll be stoned.’

  Raegan, who had reached for it gratefully, hesitated. ‘Maybe I’ll wait for the nurse.’

  ‘Up to you.’

  Raegan didn’t reply, instead turning her head on the pillow to look at the sun streaming through the windo
w. It might have only been a day since she’d seen it but it felt much longer. Bree waited patiently.

  Eventually, the younger girl pulled herself up, hugging her knees with her good arm, resting the injured wrist along the top.

  ‘So...’ she pleated the coverlet between her fingers. ‘How did I even get here?’

  Bree could not keep the surprise out of her voice. ‘I was hoping you could tell me. You don’t remember? Nothing at all?’

  Raegan shrugged. ‘Not much, right now.’

  ‘Ok.’ Bree moved to sit on the bed and put a hand on Raegan’s good arm. ‘Raegan, you hit your head and you were unconscious for a while. But you’ve been checked out since you regained consciousness and there’s no serious damage. It’s perfectly normal to experience some memory loss. It doesn’t mean anything.’

  ‘Ok.’ Raegan felt a little better. ‘So... I fell? That’s why I hit my head and broke my arm and my wrist?’

  ‘Your left arm is broken, but the wrist of your right arm is only sprained, which is good news.’ Bree smiled, but her eyes were serious. ‘But to answer your question, yes. You did fall.’

  Raegan closed her eyes, willing herself to remember. The rain. Running. Tired, aching legs. A flash of lightening. Christian. ‘The last thing I remember is the Labyrinth.’

  ‘That’s great!’ Her friend’s smile was genuine now. ‘It happened during the Lab – see, you haven’t forgotten much at all.’

  ‘I can’t- I mean, it’s not clear. Was it…’ The white blanket, bunched up in her fingers, suddenly swam in front of her eyes. ‘Why I fell. Was it Christian?’

  Bree moved closer in concern. ‘Christian? Oh, you mean the Fay? The one before you came here? No.’

  ‘But…’ The words kept sticking in her throat.

  ‘Sweetie, he’s dead. You know that.’

  ‘I saw him. In the Labyrinth. Before the storm.’

  ‘You saw what the mages conjured up for you.’ Bree said patiently. ‘I thought you knew the Lab wasn’t going to be all sprints and drills. They always mix it up. Although…’ she hesitated, as if unsure how much she should say. ‘Right now the Praetor is über keen to introduce Fay simulations into the training at an earlier stage. You didn’t use to face one of those until you were a Level 3, at least. So maybe that’s why it popped up today. Part of his new drive to ‘move the threat of the Fay beyond the theoretical’. Not that you really need reminding what the Fay are like – but you’re a special case. Most cadets are totally clueless.’