beats per minute

by Alex Mae

  Warwick shot a warning look at Declan, but Rico laughed. ‘You’re a stubborn little pisser, aren’t you?’

  Declan shrugged.

  ‘Fine. I’ll keep it short and sweet.’ Rico exhaled a shaky cloud of smoke. ‘I was meant to be on duty here at Prime tonight but I blew it off. Shifter buddy of mine was organising a cage fight just outside the port. I got a tip off and thought I could make some extra cash. Was a done deal. Anyway, I won. But that’s not all that was waiting for me out there.’

  Declan didn’t catch his meaning right away. Warwick did. ‘How many?’

  ‘Just one. But he was a mean son of a bitch. Ambushed me. I got the kill in the end but he took a chunk of me with him. End of story.’

  ‘But-‘

  ‘But nothing. I’ll heal, he won’t. Now I gotta get some rest.’

  ‘That’s not protocol.’ Warwick took a deep breath. ‘You have to go straight to the Praetor. File a report-’

  Rico’s eyes glinted dangerously. ‘Are you brain dead, son? Tell the Praetor that I bribed a Skipper to cover my duty and scooted off into town? He’d hang me out to dry.’

  ‘If the Fay are getting close to Unit Prime you don’t have a choice.’

  ‘There was only one.’ Rico said uneasily. ‘Some chancer. I took care of him. Ain’t no threat that I can see.’

  He staggered to his feet. ‘I’ll see myself back to Centurion House. You two can keep your mouths shut.’

  ‘We can’t.’ Declan was surprised how certain his friend sounded. His back was straight; his head was held high. ‘If you won’t tell the Praetor, we will.’

  Rico seemed to hesitate for a second. Then he laughed nastily, smoke pluming from his nostrils. ‘Sure, hot stuff. You march right over there, left right, left right, GI Joe to the rescue! Only I don’t think the Praetor is going to be mighty impressed with your testimony. You know, seeing as you happen to be out after curfew. And drunk as a skunk.’

  ‘We’re not drunk.’

  Rico held up the six-pack that had fallen in the collision and Declan knew they were beat. ‘Howdya explain this, then?’

  Warwick didn’t say anything.

  ‘Didn’t think so.’ The optio’s smugness almost distracted from the shallow sound of his breathing and the fact that he was beginning to sway. ‘I’m done. And if you know what’s good for you, you are, too. Got it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Warwick said, through gritted teeth.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ***

  Leaning out of his fourth floor, basking in the calmness of the pre-dawn sky, Warwick took a sharp drag on his cigarette. ‘Never should have asked where he’d been, Dec. Officers are officers. We don’t need to get involved in that.’

  ‘You’re the one who got involved, going on about the infirmary,’ a still tipsy Declan protested.

  ‘I didn’t know what he’d been up to.’

  ‘Yeah well, now we do. And now we have something on him.’

  ‘We have our word. You know that counts for jack.’

  ‘Must count for something or he wouldn’t have turned on us. Rico’s an asshole, but he’s not a stupid asshole. He was scared.’

  ‘Hum.’ Warwick didn’t sound convinced. ‘I’ve known him longer than you. He won’t forget this.’

  ‘Even better that we have something to bargain with, then. In case he does squeal about the beer.’

  Declan was crouched on the floor, flipping through Warwick’s DVDs. After a moment he stopped. ‘What about the Fay? Should we tell someone?’

  ‘Forget about that.’ Warwick closed the window with a bang.

  ‘But-‘

  ‘I mean it, man. Forget it.’ Declan looked up in surprise. Warwick never snapped. And true to form his friend softened immediately, adding, ‘Sorry. Look, it’s late. I need to get some sleep.’

  Declan glanced at his friend uneasily. He still wasn’t convinced that keeping quiet was the best thing to do. But who was he to think he knew better than his superiors? He was just a worm at the bottom of the Sentinel food chain. He wasn’t ready to be a hero.

  Maybe Warwick was right. The officers knew what they were doing.

  He got to his feet, forcing a smile. ‘You need to get some sleep! I have to sweat my ass off in Bikram yoga in two hours.’

  ‘At least Raegan will feel equally terrible. Saw her coming up the path just a second ago.’ Relieved at the change of subject, Warwick flopped onto the bed with a yawn. The frame rattled loudly in protest.

  ‘Alone?’

  Warwick grinned in spite of himself, unable to resist pushing Declan’s buttons. ‘Nope.’ He paused just enough for it to irritate him, before continuing, ‘She was with Bree.’

  Declan turned back to the shelves.

  ‘You can borrow that DVD if you like,’ Warwick squinted up at him. Declan realised he was still clutching Donnie Darko.

  ‘Thanks,’ he replied vaguely.

  ‘Hit the lights on your way out, would ya?’ Warwick pulled a pillow over his face, voice thick with sleep. ‘I’m beat. That was some night.’

  ‘Sure was. See you, man.’ Declan flipped the switch and closed the door quietly behind him.

  He headed down the stairs but did not go in the direction of his room. Instead, he halted by the corridor windows, swigging on the last of the beer. He scanned the grounds for a glimpse of red hair.

  He was still stood there, gazing at nothing, when the first rays of sun burst through the glass. Dawn flared in his tired green eyes, illuminating the hourglass pendant that swung loosely from his hand.

  ***

  Raegan dreamed of flames.

  Tall tongues of fire licked up the side of the huge structure. The heat lapped at her toes, and even though she was inside and she knew she would not be burnt, she was afraid.

  Suddenly, the glass in front of her began to crack, and sand was spilling all over. It was filling her nose and eyes as it threw her forward against the splintering glass; she would be cast out soon, cast out into the flames...

  And then it lurched, and she became aware of a groaning above her, and now to the side of her, as the vast structure teetered and buckled under the heat. She was thrown over as, with a crash, it toppled over completely: and for the first time she could see clearly where she was.

  The huge hourglass that had given her shelter was now on its side. There, in the other chamber, was a movement: an arm, thrashing about. There was another person inside!

  The flames were roaring outside now, smoke seeping in through the cracks in the glass, lifting the thick carpet of sand to dance on the hot air. She squinted against the rising fug, the dense heat a choking, blinding haze. ‘I can see you!’ she shouted desperately at the person in the other chamber. ‘I’m here!’

  I should be in there; we shouldn’t be alone, she thought, irrationally, crossly, but with certainty. She wasn’t sure who to direct her rage at –but she knew she was right. The smoke forced her to her knees but her cries did not cease: ‘I’ll find a way to you! Two halves should be whole! Two halves-‘

  The tinny sound of the alarm crashed into her subconscious and Raegan instinctively threw a leaden arm out to turn it off. Her pillow was soggy with sweat and tears when she leaned back against it. Without thinking she lifted her hands to her eyes, sure that her fingers would be burnt and sore. They weren’t, of course... but the nightmare had been so real.

  There was no time to think about it. She was already late. Knackered, she had fallen into bed just before dawn; thankfully Yali had an urgent meeting with the Praetor that morning and so Bikram had been delayed until eight - but it was now seven forty and she had only twenty minutes to make it to the studio.

  It took supreme will-power to force herself into a cold shower and then out into the chilly morning air. Frustrated and jumpy, she peered through her wet fringe up at Bree’s window as she passed.

  The curtains were closed.

  ***

  The day, hard and bright,
was filled with the shadows of the previous night; but in the face of the sun these were wispy and unbelievable. The horror of Raegan’s nightmare hung around, too, hazily merging with real memories. It was crazy. The entire night had been like a trick of the mind.

  She had said as much to Bree at the time.

  ‘This is unreal,’ Raegan commented. It was the first time she had spoken since returning to the courtyard. It was also a sound observation seeing as one of the walls in the courtyard had just parted in the middle, sliding back to reveal a narrow set of winding steps.

  Bree, sucking her index finger, nodded. The creation of the doorway required a blood sacrifice; no ‘abracadabras’ or the waving of wands here. Bree had to prick her finger, use the drops of blood to quench the candle flame – and then an entrance to who knew where would appear.

  ‘Unreal’ didn’t quite capture it, actually, Raegan decided. This was mental.

  The moonlight glinted off Bree’s glossy hair as she stepped into the entrance. Despite the slight puffiness around the eyes, her smooth face was eerily beautiful in the greenish half-light of the tunnel. ‘You’ll be safe,’ she said simply, ‘but I can’t promise that it will be easy. You’ll need to trust me.’

  Raegan hesitated, remembering her stay inside the Armoury store cupboard. She hated confined spaces.

  There was also pride. It was probably completely loserish to feel flattered that Bree would bring her along; the popular girl inviting the class nerd for tea at her house. But she did. And she wanted to be there for her friend.

  ‘I’m coming,’ Raegan said decisively, trying to appear confident by marching into the entrance. ‘Lead on, Macduff.’

  They didn’t speak much. As they headed down into the abyss, all of Raegan’s concentration went into keeping her footing on the worn, misshapen steps – no easy feat for a first-timer, particularly when closeted in almost complete darkness. She just about managed, but it was still a big relief when she finally stepped out beside Bree into an underground room bathed in an unearthly blue light.

  Bree held out an arm to stop her from walking any further.

  ‘Enchantments,’ she said, and pressed her finger into the wall. Off Raegan’s puzzled face, she added, ‘There’s dried blood on it, still. That’s all the room needs to identify me.’

  And just as Raegan was puzzling over the weirdness of that idea the room changed before her eyes: the light shifted subtly but rapidly, bleeding from blue to a warm, welcoming gold.

  ‘Excellent,’ Bree sounded relieved. ‘Wasn’t one hundred percent sure that would work with you here too.’

  ‘Great.’ Raegan felt faintly sick. ‘Would my eyeballs have boiled in my head or something?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  Bree was busy fiddling with what looked like a safe set into the wall, so it was impossible to see her face. Raegan hoped she was joking.

  To distract herself, she went over, reaching for her friend’s hand. ‘How’s the finger?’

  ‘Already healed,’ Bree replied, pulling away, but not before Raegan noticed the blood still beading from the small cut.

  ‘Hey, it’s not!’ Letting go of her finger with concern, Raegan rooted around fruitlessly in her pockets, patting herself up and down. ‘Crap, I don’t have a tissue. We should really stop the bleeding, you touched your finger to the wall and I know it’s enchanted and everything but you could get an infection, it looks pretty old-‘

  The expression on Bree’s face stopped her. It was almost pitying.

  ‘What?’ Raegan asked, puzzled. ‘You probably think I’m overreacting, but you can get blood poisoning from the smallest cut, you know. My grandda knew this bloke who lost both his legs-‘

  ‘It’s closed.’ Bree held up her finger. ‘See?’

  The finger was clean and unmarked – and completely different from how it had looked just a second ago.

  ‘But...’ Raegan stepped forward, peering at the digit. ‘Did you just heal on the spot?’

  ‘No, the cut closed almost immediately. Quick healing is part of the gig, remember?’

  ‘But- but – no. You were bleeding and it was scabbing over, just then! I saw it.’

  ‘Like you saw Marie’s bruises?’

  At first, Raegan was so shocked to hear Marie’s name – even spoken in such a deliberate, gentle tone – that she did not register exactly what had been said.

  Eventually, ignoring the rising creaking and groaning emanating from somewhere behind the safe, she stuttered, ‘How did you know- I mean, yes, there were- but- what?’

  ‘The Fay don’t leave bruises, Raegan. When they steal time, it’s like everything is washed away. They leave no mark.’

  ‘But I saw her,’ Raegan repeated stupidly. Bree’s words rang in her ears, but there was no sense to be made from them.

  ‘Yes.’ With careful patience, Bree held up her finger once more. ‘Look.’

  Dully, Raegan looked at the skin: it was clear, unblemished, as she now expected. ‘I get it. There’s nothing there.’

  Moving with the same painful care, like a parent with a small child, Bree lifted her other hand and interlaced it with Raegan’s, the same finger still in the air.

  ‘Now look again,’ she said softly. Her eyes did not leave Raegan’s face.

  Raegan started. She blinked, once, twice, but the sight was undeniably there: the skin of Bree’s finger had morphed minutely before her, and now it appeared to be freshly bleeding and bruised as she had originally thought it to be.

  ‘If I let go of you it will disappear again,’ Bree said, finally. ‘Do you want to see?’

  ‘Yes,’ Raegan croaked.

  She did. And it did.

  In the ensuing silence, a thousand things could have flitted through Raegan’s mind; they did not. A curious blankness reigned. As if frozen, she stared at the spot where Bree’s finger had once been, waiting for the lightening moment of realisation to arrive. It did not. Instead, the nerve-endings in her brain flailed about as helplessly as wet noodles. Bree watched her worriedly.

  The safe clanked on.

  ‘Was this... was this what you wanted to show me?’ she said eventually.

  ‘Partly.’ Bree sighed. ‘I wanted to explain why I thought Max was involved in our little scuffle earlier. But in truth, I wanted to be sure myself.’

  ‘Sure that I was actually insane?’

  ‘You’re not insane.’

  Raegan’s bark of laughter echoed horribly in the enclosed space. ‘Normal people don’t tend to see things that aren’t really there.’

  ‘But what you see is there! Or rather, it was. Shit! I’m not explaining this well.’ Bree wrung her hands. ‘Ah. Look. I’m sure you don’t need to brush up on your history, so forgive me for the reminder, but you’ve been taught that the Regency gift differs from person to person – correct?’

  Raegan nodded.

  ‘We’re all better at different things,’ Bree continued. ‘Sam is fantastic with the Heart, and I, as you say, launch myself in with fists flying – I’ve always excelled with the Body. You’re familiar with the three main disciplines by now. But there are other strains. Years and years ago there used to be another gift that popped up every few generations. It was known as the Trace.’

  Raegan did not react.

  ‘We thought it was lost – that it had died out. It just stopped appearing. I think the last recorded Tracer was sometime in the 1800s.’ Bree wondered how best to continue. She had already negated her agreement with Max, a choice which could have disastrous consequences. She’d gone this far; she might as well go for broke.

  ‘The Trace is the ability to see time as it was; to be connected, through touch, to the previous state of any given object or set of objects. It’s enormously valuable. My own grandfather used to boast that we once had a Tracer in the family.’ At that, her clipped, patrician tones took on a sardonic tinge; the vocal equivalent of an eye-roll.

  ‘You?’ The question was delivered listlessly.

&n
bsp; ‘No,’ Bree said carefully. ‘Like I said, the gift died out yonks ago – or so we thought. But the bragging of old man Clifton should give you some idea how well-regarded it is. Just think of the strategic advantages it once gave the Regency in the War. Skilled Tracers were known to be able to trace the footsteps of Fays to their hiding places. In the end, this might have led to us discovering the location of their Kingdom – but sadly we never got that far, because we lost our Tracers.

  ‘The Sentinel thinks that you have this gift. That’s why you thought you saw bruises on Marie’s body; you saw the damage once inflicted on her, instead of the body as it was. With a little honing and concentration you might have been able to find the killer.’

  ‘He found me, instead.’ The thought seemed to distract Raegan, but nonetheless Bree was encouraged that she was responding at last. She put a hand on her arm.

  ‘Max wanted to me to keep an eye on you. To try and find out as much as I could about the Trace. See if it had taken hold. He didn’t want to interfere directly as he thought it best for the gift to evolve naturally. That’s why he didn’t tell you. The Sentinel are always concerned with themselves first and us later,’ she added bitterly. ‘‘I hope you can forgive me. I haven’t told him anything about you, and I won’t.’

  There was a brief pause while both were lost in thought.

  ‘Can you, do you think?’ Bree asked anxiously, coming back to herself. ‘Forgive me?’

  Her concern roused Raegan from her stupor. ‘I’m sorry. Just a lot to take in,’ she muttered. ‘So this gift... is a good thing?’

  Bree nodded.

  ‘And I should just wait and see how it goes? There’s nothing else I can do?’

  ‘Not really,’ she admitted. ‘We don’t have reams of information on the subject. I’ve tried to suss it out myself, subtly, but even Ingmar doesn’t know too much - I expect because it hasn’t cropped up in anyone’s living memory. Based on the accounts I did find, it seems the Trace can’t really be harnessed in the beginning stages. That’s what Max said, too. It needs to develop of its own accord. Also, though I hate to ask... it would be best for all of us, and particularly me, if Max didn’t find out that you knew.’ Apparently embarrassed, she made a face.