beats per minute

by Alex Mae

  No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than a shadow had fallen across the roof.

  She sprang forward onto her hands, gripping the stone base of the skylight, using it to support her weight. Propelling herself up and back, her legs were wrapped around her would-be assailant’s neck, flipping him or her to the ground before there was time to even draw a breath. She landed on top, foot wedged firmly in the cavity between neck and shoulder, ready to strike once more.

  Staring back up at her, the picture of open-mouthed shock, was Declan.

  The adrenaline still coursing through her wilted. It was just typical. He had followed her. But of course he hadn’t put in an appearance until she’d done most of the hard work, figuring out an alternative entry point, sussing out the battle below.

  She would not let him get to her. She would not help him up. She would not even acknowledge his presence. Stepping over his prone body, Raegan resumed her watchful position without saying a word.

  ‘It’s a mess in there.’ He let out a low whistle as he leaned over her shoulder, apparently recovered to his natural state of obnoxiousness. She stiffened in annoyance. ‘Hold it – where are the other two? I can only see four.’

  ‘Bree killed one already.’ Raegan tried her best to tune him out as she ran through options in her mind. From her vantage point, she had counted eight windows set into the walls of the bar. She reckoned the one in the right hand corner would be the safest bet, as it was partially concealed by the bar. But how to get in? It was too high to reach from the ground. She could lower herself down the side of the building; if she had momentum enough she could swing through it, but that would destroy any chance of a surprise attack...

  Declan’s voice butted into her thoughts. ‘So what’s the plan?’

  ‘You’re not in the plan. Go home.’

  ‘But. Um. Raegan, I’m sor-‘

  ‘If you apologise to me I will throw you off this bloody roof.’ So much for pretending he didn’t exist.

  ‘But I am sorry. You can’t believe I really meant that stuff – y’know, about the others. Not caring. I just wanted to keep you safe.’

  She made a rude noise.

  ‘You don’t have to believe me. I know I behaved like an ass, but I was only following orders. They’re my friends too! Hey, at least remember our conversation with Warwick – I was the first one to say that we should fight.’

  He had a point.

  And two hopelessly inexperienced Regents would definitely be better than one. It was infuriating but she had to admit it to herself: he was right.

  ‘Fine. For now, let’s call a truce. But if we had the time I’d rip you a new one.’

  ‘Time’s all we got, ma’am,’ he quipped, earning himself a dirty look from her. ‘Sorry. Habit. So how we doing?’

  ‘It’s close. Too close. Bree’s the only one to get a kill so far – so that’s five Fay still standing, if Warwick’s numbers were right. We could definitely be useful, even just as a diversion. Or we could get some of the civilians out.’ The words were a tangled mutter. Raegan’s mind was clearly focused on strategy and not conversation.

  ‘Okay. How?’

  She pointed to the window. ‘That’s our best entry point. It’s in almost complete darkness and is partially obscured. In a corner, so nothing could sneak up behind us, and we could then roll and shelter behind the bar. We’d have a pretty clear view point from there.’ She scowled, heading back over to the skylight to check the status of the fight below. Declan couldn’t help admire her. She seemed so much older, suddenly; talking as she moved, continually alert, scanning for any changes in their surroundings, ears pricked for an intruder, a hundred possibilities being processed behind her eyes. ‘I just wish we could get in more quietly. I don’t think those windows open. We’ll have to break the glass.’

  ‘Not necessarily.’ Declan crossed the roof and opened his jacket, pulling a long, thin piece of iron from its depths. He smiled briefly. ‘I found this crowbar in the alley; it’s pretty rusty but figured it’d be better than nothing as a weapon.’

  She looked blankly at him. ‘So?’

  ‘So – I have some experience jemmying windows.’ He leaned over the side again, squinting at the window ledge below. ‘I can’t see much from here, but this doesn’t strike me as the kind of place to have any high security fittings, you catch my drift? Betcha I could force it open.’ Eyes darting, they came to rest on the flag attached to the side of the building. ‘Bingo.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You just keep on point. I’ll figure out a way to get us down there.’

  Raegan nodded, distracted. The civilians were still safe as far as she could see. But the fight was no less intense. Neither side had really gained any ground – and there was still no sign of Sam.

  She sprang up. Sitting still was pointless: her muscles were screaming to join in. But the strange sight of Declan, leaning out acrobatically into the open air as he attached a length of rope to the flagpole, stopped her in her tracks.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘It’s ready. I’ll go first and pop the window; you can follow me down.’ He tested the rope again for security.

  She studied the makeshift device. It wasn’t one of Jasper’s creations. It was clumsy. But it would do. Grudgingly she grasped the rope. They both took another peek over the side. The alley was clear; the night, held in their traverse, was calm.

  He stood on the edge like an abseiler. Before he pushed off, his eyes met hers, serious. ‘You ok to hold the traverse until we get inside?’

  Raegan flexed her muscles, mentally, checking each and every nerve ending for exhaustion. The answer made her smile. Chasms passed between each strong tick: the clock was slow but stable. ‘Yeah, I am. I don’t even feel tired.’

  His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘Me neither.’

  With that he kicked off. Steadying her feet against the bottom of the ledge, she fed the rope through the loop as he whizzed down the side of the building.

  Excitement rising, she watched him. He was at the window now, turning the crowbar this way and that- he was almost there-

  And then she saw it. The dark blur. A speeding bullet, moving toward him. She didn’t have time to cry out.

  Declan was knocked clean off the window pane and sent sprawling to the floor.

  She didn’t even think. She’d thrown the loop of rope over the flagpole before she realised she was moving. Leaping off the side of the roof in a swan dive, she sailed towards it, allowing her hands and legs to wrap loosely around the rope so she could fly down to the ground. She was barely even aware of her hands stinging with rope burns; every muscle was strained towards Declan below as she tried to see what was happening-

  The rope ended a few metres from the ground, so Raegan was forced to jump. Her timing was off and she landed inelegantly. But at least she landed on two feet.

  This was bad.

  A woman stood before them. A Fay. One who could slow down time to such a degree and move so fast within it that, even with the two of them traversing to their maximum, she could still evade their notice until the last fraction of a second.

  The woman was beautiful. Raegan didn’t know why she was surprised. Christian had also been beautiful.

  Her eyes were even bluer than his; cold, as light as the sky in summer, stunning against the milk of her cheeks and the violet of her sleek, asymmetric bob. Her lips, thin and cruel, were parted in a humourless grin.

  ‘How sweet. You have come to save your friend.’ Her voice was surprisingly deep and husky with traces of an accent. Russian, perhaps.

  Raegan didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Her vocal chords were paralysed. She wanted to be brave. But she couldn’t shake the notion that she was still that girl in St Jude’s, running away from the thing that had killed her friend.

  The alleyway seemed horribly big.

  The Fay was taunting her now, walking around them in a slow circle. Clearly she did not see them as any sort of threat: D
eclan had managed to back away a few paces, but from the horrible angle of his leg where he had fallen, standing upright was out of the question; and Raegan was motionless as a stuck pig.

  As if to illustrate her lack of concern, the Fay jabbed curiously at Declan’s leg with her foot. He did his best not to cry out, but the agonising pain was clear from the sweat beading on his forehead and the tense quilt of his jaw.

  It was this incident that finally snapped Raegan out of her trance. It was the nonchalance of the Fay; the way she casually delivered pain, poking at them with the abstraction of a scientist with two unsuspecting lab rats.

  The kick Raegan delivered to the back of the Fay’s head was swift and sure; it took the woman completely by surprise. Her second, even more spectacular move, squatting and then sweeping her leg beneath her opponent’s feet, dropped the Fay to her knees.

  There was no playfulness in the arctic eyes now. Staring up at Raegan from underneath her fringe, the beautiful face twisted, almost skull-like, with malice.

  But before Raegan could deliver another blow, the Fay sprang to her feet, soaring toward her with unearthly precision. Her hand wrapped around Raegan’s throat – so like Christian – tight, squeezing; but with a gurgling noise of rage, Raegan’s fists remained on course. They staggered with the momentum of the combined blows, keeling over to the side; the woman used this to her advantage, pushing Raegan to the ground.

  It was all so fast. There was no pause to take a breath before the next relentless impact of bruising force against soft flesh.

  Somewhere in the struggle, the Fay managed to straddle her, pinning her arms down with a knee either side, and Raegan felt a new – somehow more real - kind of terror; it sliced through her middle like a flare of warning. As the woman leaned in, she made a final, futile attempt to headbutt her – but it was useless. The Fay brought her hands up to Raegan’s face in a bizarre, mocking carress.

  ‘I don’t want your heart,’ she hissed. ‘I could pop your head like a grape right now! But I prefer to do it slowly.’

  She began to push against Raegan’s temples. The pressure mounting was unbearable. Raegan struggled in vain. She was going to die. She was going to die horribly. Her skull would cave in, agonisingly slowly, her eyes, already bulging, were going to explode in their sockets...

  And then a crowbar flew into the side of the Fay’s head, colliding with such force that it would have killed any human outright. It succeeded in knocking her away from Raegan. Gasping, Raegan backed away, feeling for the floor with her hands, her head splitting down the centre. A cold stickiness drifted down her neck. Her ears were dripping blood.

  Declan, holding the crowbar aloft, whipped his head round urgently, stepping toward her on his injured leg. His movement was ginger, unsteady; but he was able to support himself. ‘Get out of here,’ he yelled hoarsely.

  The Fay, by now dusting herself off, looked furious. She began to get to her feet. He positioned himself firmly between her and Raegan.

  ‘I won’t leave you,’ she croaked.

  ‘She doesn’t want you! She wants me, don’t you, sweetheart?’ He taunted the Fay, brandishing the crowbar like an invitation. Her eyes flashed angrily. Lowering his voice urgently, he shot Raegan a sideways glance. ‘If you stay here, we both die. You have to get to the others – get help! I’ll hold her off as long as I can.’

  She knew he was right. She hated it.

  ‘Go!’

  Head still aching, tears suddenly springing to her eyes, trying not to look back at him standing there alone, she ran. Her heart felt like a weight in her chest, swollen and sore; it wanted to sink down, admit defeat, and it took all her strength to hold it in check, and keep traversing.

  Time was slipping away. She saw the flickering at the corners of her vision; that dreadful bending that let her know she was losing control. Just like in her grandfather’s study; like with Christian, during that first, terrifying brush with the Fay. Her feet, pounding on the pavement, slowed. She had to get a grip.

  The female Fay had been blocking off the quickest route so she had come a long way round, but she was nearly back at the rear door. It felt like years since she and Declan had stepped out of there.

  Maybe he had been right all along; they should have kept running.

  The wall was cool against her back as she leaned, closing her eyes, trying to swallow the tight ache from her throat. Focus, focus, focus. Declan would die if she did not get help. She had to get inside.

  Painfully, she pushed off from the wall, staring at the dirty floor. To stand a chance, she needed to be in absolute control; her bpm needed to be as low as she dared. She heard Liana’s voice. Summon the clock. Gradually, her breathing slowed, her skin tingled and her vision cleared; the tick-tock-tick-tock sounded comfortingly in her ears; time was with her, once more.

  She eyeballed the black, dilapidated door. Trying to be as quiet as possible, she applied careful pressure. The door stayed resolutely closed.

  She nearly cried in frustration. Short of launching herself into the thing, she was out of ideas – and what would be the point of battering down the door only to run smack into a Fay, lurking on the other side? If only there was some way of knowing if the door had been locked, or whether there was a guard, or maybe something heavy leaned against it...

  An idea struck her.

  Feeling silly, she stretched out a hand. Gingerly she ran her palm over the rough surface. Nothing happened. She felt ridiculously deflated. Objects were meant to yield their memories, their time, to her touch - weren’t they? What was the point of having this gift, this Trace, the one that everyone was so bloody interested in, if she couldn’t even use it? Of all the stupid-

  A brief kaleidoscope of colour flashed behind her eyes. She jumped. With mounting excitement, she flexed her fingers more firmly against the cool iron of the door, waiting. There it was again! A glimmer of indistinctness, a mass of fuzzy shapes; faster and faster these rushed past, as if she was flipping through a catalogue of time, whizzing through the pages until she found what she needed. There! Mentally she was pushing through the iron, through to the other side of the door; now, like turning the knobs on binoculars, she strained, bringing the picture into focus.

  It wasn’t clear. There was no linear video playing in her mind. Instead, she was the door. She was being given glimpses of the door’s memories. Shadows merged and unfurled in wispy, partial images: a Fay, yanking a human down the corridor; a Fay, throwing the same poor civilian against the door with brutal force; roughly prodding and probing, ripping the clothes from the woman’s body until the keys were found; then, discarding her without a second thought, a mere twist to the neck enough to casually end life; the violet bob swishing as the keys were inserted in the locks, the bolts drawn, many of them, enough to trap the rest of the civilians inside...

  The door had remained lonely and locked ever since.

  Her eyes flew open, breath coming in short, sharp bursts. Wonderingly, she pressed her fingertips to the door in delicate assessment. It was unguarded. Her way should be clear. Now, if she could only get it open...

  She was strong. She was fast. Hopefully it would be enough.

  There was an overhanging iron bar where a light had once hung, brightening the doorway; now it was an empty shell, but useful for her purposes. Extending her arms upward, she jumped up and swung, gaining as much as momentum as possible. Back and forth she went, higher and higher, faster and faster, getting ready to kick the door in, hoping the force would be enough to drive past the bolts.

  Her legs whistled through the air; but the sound was not loud enough to mask the faintest creak from somewhere inside. Someone was coming!

  Allowing the momentum to drive her backwards over 180 degrees, she supported herself on her hands, fighting gravity, body straight as a jack-knife above the iron bar, legs toward the sky. The blood rushed to her face; a few strands of red hair came loose, dangling in front of her eyes. But she could still see the doorway.

  Thi
s was her only chance.

  A scraping noise indicated that the door was opening. A golden head appeared beneath her; surprisingly close beneath her. The man was very tall.

  It was a moment before she realised he was talking into a small device. It did not look like any mobile phone she had ever seen. The notion of dangling upside down and listening to her mortal enemy chatting on the phone would’ve been funny if she hadn’t been so tense.

  ‘No sign of any remarkable gift,’ he was saying, in softly accented English. ‘They are all strong fighters. We have wounded, but not fatally. Abrafo is dead; Stravos, too. Irina is guarding the perimeter. I will reconvene with her before I leave.’

  Two were dead, she thought frantically. The woman she had encountered was likely to be Irina. Perhaps there were only two left inside, if this man was one of the six. This was good. A Regent could be spared to come with her and help Declan.

  Tactically, her best move was to wait; the Fay below might not notice her, he might leave, and she could slip inside, unseen. She knew better than to risk another entanglement if she did not have to: her instincts might be primed for combat but it was obvious that her skills weren’t.

  Her arms were trembling with the effort now. Her grip, too, was failing; gradually loosening with the sweating of her palms. She held her breath.

  ‘What more would you ask of me? I told you I wanted no part in this; yet, on your orders, I have come. I have reported what I have seen. I have fulfilled my duty.’

  He snapped the device shut, pocketing it. He was leaving. She should be relieved.

  Instead she was overcome with a mad compulsion to see his face; and, as if drawn by her desire, the Fay tilted his face up to stare at the sky. He found her instead.

  It was like it was happening in slow motion. They stared at each other, eyes directly locked onto eyes, both pairs wide with shock. The powerful jolt of electricity that coursed through Raegan was like nothing on earth: his face was already branded on her memory, on her soul, somehow.

  An ancient whisper in her ear; a seeing that went beyond the physical into the heart of her; an unravelling within. I see you. I know you.