beats per minute

by Alex Mae

  Her body reacted violently to the invasion. Flipping off the bar, she somersaulted over, kicking out with her feet. She caught him squarely between the shoulders, landing neatly between his falling form and the door.

  That curious feeling of being pulled in two directions arrived in Raegan again. Her feet were planted firmly to the floor though her core was screaming for her to move. She longed for him to turn round. She prayed that he didn’t.

  ‘I didn’t come here to fight.’

  The words sounded genuine. As he turned, his face showed all the confusion that she felt. He made no move to attack. She stayed in battle stance.

  With his great height and the streetlight behind him, glinting around his golden head like a halo, he looked like an angel.

  Disbelieving, entranced, her mouth dry, she raised her head. Their eyes met. She gasped.

  It was as if her heart leapt out of her chest.

  She hadn’t even known that he was reaching for her, or she for him; but they were locked in instantly. The world melted away. His heartbeat was in her ears, inside her chest, melded with her own; a great energy rose up around them, a light so blinding that she wasn’t sure if it was in front of her eyes or behind it; she was shaking, head to foot, almost convulsing with intensity.

  In her bones she suddenly understood that everything had happened as it had tonight to bring her here, to him, in this moment.

  And then she knew with a terrible certainty what he was.

  Her Mark.

  But how could that be? Where was the shock that Ingmar had spoken of, the invasion, the suffocation, the horrible loss of power?

  Where was the pain?

  ‘Raegan!’

  There was the pain. The Fay had broken their gaze, now staring at a spot behind her, and she felt a sharp, crushing sense of loss. At the same time, the strength seemed to leak from her, sapping her muscles. It took all of her concentration to stay standing. With a huge effort she looked over her shoulder.

  Sam stood in the open doorway. One arm was outstretched to Raegan, beckoning her inside. The other pointed a crossbow at the Fay’s chest.

  ‘Get behind me, Raegan,’ he said. ‘You’re safe now.’

  ‘I did her no harm.’ The Fay was softly spoken. He did not plead; nor did he acknowledge the crossbow with the remotest fear. The deep pools of his eyes shone with sincerity.

  ‘Pull the other one, it’s got bells on.’ Sam retracted his other arm, gripping the crossbow with both hands for a steadier shot. ‘What, now that the rest of your mates have snuffed it you think we should turn the other cheek? Let you go?’

  He focused his aim; a little higher now, directly for the throat – perhaps hoping to take out two major arteries at once.

  Another woman spoke before Raegan could, slinking out of the shadows with a venomous, insinuating manner.

  ‘I would not be so bold, if I were you.’

  It was the Fay Raegan had fought earlier. And then her heart leaped into her throat as she caught sight of Declan, not far behind; his right eye was battered and completely closed, and viscous blood poured freely from his mouth. The violet-haired Fay was dragging him by his wounded leg. It looked more misshapen than ever; Raegan, sick to her stomach, thought she could see shards of bone protruding from the knee of his jeans.

  ‘Lower your weapon or the whelp dies.’

  Sam didn’t hesitate. ‘No.’

  Raegan’s jaw dropped in shock. She tried to conceal any emotion from their opponents, but could not stop the plea bursting from her lips. ‘Sam-‘

  The female Fay laughed; it was an awful humourless sound. ‘You are a fool. What choice do you have?’

  Sam’s finger tightened on the trigger.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Raegan hissed under her breath.

  ‘Without this, we have nothing,’ he shot out of the corner of his mouth.

  ‘You’re giving them Declan! You really hate him that much?’

  ‘To answer your question, I have plenty of choice.’ Sam raised his voice, cutting Raegan off and addressing the Fay. ‘The rest of your team are dead. I only have to raise my voice and a team of Regents come running. You’d be outnumbered in a second. Or less.’

  ‘We could take them,’ the female snarled at the male. Her fervency was real. ‘They would be no match for us, Leron. Let me kill the boy now, for their insolence!’ For emphasis she drove her foot into Declan’s knee. He screamed.

  ‘No.’ Before Sam could let the bolt fly, the Fay called Leron spoke. ‘Let him go, Irina.’

  Irina’s face contorted with animosity and disbelief. There was nothing attractive about her now.

  ‘We will withdraw,’ Leron’s voice commanded obedience. ‘We will leave this one to you in exchange for safe passage.’

  ‘You think I’m going to let you just walk away?’ The crossbow vibrated with anger. Colour rising in his cheeks, Sam spat; the glob of saliva landed inches from Leron’s feet.

  The golden haired Fay took a minute step forward. His height, at this close range, was beyond intimidating.

  ‘I am patient but there are limits. Do not test me, boy.’ Every syllable was loaded with weight.

  Towering over Sam, Leron looked down at the crossbow once more, before raising his eyes to the younger man’s face. Though his expression did not change, the mere gesture indicated his lack of interest in the weapon pointed at him; as if, when fired, the arrow would merely bounce off his wide chest. Satisfied that the matter was settled, he drew himself up to full height, calling over his shoulder imperiously.

  ‘Come, Irina.’

  Raegan dared not look at him, though she could feel his eyes sweeping over her, lingering like a hot flame. When she finally succumbed to the temptation Leron was halfway down the alley, hair glinting in the moonlight.

  Irina, following, was not so trusting. She backed away, gaze firmly on them, crouched as if ready to strike, until she was out of sight. The look on her face as she left would haunt the Regents for a long time. Indeed, the alleyway seemed full of menace; as if something of Irina’s aura survived her. The force of her hate, which hung on the air like a sour breath. The foreboding promise of retribution.

  Chapter Nineteen: On the Case

  Jasper trudged wearily back to the Armoury, the sheets of metal wedged between his head and his shoulder digging uncomfortably into his skin. It had been a week since the cadets’ ill-fated trip to Carrigaline; and though the Unit was quieter in general – the cadets were now continually under lock and key – Max’s presence was louder than ever.

  There was no pleasing him. The security protecting the base itself had trebled in intensity, with every Skipper on constant alert. Each day saw the arrival of more soldiers to boost their numbers. The cadets were being run ragged: privileges revoked, alarm-calls and curfews earlier than ever, constant supervision and a backbreaking cycle of new exams to study for, ensuring that every free second was spent working. Little mercy had been shown for their various injuries; Jasper had even seen Warwick running laps on a leg that was still in a splint.

  Not that Jasper had had much time to feel sorry for the cadets. Max had really been on his case. He had never had so many conversations with the Praetor nor so many complicated instructions. Earlier that same day the phone had rung yet again. Without a word of greeting, the Praetor began to bark at him. The base was on high alert due to the presence of the Fay in Carrigaline. He assumed preparations had already been set in motion to meet the increased demand for weapons. In fact, what was really needed was to get rid of all their current kit. It was old. Tired. An entirely new set of weapons should be designed and manufactured for each and every soldier.

  The urgent need to revamp their current inventory was news to the custos. But when Jasper expressed surprise, Max replied, in a voice that froze his blood, that if Jasper was not able to keep track of important details perhaps they would have to reconsider his position. Mouthing with shock, he was not given a chance to say a word in his defence befor
e Max hung up the phone.

  Jasper knew that there was not much he could do except wait. This storm would blow over; it had to. For now the best plan of action would be to just keep his head down.

  And so, although he was late returning from a meeting with the Masters, he did not even entertain the notion of sleep. His arms were really aching. He wished the Regents were not on lock-down; he could have used their strength.

  ‘Damn!’ his phone was vibrating in his pocket – just what he needed at this particular moment. With a grunt, he bent his knees and lowered the heavy load to the floor. Typically, by the time he had dug the phone out of his jeans, it had stopped buzzing.

  One missed call. Tristan. Anxiously he chewed his lip. Probably it was for the best that he hadn’t answered; he could only imagine what his father would say if he heard how displeased the Praetor was. Jasper could deal with his father’s anger; but if Tristan really thought that Jasper might lose his position here, that tone, that terrible note of desperation, would creep in. Jasper could not bear to hear it.

  With renewed purpose, he stuffed the phone back into his pocket, hefted the metal up and began to walk.

  He would work until these new weapons met Max’s satisfaction. Even if it killed him.

  Inside his haven he was a whirlwind of motion. Switches were flicked, dials were twiddled, implements were laid carefully out on the table. Squatting, eyes flitting with nervous energy, he squinted at the temperature gage on the furnace. Still not hot enough! He paused, eyeballing the gage fiercely as if this would help the temperature to rise.

  And that was when he heard the little sigh.

  His eyes fell on the sofa, piled high with ragged ends of old blankets and sheaves of paper. The jumble appeared to be moving. Jasper crept forward.

  Her face, only partially visible, was pale and drawn even in sleep. The healing redness trailing from ear to neck evidenced her recent injuries. Despite these battle scars she looked painfully young. The long nose was tinged scarlet from the chill of the night air.

  Realising Raegan might be cold, Jasper pulled the blankets together more tightly. He looked down at her fondly. She was so clever and gutsy that it was easy to forget she had only just turned sixteen. It was also part of the reason he was so surprised to see her – other teenagers might just turn up like this, unannounced and after curfew, but not Raegan. She had her head screwed on too tight for that.

  Which was why he should probably be worrying right about now. But he was too glad to see her to care. There would be time enough later to ask why she had come. He would let her sleep on. He could use the company and, from the look of it, she needed the rest.

  ***

  When Raegan finally stirred, nearly three hours later, she was plunged into panic. Her neck was stiff and sore from leaning up against something which did not feel like her pillow. Then she heard the familiar grinding of a chisel against metal and a delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted up her nostrils. Her entire body relaxed. She was with Jasper. She was safe.

  ‘You’re awake!’ Jasper’s voice was like a tonic. Pushing up his goggles, he beamed at her. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ she croaked, doing her best to return the smile.

  With a belly full of lead, she dragged herself over to the pot. It took a long time to get going; her mind was all over the place. She found herself topping up the fresh coffee with cold water from the jug instead of milk, and had to start all over again. Then, switching to autopilot, she put teabags in the mugs by mistake. Pouring the scalding coffee, her mistake was not obvious until the teabags floated to the top, bobbing in the dark brown liquid like deflated lifejackets. The mixture looked disgusting. She stared at it helplessly.

  ‘Fish them out,’ Jasper said kindly. He had put his tools down and was now standing behind her. ‘Won’t do nowt to the taste. Anyway, caffeine is caffeine! I’ve put some toast on.’

  The coffee was tasteless in her mouth but she forced it down, grateful for the warmth. Jasper pushed the plate of toast, dripping with butter, towards her. The sight of the shiny yellow liquid pooling out of the porous surface of the bread turned her stomach. Swallowing nausea, she shook her head.

  ‘So what brings you here?’ Jasper asked thickly through a mouthful of toast. ‘Not that I’m not chuffed. It’s been ages.’

  He looked so happy to see her. Raegan didn’t want to spoil it. Squeezing the warm mug between her hands, which still felt like two blocks of ice, she tried to work out where to start.

  ‘Something horrible happened,’ she managed after a long pause. Then, bitterly, ‘Or rather, something else horrible happened. It hasn’t been a great week.’

  ‘I heard. About the night out, I mean - well, not the details, obviously,’ Jasper admitted. ‘But Max has been in a hell of a mood the last few days. A rotten, stinking mood, to be frank. It’s been hard to avoid, so lord knows what he’s been like with you lot.’

  ‘Awful. But then, I’m not surprised. The whole thing was a disaster.’

  ‘But you won!’

  ‘Technically. Didn’t look much like champions when we got back. We’d had the crap kicked out of us. There were so many near misses...’

  ‘Don’t think about it. You’re safe. That’s all that matters.’

  ‘Am I?’ Raegan’s eyes as she lifted them to his were red-rimmed and hollow. ‘Forget the Fay for a minute. What about Unit Prime? I haven’t felt safe here for a long time, Jas. I know you thought it was all in my head, all that creepy stuff that was happening – and then my necklace...’ She took a deep breath. ‘The necklace – my necklace – was stolen. By Declan.’ Her head dropped forward into her hands. ‘And now you’re looking at me like I’m mad.’

  ‘I was thinking that that you look knackered,’ he said gently. ‘Are you getting any sleep?’

  ‘Apart from the last few hours here, not much. And every time I close my eyes it’s those sodding dreams, over and over.’

  ‘The hourglasses?’

  ‘Hourglasses, fire, the works.’ She yawned, emphasising her point. ‘Maybe the hourglass in my dream is my necklace; like my brain is trying to work it all out. Leading me to Declan.’

  ‘Except you’ve had these suspicions for a while. And like I said at the time, I can see why. He’s never given you a chance. But behaving like an arse doesn’t make him a thief.’

  ‘It was in his effects,’ Raegan said quietly.

  Jasper set his mug down. He looked at her steadily, waiting.

  She continued. ‘After Carrigaline… well, when we finally got back we were taken straight to the Praetor’s quarters for a right royal bollocking. All of us except Declan. He was in such a state that he had to be rushed to the infirmary right away. They took his belongings away to test – Declan had been alone with one of the Fay for a while and they thought she might have done something to his stuff. Turns out she hadn’t, so his effects were returned to Max. I was going to volunteer to take it all back to Declan’s room. And then I looked inside the box. My necklace was on top.

  ‘And before you ask yes, I’m sure. The necklace is one of a kind.’ She shook her head. ‘He’d been carrying it with him. So it was all for nothing – us getting caught by Adriana, what I had to do after - even if we had got into his room that night it probably wouldn’t have been there.’

  ‘Declan stealing the necklace doesn’t mean he’s out to get you, specifically, like.’ Jasper realised that this did not sound very supportive, and hastily tried to rephrase. ‘But what he did was totally out of order, don’t get me wrong. What did Max say?’

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  ‘Raegan!’ Jasper pushed his glasses back more firmly, always a sign of gravity. ‘You did tell Max, then and there?’

  ‘No. Oh, don’t look at me like that! I was a mess. I guess I wasn’t thinking straight. I can tell you one thing - I wasn’t trying to protect Declan, that’s for sure. But Max had just spent the past hour shouting at us. And you should have heard him, J
asper. He was so, so angry. And it’s not like he’s ever really invited my confidence on a good day. To be honest, I don’t think he likes me very much. I didn’t think he would believe me.’

  ‘So... what did you do?’

  ‘Not much. I was too out of it to even feel angry. I just felt sick. I’d started to trust him- I thought-‘ her coffee, now cold, seemed to stick in her throat. ‘When we were trying to escape together, from the club, we argued. But then we worked together and it was... ok. Good, actually. He really had me fooled.

  ‘But now he’s out of hospital and our punishments mean that we are stuck together all the time, even more than before; in lessons, at meal-times, in that bloody library. I just avoid him. When he puts his stuff down near me, I get up and walk away. I thought it was working.’

  ‘But you can’t just let him get away with it! He’s a thief!’

  ‘That’s the thing.’ She tried to push the hair out of her eyes but her hands were shaking too much. The coffee had been a bad idea. She was already jittery enough.

  She got up. ‘I’m not sure he is just a thief.’

  Quivering like a fly caught in tar, held back but straining to move forward, Raegan extracted a small white container from her pile of belongings. Returning to the table and Jasper, she placed it as far away from herself as possible on the wooden surface. Her expression was one of utter revulsion.

  ‘I found this last night. It was pinned to my door.’

  From the way Raegan was deliberately not looking at the box, this was not going to be pretty. With trepidation Jasper lifted the lid.

  A white pigeon lay inside. Its ruby eyes, strangely reflective in the brightness of the strip lights overhead, were open and glassily staring. He was not squeamish, but even he balked at the grotesque twist of its head – nearly a full 360 degrees – and the blood matting the snowy feathers.

  ‘There’s more,’ Raegan croaked. She handed him a piece of paper. Written on it, in dark crimson, was one word: ‘Soon.’

  He looked back from the pigeon to the note, again and again. Finally, he took a deep breath. ‘The writing. It’s not inked. It’s in-‘