beats per minute

by Alex Mae

  ‘He’s her Mark.’

  ‘So much more than that. And she feels it, too. She has been torturing herself. But no-one here can help her.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because that knowledge is not theirs to give. It has been buried.‘ Her black eyes crackled with unearthly light. Bree got the impression that the words in her mouth were not her own; she was a conduit for something else entirely. Skittishly, Sukey gestured to the book. ‘What I needed was under Benedictine.’

  ‘A Benedictine monk?’

  ‘Yes. We only have catalogues here, did you know that? References to all the Sentinel libraries. This one is a catalogue of names, giving details of all the Regents within holy orders up until the 1800s. There was only one Benedictine monk. Thomas Wolfe. His writings were listed underneath; again, only one. The Fearful Hands. This is the text that Raegan seeks, though she does not know it.’

  ‘And I should tell her?’

  Sukey’s eyes were so dark they seemed to be all pupil. ‘Ingmar. You can summon the book. She cannot.’

  ‘Because I’m a tesserarius and I have clearance,’ Bree finally twigged. ‘The Fearful Hands. And this will help Raegan?’

  Her sister just smiled.

  ‘All of that came from your head?’ Bree asked in wonder.

  Sukey’s smile faltered. Something had begun to cloud behind her eyes: as if a storm was preparing within. ‘I- I was given a gateway. A bridge.’ Suddenly, she looked frightened. ‘Please don’t ask me any more. I...’ Her head tilted upwards as, nervously, she searched for the stars. ‘I don’t know anything else.’

  ‘You did very well,’ Bree made soothing noises. ‘Rest, now.’

  But Sukey was clutching her head. ‘It’s so loud! But I did what I was told!’

  It was one of Bree’s worst nightmares made flesh: she was already dangerously pushed for time and now she would be forced to leave Sukey in hysterics. Please, please, help, she prayed. Don’t make me leave her like this...

  The gods smiled on her. Or perhaps Sukey herself, with those strange abilities of hers, heard the plea. The shuddering subsided; the moans quieted; the furrowed brow, damp with sweat, relaxed.

  Finally, she let out a shuddering sigh, and then a jumble of what sounded like Latin: ‘Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.’ She was talking in her sleep. Bree shifted, trying to figure out a way to slide out from underneath without waking her.

  Then the liquid eyes opened.

  ‘Bree?’

  ‘I’m here,’ Bree stroked her sister’s forehead. ‘Rest.’

  ‘When did you get here?’ It was said with pure bewilderment. The last fifteen minutes might not ever have happened. A huge lump formed in Bree’s throat.

  ‘I just popped in to say hello,’ she whispered, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Sukey’s forehead, which was warm and sweet-smelling as a baby’s. ‘Sleep well, darling. See you soon.’

  ***

  The room was empty.

  Fumbling for a light switch in the pitch-blackness, Raegan nearly brained herself by leaning into the sharp edges of a bookcase. Next moment, she had tripped over a discarded pair of trainers. Sure that she had given herself away, she shot bolt upright, waiting for the inevitable pounding feet and roar of discovery.

  After standing stock still for at least a minute she finally relaxed. No-one was coming. At least her eyes had adjusted to the darkness a little; she was soon able to pick her way over to the curtains and fling them open without any trouble. Moonlight flooded in. There was a lamp at her elbow, but she thought better of it. If Declan did come back, the light shining out of his window would be a dead giveaway.

  Taking care to move quickly but quietly, she directed the thin beam of her torch around the room. It was practically bare. She knew it was a stupid hope but still, she couldn’t help feeling disappointed – it would have been cool if some clue, like a sawn-off piece of rope, was just lying about in the open.

  ‘If I were proof, where would I hide?’ she muttered aloud, more to break the suffocating silence than anything else.

  A dazzle of gold flared in the darkness. Spots danced before her as she blinked. Keeping the beam steady, she followed it to where an object was glinting, caught in its light. It was her necklace. Sharp, twin jolts of rage and triumph shocked her innards.

  Steeling herself to take another look, she was almost more upset to see the delicate chain lying in a tangled heap on the desk. An object coveted enough to steal should at least be treated with respect. Lovingly, she picked it up, hardly daring to coil her fingers around the chain. It was with the most careful and delicate of touches that she slid it into her pocket.

  The brief respite from bitter, churning dislike was buried with the pendant. It was time to get what she came for. Time to put the boot in. She still had a few minutes; and since she really had no idea where to look, she might as well start here.

  All too soon the last drawer slammed shut. Nothing. She stepped back from the desk, kicking herself for thinking it was going to be that easy. And then thoughts of ropes and red-handed villains flew out of her head to be replaced by something much nastier.

  If only she had not looked up. She wished she could turn away but her legs wouldn’t move; the filth on the walls was mesmerising her, gluing her to the spot. The sharp taste of bile on tongue finally broke through the trance.

  ‘Oh God,’ the plea was instinctive, a barely-voiced mumble of sheer horror. Clapping a hand to her mouth, already dry-heaving, she stumbled out of the room and into the night.

  ***

  The library was oddly peaceful, even for a supervised study period. These sessions tended to be broken up with sly whispers, the crunch of crisps being munched, the rustle of notes being passed, and the boom of Ingmar’s voice when he got fed up with the quiet and decided to tell a story. It was as close to a school scene as you would find at the Unit.

  The reason for the silence became apparent as soon as Bree stepped in. It was deserted.

  ‘Hullo?’ she called.

  A small dark head popped up from the desk at the front. ‘’Allo? Oh Bree, it is you! You gave me a fright. Be wiz you in one moment.’

  The chairs were pulled out from the tables and there were papers hanging off the desks in disarray, as if people had been here but left in a hurry. Bree wondered if Ingmar had whisked the cadets off for one of his impromptu lessons outside – it had been known to happen. He was a tolerant man and had treated the cadets’ new punishment regime with an air of bafflement, or else she would never have risked being late. She hoped he wouldn’t be cross. She also hoped that he would keep it to himself.

  Cakey was straightening up now, her painted pink lips split in a tired smile.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ Bree asked.

  The smile faded. ‘Oh, you have not heard? Mon dieu... they are all sick, poor things. They had to go to the infirmary.’

  ‘Everyone?’ Bree’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’

  ‘I’m afraid I cannot be too clear on that point. It happened so suddenly; they all started to complain of stomach ache, and they were sweating, their sides heaving, fainting all over the place. I called the infirmary right away.’ It was only now, as Cakey took a handkerchief out and dabbed herself, that Bree noticed how rumpled she looked, with her blouse untucked and her sleek hair escaping from its pins.

  Handkerchief still clutched in her fist, Cakey gestured to the wastepaper basket. ‘The healers asked if I knew what they had been eating. I said yes, exactly, because Ingmar brought it ‘ere – shepherd’s pie and rhubarb tart. They wanted me to see if I could retrieve some from the bin, for a sample. Perhaps they suspect food-poisoning.’

  Perhaps they suspect poisoning, full stop, Bree thought immediately, but did not say anything. Instead, she patted Cakey’s shoulder. ‘I’m sure they’ll be ok.’

  The older woman had pressed the cloth to her red nose now, on the verge of tears. ‘Ingmar has always been so healthy, but these thing
s affect you more when you are elderly. The pain was bewildering to him.’

  ‘He’s strong as an ox, Cakey. I’m sure they all just ate some dodgy lamb and the infirmary will take care of that. Can we visit?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  With a confidence she did not feel, Bree forced a reassuring smile. ‘No worries. Soon they’ll be right as rain.’

  Cakey, blowing her nose with a loud jangling of bracelets, did not answer. After a long moment she seemed to remember that Bree was there.

  ‘You can stay if you like, cherie, or you may consider this a free period.’ Her eyes fell on the scrumple of paper in Bree’s hand. ‘What’s that you’re holding?’

  Bree had clean forgotten about the book. ‘Oh! Just the name of a text I need summoning from the Archives. I wrote it down to give to Ingmar.’

  ‘I can do that.’

  ‘Oh no, please don’t bother. You’ve got enough to deal with-‘

  ‘Please.’ The small woman waved her over firmly. ‘To be busy is a help. It is good to take my mind off things.’

  ‘If you’re sure?’ With a grateful nod, she handed over the slip. ‘I have clearance – my ranking code is on there. Thank you so much.’

  ‘De rien. Oh!’ Bending down hastily, Cakey retrieved a large backpack from behind the desk and plonked it heavily in front of Bree. ‘On your way, could you drop this into the infirmary? I don’t know who it belongs to...’

  ‘Must be a guy’s,’ Bree turned the canvas knapsack over in her hands. ‘Don’t think it belongs to Warwick.’

  ‘Non. He was not ‘ere. A few of you were tardy, though I think Warwick had been excused to help Master Rico. Only Adriana, Tyrell, Sam and Ingmar were here when the illness started. In all the confusion it was forgotten.’

  As she left the library, promising to update Cakey if she gleaned anything from the healers, Bree thought about Sukey. If she knew her well – and well she did – her sister would still be fretting. It was hard to tell if she was imagining things, but ever since she left the Tower she had felt a slight tugging at the corners of her consciousness. She wondered if her sister was still listening in. The psychic link could be draining for Sukey and Bree was not meant to encourage such behaviour; but she thought on this occasion it would be justified. Tentatively, she cast her thoughts out into the ether. Sukey. I’ve summoned the book. Will let you know when it arrives.

  The immediacy of the response confirmed her suspicions. Sukey had been waiting. You must tell Raegan.

  Now?

  Now.

  ***

  She only made it as far as the stairwell before the remains of her lunch forced themselves out of her mouth. Heaving, she collapsed to the floor.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  Raegan banged her head on the edge of the railing as she leapt to her feet, brandishing the torch like a weapon. The beam shook crazily. ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘It’s me.’

  Sam stepped out of the darkness. Already fighting tears, the warmth in his voice nearly sent her over the edge. In the light he was very pale and clammy looking. ‘You’ve been crying.’

  ‘I’ve been sick, actually,’ she said weakly. ‘You might want to avoid stepping anywhere to my left.’

  He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘I guess it must be catching. I’ve been feeling pretty rough myself.’

  ‘You should get to bed,’ she said vaguely, rubbing up and down her goosepimpled arms.

  He ignored her. ‘You’re not yourself. Has something happened?’

  She shook her head. A split-second later her face disintegrated into weeping. ‘Y-yes.’

  ‘What were you doing here, anyway? Were you...’ An imaginary lightbulb clicked on behind his eyes as he turned back sharply. ‘Were you visiting Declan?’

  Her teeth were chattering so much she couldn’t get any words out. He took her face in his hands. ‘Darling Raegan, it’s all going to be alright. I’m here now. Did he do something to you?’

  ‘N-no. He wasn’t there. But I found-‘ she couldn’t bear to say it. Even the warmth of Sam’s fingers stroking her cheeks did not help. She was numb.

  ‘You stay here.’ Sam’s voice was authoritative now. ‘I’ll go and check it out. Then I’m taking you to the infirmary.’

  ‘No!’ Tears flew frantically out of the corner of her eyes as she shook her head. ‘Don’t leave me! You mustn’t- you mustn’t go in there!’

  ‘I understand. Shh, it’s ok.’ Pulling her to him, he rocked her back and forth. She had not cried like this since her mother died; with sobs so thick and fast that she could not breathe. It was like it would never stop. He seemed to understand. After a long moment, he touched his lips to her dry ones, very gently. The rise and fall of his breath was soothing against her cheek. ‘I need to see, so that I can help, d’you see? Will you take me?’

  She stared at the proffered hand, fuzzy with tears. Something felt off but she couldn’t think. As she reached to take it, he noticed the red, virulent crescent moons her nails had dug into the vulnerable skin of her palm.

  ‘You poor little duck,’ he said quietly.

  Hanging her tearstained head, she followed him down the corridor as meekly as a child.

  The smell had been the worst part. As they neared the corner of Declan’s room and the desk, Raegan held her breath. She forced herself to look, tried to be cold and clinical, ignoring the wobbling sensation in her stomach.

  ‘There. On the wall.’

  Pages and pages of crude drawings – some which appeared to be in blood – covered the surface. Nearly all were of Raegan in various states of horrid, graphic mutilation. Excrement and other fluids spattered the paper. Dead birds, rodents and other vermin were pinned in between the pages. Some appeared to be crucified whole; others had been disembowelled. This time, Raegan also noticed a map of the Labyrinth, the valley circled, and a lock of her hair, crisp and sticky in texture.

  ‘Sweet Jesus,’ Sam sucked in his breath with a loud gasp. ‘Oh, holy Christ.’

  Encircling her elbow in a strong grip, he yanked her away, towards the door. ‘No more. We’ve seen enough.’

  Next moment, light flooded the room. Declan stood by the switch. With surprise, he squinted at them, pupils narrowing as his eyes adjusted to the light.

  ‘What are you doing in my room?’

  A bolt of hatred, so strong it shocked her, lanced through Raegan. She heard herself speak before she was even aware that her lips were moving. Her voice was hoarse and thick from crying. ‘How dare you.’

  Declan looked puzzled. ‘Raegan, what’s going on? I didn’t know you’d be here-‘

  ‘No, I bet you didn’t. You thought you could keep screwing with me until you’d got me where you wanted. Never dreamed I would figure it out. Well, hard bloody luck. I know all about it.’ She gestured to the wall. ‘You’re a disgusting freak. And I’m going to make sure everyone knows it.’

  ‘You’ve lost me.’ The confusion in Declan’s voice was the worst thing of all. How could he stand there and lie like that? ‘Sam, do you know what she means? I got your message, so here I am – but I’ve obviously missed something.’

  Raegan sprang at him then, hands already clawing for his eyes. The taste of sick was still in her mouth; the lingering acid of pure fear, and he had done that to her. Sam held her back, speaking over her struggling form. ‘Drop the act, mate. We know everything. About your sick fantasies. You’re not going to harm a hair on this girl’s head, d’you hear me?’

  ‘You bastard.’ There was no mistaking the loathing in Declan’s voice. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘Didn’t have to do a thing. You did it all for me.’ It might have dawned on Raegan vaguely, as Sam jeered, that he was enjoying this a bit too much; but she was too angry to think about it. ‘Your artwork was quite enough to show Raegan, once and for all, what you’re really like.’ He shook his head in satisfaction. ‘I’m just happy that we caught you in time.’

  ‘Happy to set me up, you mea
n,’ Declan hissed. He gave the pictures a cursory glance. ‘Raegan, I’ve never seen these before in my life. You have to believe me.’

  This she was not expecting. ‘You think I’m going to believe that? Like that whole display just magically appeared there? You’re sick, Declan, really sick. You need help.’

  ‘I agree,’ Sam smirked at Declan from over Raegan’s head, cuddling her closer.

  With a bellow of rage like a charging bull, Declan launched himself at Sam. Sam, laughing, pushed Raegan out of the way with such force that it winded her. She landed with a painful thud, head crashing against the edge of the desk.

  ‘Ow,’ she muttered, putting her hand up behind her skull. Her fingers came back wet with blood. There was no need for Sam to shove her so hard.

  ‘Stop,’ she croaked, as the two wrestled on the floor. They sprang apart but showed no signs of giving up. Instead they began to circle each other with deadly intensity.

  ‘You can’t trust him, Raegan,’ Declan growled.

  With a sneer Sam tightened the circle. ‘She already does. How d’you like that?’

  ‘Why don’t you tell her, Sam, about all those nights you sat outside her window? Why don’t you tell her about her necklace?’

  ‘It’s not going to work, Declan,’ Sam said softly. ‘You haven’t got a clay foot to stand on.’

  ‘You stole my necklace, Declan,’ Raegan managed, her head throbbing with such intensity that her vision blurred in and out of focus. ‘I found it here.’

  ‘That’s not true.’ His eyes were pleading. ‘Don’t you see – he’s been out to screw us up from the start. He doesn’t care about you. He’s trying to get back at me by hurting you and putting me in the frame for it.’

  Declan’s distraction was all Sam needed. Closing the circle, he lunged; and it was only then that Raegan saw the silver blade flashing through the air.

  ‘No!’ she screamed. Pure instinct drove her forward and she cannoned into Sam. They wrestled for a few moments before he pinned her. His face, looming above hers, was unrecognisable: twisted in a vicious snarl she had never seen.

  Then everything went black.