by Kim Curran
My fingers curled around the wire fence. Behind it stood the Pylon, like a stunted Eiffel Tower, calling to me. The stick-figure man on the ‘DANGER OF DEATH’ sign waved me away. Or maybe it was just his body convulsing with the current. Either way he wasn’t stopping me. I hefted myself up.
Halfway, my trainers slipped in the loops of wire. There was a gasp as I clung by my fingers, legs pedalling in the air. A thought struck me. I could let go now and fall, what? Six feet? That wouldn’t be so bad. An inelegant end to what had been a stupid idea to start with, but at least it would be over.
But then I heard them chanting my name. They were chanting my goddamned name! My foot found its purchase again and I pulled myself up and over the fence. Any thoughts of quitting vanished as I landed on the other side. It was just me and my personal Everest.
I didn’t even know if I was right about the Pylon being switched off. I remembered a YouTube video of an elephant wrapping her trunk around a live wire and hitting the ground. If it could do that to a jumbo, what exactly would happen to me? Only one way to find out.
I jumped, leaping up to grab onto the first strut. I waited for the bolts of electricity to send me flying back into the fence. Nothing. I was safe. For now. The crew had fallen into a shocked silence, watching my ascent.
I stepped up to the next rung. And the next one.
“OK, you’ve made your point,” I heard Hugo say. “Now come back down!”
Before I knew what was happening, I was fifteen rungs up, only feet from the very top. A girl’s voice cried out in apparent concern. I glanced back, to see if it had been The Girl calling after me. Big mistake.
I couldn’t move. As soon as I’d looked down to the ground, everything span and my limbs froze. Oh, now you decide to stop, I said to my treacherous legs. And the worst thing? The Girl was watching. She took a drag on her cigarette, shook her head, and turned away.
What the hell was I doing? I wasn’t impressing anyone. The only thing I was going to do was get myself killed.
Sweat prickled on my forehead and it felt as if something was trying to get out of my stomach. I closed my eyes and pressed myself against the metal bar. Just one more, I said, over and over, one more strut and you can go back down.
Without opening my eyes, I stretched up a shaking hand, feeling for the metal rod above. My fingers closed around it, sharp edges cutting into my flesh. I had two hands on the final strut and I lifted my foot up.
The snap of metal was like the sound of a coffin lid slamming shut. The broken strut slipped through my fingers and I was falling, hands grasping at air, legs kicking helplessly.
A single thought flooded through my mind. Why? Why the hell hadn’t I given up when I had the chance? Why the hell was I such a complete and utter loser?
Then it happened. Everything went black and I felt a flipping lurch in my stomach, like when you go over a hill in a car and it takes a few seconds for your insides to catch up with you. A strange sense of being suspended between two places at once. My head pounded and I felt hot and cold at the same time.
When the lights came back on, I was lying on my back, gazing up at the Pylon through the fence. I wasn’t dead. I wasn’t even hurt, apart from a thudding in my backside. Sitting up, a smile stretching my face, I turned to look at the crew. They weren’t watching any more. They were sitting back on the logs.
“Is he just going to lie there all night?” one of the girls said.
“Pathetic,” said another sneering at me. “He couldn’t even make it over the fence.”
I sat up and stared at them. What did they mean? I’d made it all the way to the top, I’d fallen almost forty feet with nothing but a few bruises to show for it. Why weren’t they celebrating me as some sort of miracle boy? An image flickered across my mind. Me slipping on the fence and just letting go. Me falling to the ground with a thud, and just lying there, as they all laughed and booed. I hadn’t made it to the top after all. So why did I remember it so clearly?
I rubbed at the back of my head, trying to work out what the hell was going on. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder.
I twisted around to see The Girl. She pulled her cigarette out of her mouth and flicked it into the air. It fizzed as it hit the damp grass.
“Tyler?” she asked. “Scott Tyler?”
I nodded, dumbly.
“You’re under arrest.”
Chapter Three
Asmall hand pulled me to my feet, then punched me in the arm.
“What exactly do you think you were doing?” she said.
“Whaa?” I was never good around pretty girls. Especially bad when it appeared I’d done something to really piss them off.
“Shifting in public. Just to show off to your mates! Are you nuts?” She shoved my shoulder.
“Oi! That hurt.”
“It’s nothing compared to what the Regulators will do to you when they get here.” She shook her head and tutted.
“Huh?’
“So you can come in nice and quiet with me, or wait and get bagged and tagged, up to you.”
“I really don’t know what you’re on about. Sorry,” I added, not entirely sure what I was apologising for.
She took a step back and looked me up and down, her pale forehead wrinkling. “You’re a Shifter, right?”
“Er, no. Not that I know what a Shifter is.”
She tilted her head and stared at me, sizing me up.
“Scott?” Hugo walked over. When he saw The Girl his eyes lit up and his eyebrows disappeared under his shaggy fringe. “Well, hello, there. Enchanted, I’m sure.” He stretched out his hand. The Girl ignored it. I had to hide my grin as Hugo glanced at his empty hand and then slipped it back in his pocket. “So. What is a lovely lady like yourself doing in a nasty place like this?”
I’d never seen Hugo around a girl before, and I was glad I hadn’t. He was an embarrassment.
“I’m here to steal Scott away for the evening.”
To my shock, The Girl slipped her arm under mine and leaned her head against my shoulder. I didn’t know what the hell was going on. All I knew was that there were little bolts of electricity shooting up my arm and across my chest.
“I… I…” was all I managed to say.
“Well, lucky old Scott,” Hugo said, waggling his eyebrows. It looked as if he was having a stroke.
“I guess. Must go. Great meeting you.” She grabbed my jacket and yanked me away. I goggled helplessly at Hugo. He made an obscene gesture and waved me on. Some friend he was turning out to be tonight. Didn’t he realise that this girl was clearly insane?
Stumbling, I was dragged down an alleyway. It stank of tramp piss. I saw a rat skitter past.
“Nice,” I said,
The Girl pushed me against the wall.
“Stop doing that!” I said, rubbing at my throbbing shoulder.
“You seriously don’t know?”
“Don’t know what?”
She gave me that up and down look again, as if she was disappointed by what was standing in front of her. “You’re a Shifter.”
“I’ve said already, I have no idea what you’re on about. And if you’ve done shouting at me, I’d like to leave now.”
I half turned, but she grabbed my arm, a little more gently this time.
“I’ve heard of rogues, but never people who just didn’t know,” she said, more to herself than to me.
Her eyes met mine: the green of the sea in winter. Any pretence I might have made at leaving evaporated.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice a cracked whisper.
“Aubrey,” she said. “Aubrey Jones.” She stretched out her hand.
I rubbed my damp palm on my jean leg and shook her hand. “Scott. Scott Tyler.”
“Yeah, I know. Your friends were chanting your name, right till you fell on your arse.”
“About that… did you see me climb to the top of the pylon? Cause I’m pretty sure I fell from the top.”
“Nope. But that doesn’t
mean you didn’t.”
“I think maybe I hit my head.”
“Listen, Scott Tyler. There’s so much you need to know. But we can’t talk here.” She glanced back up the alley. The crew had gathered at the opening, watching us. “Do you know anywhere safe?”
“What, we’re not safe here?” I asked.
“The Regulators will have registered the Shift and I give it…” She let go of my hand to check her watch. The absence of it made me realise how warm her hand had been. “Oh, about thirty minutes before they pinpoint the exact location. Less if someone who actually knows what they’re doing is on duty.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek seemingly trying to weigh up her options.
“Come on. I know a place,” she said.
Hugo’s mum is from Peru. Or Paraguay. Some South American country. Anyway, she once said: “If you see a ship on the top of a mountain, a woman’s fanny got it there.” Not only was I horrified I’d just heard Hugo’s rather attractive mother say “fanny” I also didn’t have any idea what she’d been on about. But I do now. It means that men will do anything for a beautiful woman. Or rather for the chance to get near one. So if you’re wondering why I followed Aubrey Jones farther down that dark, stinking alleyway, that’s my excuse. I couldn’t put a ship on top of a mountain, but I could trudge after her like an idiot. It wasn’t as if I had a choice. Not really.
“The place” Aubrey knew turned out to be Copenhagen’s Casino. Only it didn’t look like any casino I’d ever seen. In fairness, I’d only ever seen one casino, in Bognor Regis, and that had been a temple to tat. But this place was more like a posh gentleman’s club than a flashy gaming joint.
“Are we going in there?” I asked, pointing at the polished brass plaque on the white-bricked wall, which said the place had been Est. 1828.
Aubrey rolled her eyes at me, then knocked on the black door. Knock, knock, knockknocknock, knock. And waited. I heard an electronic whirring from overhead and saw a security camera jerking to focus on us. An electronic voice crackled from a speaker embedded in the wall. “Password?”
Aubrey leant close into the speaker. I could have sworn I heard her say “Swordfish”: I heard the sibilant echo of the word in my mind. But the word that actually came out of her mouth was “Sturgeon.” The two words rang in my head, making me feel dizzy and confused, like a weird kind of déjà vu. I shook my head to try and clear it of the eerie feeling.
Three heavy clunks and the door opened. I waved at the camera in a lame greeting, wondering what the fascination with fish was all about, and followed Aubrey over the threshold.
The hallway smelt of leather and cigar smoke. Large, faded playing cards lined the walls and the Victorian kings and queens seemed to watch me as I passed. They didn’t look impressed. Aubrey pushed open the greenleather doors at the end, and the sounds of laughter and rattling dice filled the hallway.
Beyond was a domed room, filled with green card tables and spinning roulette wheels. Men dressed in suits and women in cocktail dresses were huddled over the games, their eyes glinting with greed. Aubrey’s face lit too.
I took a step forward, but my way was barred by a man so big he blocked out the light.
“Ms Jones. I wasn’t expecting anyone from ARES tonight.” He was dressed in a sharp tuxedo, which barely contained his muscles. His square jaw tightened, as Aubrey glanced away to watch a screaming woman scoop her winnings into a very low-cut cleavage. “As I’m sure you know, our licenses are fully up-to-date. I had an inspection only last week,” he said, with a touch of bitterness.
“Relax, Shipley. I’m off duty,” Aubrey said, patting his massive arm.
“In that case, we have a game of poker about to start. In the back.” The man mountain stepped aside and gestured with a dismissive jerk of this thumb towards a bookshelf on the far side of the room. Whatever was going on here, we weren’t welcome.
“Thanks, but we’re here to drink. Not to play. More’s the pity… But you know ARES.”
“Only too well,” he said, watching us walk away.
I followed Aubrey through the room, staring up at the gold-painted arches and glinting chandeliers. I hadn’t felt so uncomfortable in a place since my father dragged us to a golf club he was hoping to join last year. Although at least then I was wearing an M&S suit, rather than my tatty jeans and Atomic Rooster T-shirt. Even if it was vintage.
A few of the gamblers gave us a confused look, probably wondering what a couple of kids were doing in a casino, then turned back to their games.
A croupier raised her head as we passed her table. She had long, dark hair and coffee-coloured skin that shone in the golden light. Without taking her eyes off us, she shuffled a deck of cards at high speed, her hands a blur. She dealt the cards, flicking them across the table. They seemed to switch places midair. Watching her dealing was like watching someone moving under a strobe light. Unsettling, but utterly irresistible. She winked at me.
I banged into Aubrey who had reached the bookshelf. I could see now that one section of the shelves was set back further than the others, creating a hidden space. Unless you got up close, it looked like one whole wall of books but it was three walls positioned perfectly. I swayed to the left and the right, admiring how the optical illusion had been set up. One book out of place and it wouldn’t have worked. Aubrey sighed and pulled me to the right. To the rest of the room it must have looked as if we disappeared.
Hidden from the rest of the gamers, Aubrey pulled a thick, blue volume named The Theory of Games from another wall of books. The bookshelf slid across, revealing a room on the other side. It was smaller than the last, darker and less ornate. The card tables looked like rejects – the baize faded and torn – and the furniture was mismatched and chipped. Instead of Regency wallpaper and gilt-framed pictures, the walls were covered with shards of mirror, so you could only see tiny fragments of yourself, broken and shattered, as if Picasso had got hold of your reflection.
Games were still taking place, but instead of suits and cocktail dresses, everyone here was in jeans and trainers. Although designer jeans and limited edition trainers, by my reckoning. I felt even more out of place in here as if I’d not only stepped into another room, but another world. There was something weird about the place and the people in it. Something I couldn’t put my finger on. Maybe it was just me and I was suffering from shock, but everything felt somehow fluid. As if I was looking at it all through thick glass.
On the left, three young men wearing mic headsets sat facing a bank of TV monitors. The screens showed close-up images of what was happening on the other side of the wall.
“Play the queen,” I heard one say.
They paused to stare at Aubrey, looking as if they’d been caught out.
“Don’t mind me,” she said, heading for the bar. I shuffled after her, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. Not easy when you’re six foot and have a picture of a huge cockerel emblazoned on your chest.
Aubrey raised two fingers to the stocky man serving drinks. He grunted and a minute later slammed two tall glasses in front of us. She gathered them up without paying.
She nodded for me to follow her towards a booth pressed up against one wall. It had two cracked green leather sofas either side of a dark wooden table, and was already filled with a group of kids who were laughing and playing cards. Aubrey smiled at the assembled group. They finished their drinks, threw down their cards, and cleared off. She hadn’t even said a word. Placing the drinks on the table, she sat down and I slid in opposite her, in small jerking movements, banging my knees on the table as I did.
She folded her hands under her chin and watched me. I tried to copy her, but my elbow slipped off the table and I jabbed myself in the leg. I leaned back in the leather seat, hoping she hadn’t noticed, and reached for the pale drink in front of me. I sniffed it. It smelt like paint stripper crossed with mint.
“Aubrey,” I said, coughing and putting the glass back down. “I should probably tell you, I’m only sixte
en.”
“So what? I’m only fifteen,” she said. She laughed at my surprised face and smiled properly for the first time since we’d met. It was like a spotlight going on. “Scott, the rules that apply to normal people no longer apply to you. You’ve got a whole new set of rules to worry about.” She took a swig of her drink. “Besides, with what I’m about to tell you, you’re going to need it.”
Chapter Four
The ice in her drink danced as she spun the glass in small circles. I watched the shattered light from the mirrors leave dappled trails on the pockmarked table. And waited.
Whatever she had to tell me, she didn’t want to and I was happy not to hear it. In my experience, if something makes a person that uncomfortable to say it out loud, it’s never good news. Like when Mum told me she was pregnant with Katie. Or Dad tried to give me The Talk.
I lifted my glass to my lips again, but still couldn’t bring myself to actually drink it. Aubrey had this cute wrinkle above her nose, in between her eyebrows, which I guessed meant she was thinking. Every now and then she’d open her mouth as if about to start speaking. Then stop. And return to spinning the glass.
I reached out and stopped it. “Look, you don’t have to tell me. I could just go home and we could pretend none of this…” I waved my arm around. “Whatever this is, ever happened. Because if I’m honest, I don’t really want to know.”
Aubrey’s confused expression vanished. Her brow was smooth once more and her eyebrow hitched upwards. My cowardice was clearly not inspiring confidence.
“You’re a Shifter, Scott. A person with what I guess you could call a special power.”
I snorted and leant back in the sofa. “So can I fly? Go invisible?”
“Don’t be stupid.” She rolled her eyes. “Shifters have the power to change reality. And by doing that, shape reality around them. We can change decisions we make, take paths we didn’t take, and change our present.”
She really had lost me. I stared blankly, wondering when anything she said was going to start making sense. I must have looked pretty dumb, because she shook her head and sighed. “I don’t usually have to explain any of this. I’m just a Spotter. I track Shifters down and the Regulators bring them in.”