My phone beeps. Where r u?!?!?
It’s Finn. Disabled toilet, I text him back, hurriedly wiping the tears away. Knock on door 3x & I’ll let u in.
It takes him less than a minute to find me. ‘Are you all right?’ he asks me, coming in quickly and locking the door behind him. ‘I saw – I didn’t want to make a scene and Cardy was there, but –’
‘I’m fine,’ I say tersely, and start sobbing.
‘Pearl,’ he says, coming over and awkwardly touching me on the shoulder, ‘– um, Pearl, I –’
‘Don’t touch me.’
He steps back hurriedly. ‘Sorry, sorry.’
‘No, no.’ I shake my head and breathe deeply before brushing the tears away. ‘I’m just – totally freaked out.’
‘Here, sit down,’ Finn says, flipping down the lid of the toilet and guiding me over. ‘Now, tell me what happened.’
I grab some toilet paper and blow my nose. ‘He, um –’ I take another deep breath, willing myself not to cry again. ‘He recognised me. He knew who I was. He called me Pearl. Then he said that he was watching me and then he stared into my eyes and –’ I stop, hiccupping.
Finn swears. ‘He recognised you? Are you serious?’
‘No, this is my joking face,’ I snap. ‘What do you think, Finn?’
‘If he recognised you, that’s bad,’ Finn says. ‘Like, really, really bad. No one should be able to see through that. I mean, I can’t even see through it, and I did it.’
‘He must be a different kind of different.’
‘He must have the Sight.’ Finn swears again.
‘What did you say?’ I ask.
‘He must have the –’ Finn stops. ‘What did I say?’
‘You said he must have the Sight. What’s the Sight?’
‘I don’t know,’ Finn says. ‘I’ve never heard of it before in my life.’
‘But you said it.’
‘It just sort of slipped out.’ He runs his hand nervously through his hair. ‘But I think I know what it is – now that I think about it. It’s when people can see through illusion – like –’ he gestures at me. ‘I don’t actually make you look different – I just make people think they see something else. Someone with the Sight is sort of . . . what’s the word?’
‘Immune?’
He nods. ‘That’s it.’
‘The guy – he said that there was no mask I could wear that would fool him,’ I say, remembering.
‘That’s what I do,’ Finn says. ‘Masking – that’s the word for it. I didn’t know that, but now you say it, I do know that.’ He shakes his head and leans against the wall. ‘This is seriously freaking me out.’
‘He must be one of Them,’ I say.
‘If only we knew what They are,’ he says. ‘What I am.’
‘That’s why I wanted to talk to you, actually,’ I say, making a big effort to pull myself together. ‘I did some research.’
‘Research?’
‘On the internet. I looked up your . . . symptoms.’
‘And?’
‘Well, nothing conclusive,’ I say slowly, ‘but I have an idea.’
‘Well, come on, spill it, then,’ Finn says. ‘Rip the bandaid off. What am I?’
‘First, I need you to tell me something,’ I say. ‘Why did you never think of doing this yourself?’
‘It never mattered.’
‘What do you mean, it never mattered? You’ve grown up with all these bizarre powers – and let me tell you, you’ve hidden them pretty well, and –’
‘I’ve never known anything else.’ He shrugs. ‘I know it’s not normal to you, but this has been normal for me all my life. And up till now, it’s been fine.’
‘And you were scared of what you might find out,’ I guess.
He’s quiet for a long time before he nods. ‘Yeah, I suppose.’
‘I want to try some words on you,’ I say. ‘If you know them – like if you knew what masking was and what the Sight was – it’ll mean you are what I think you are.’
‘Where did you get these words?’
‘Wikipedia,’ I admit.
He cracks a smile. ‘Okay, hit me.’
‘Sidhe.’
He furrows his brow. ‘How do you spell that?’
‘S I D H E.’
‘Why did you say it shee, then?’
‘I looked it up. Do you know it?’
‘It sounds vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t tell you what it means. Let’s go with a no. Next?’
‘Tylwyth Teg.’
‘What?’
‘Let’s say no on that one too. Emain Ablach.’
‘No. Pearl, whatever it is you think I am, I’m pretty sure I’m not it.’
‘Let me try a few more,’ I say. ‘Just in case. Seelie. Do you know that one?’
He stares.
‘Well?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I know that one.’
‘What does it mean?’
‘It means – I can’t even explain it. But I know.’
‘Finn, you have to try. Just give me a ballpark.’
‘It’s like . . .’ he bites his lip. ‘It’s like summer.’
‘Summer?’
‘You know that feeling you get when it’s the first day of summer holidays?’ His eyes have taken on a dreamy, faraway quality. ‘You wake up and it’s sunny and warm outside – not too hot, but just right. You open your curtains and you can see the beach, and you know that the water’s going to be perfect and that the swell’s going to be great. So you go out, and the water is perfect and the swell is great, but it’s somehow even better than you expected. And then you go surfing and you catch a wave and you carve it up and it’s the best feeling in the world. Then you paddle in and you lie on the sand and eat ice-cream and you decide to make sure that every single day for the rest of your life is going to be that good.’ He pauses for a long moment. ‘That’s Seelie,’ he says softly.
‘Unseelie,’ I say.
He looks into my eyes. ‘That’s when you see that guy lying on the beach,’ he says heavily, ‘and you’re waiting for him in the car park with a knife. Not because you hate him . . . just because you can. Because there’s something cold inside you. Something frozen. Something dead.’
I swallow. ‘Changeling.’
There’s something like fear in his eyes. ‘Pearl –’
‘Changeling,’ I say firmly.
‘Children,’ he whispers. ‘Stolen. Swapped. One human life for a – a –’
‘A what?’ I say.
‘Pearl, what am I?’ he says, eyes wild.
‘You tell me,’ I say. ‘One human life for a what, Finn?’
‘One human life,’ he says, swallowing, ‘for a – a –’
‘Yes?’
‘For a fairy,’ he says. ‘One human life for the life of a fairy.’
‘Where are we going?’ I ask Finn.
‘Home,’ he says shortly.
We’re in his car, driving away from the pub. Well, he’s driving – I’m lying on the backseat underneath his jacket. He hasn’t spoken a word since we snuck out of Club H, except to tell me to shut up in case someone heard me.
‘Home?’
‘Home,’ he repeats, and the tone in his voice makes it very clear that he doesn’t want any more questions.
But that doesn’t mean I’m going to respect it. ‘Finn, we need to talk about this.’
‘Not now.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’ve just discovered that I’m a – a – a –’
‘Fairy?’
‘Exactly, and did it ever occur to you that I might need some time to – I don’t know, process that?’
‘Did it ever occur to you that time is the one thing we don’t have? You need to suck it up right now and stop being a princess.’
‘Don’t you ever shut up, Linford?’
‘Don’t you ever think things through, Blacklin?’
‘Sometimes you make me so mad
I want to punch a wall.’
‘Likewise,’ I snarl back.
I can practically hear him clench his teeth.
‘Look, Finn, it’s good that we know what you are,’ I say in a gentler tone. ‘Now that we know, we can get a better handle on what we’re up against.’
‘The other freaks, you mean?’ he snaps.
‘Look, what is your problem?’
‘You’re so smart – work it out!’
He takes a corner without braking and I nearly hit my head on the door. ‘Hey, slow down!’
‘Sorry that my driving is too freaky for you!’
I sigh. ‘Finn, are you really going to play it like this?’
‘Like what?!’
‘Like, “Oh, I’m such an inhuman freak”.’
He’s silent.
‘Because I’m not going to put up with that. We don’t have time for you to be a diva.’
‘You’re a real bleeding heart, aren’t you?’
‘I mean it, Finn,’ I say sharply. ‘I appreciate you’re upset and that maybe this isn’t the easiest thing to come to terms with –’
‘Oh, like you’d know?’
‘– but in case you’ve forgotten, we’re both in mortal peril!’ I steamroll onwards. ‘You can have your emotional breakdown later. For now, we need to focus.’
He hits the steering wheel with his hand. ‘I can’t deal with this!’
‘Yes, you can,’ I say firmly.
‘I can’t lie, remember? Side effect of being a freak.’
‘Not a freak. A fairy.’
‘Trust me, I’d rather go with freak.’
‘What?’
‘“Oh Finn, you might be a magical fairy princess”,’ he says in a high-pitched voice.
‘It’s good that we know what you are. Now we can get some really productive research done, and –’
‘Like what?’ he demands. ‘Are you going to draw my blood? Put me in a cage and examine me?’
‘Of course not –’
‘Why not put me in a zoo and be done with it? Maybe I’ll sprout wings – or pull a magic wand out of my arse! And maybe I’ll start pissing glitter and crapping rainbows – and you can write an essay on it! How about that?’
‘Just because you’re a fairy –’
‘Don’t say that word!’
‘– doesn’t mean you’re Tinkerbell!’
‘Which you know because Wikipedia told you so?’
‘Look, have I done something wrong?’
‘Oh, because it’s always about you? Always about perfect Pearl Linford, with her –’
‘If it’s not about me, stop taking it out on me!’
He stops the car abruptly. ‘Get out,’ he says.
‘Where are we?’
‘Home. Get out.’
‘You’re such a gentleman.’
‘We don’t have time for you to be a diva,’ he says, mimicking my voice.
I get out, holding the jacket over my head, feeling like some kind of celebrity being stalked by the paparazzi. I can practically feel the anger radiating off Finn, and that makes me angry, because this is so not my fault.
It doesn’t dawn on me that Finn’s brought me to his house until we’re actually inside, and that makes me even angrier. ‘Why did you bring me here?’ I hiss.
‘Why do you think?’ he hisses back. ‘Now shut up!’
‘No!’
‘Do you want to wake my parents? Shut up!’
I set my teeth and bite my tongue. I wish I had magical powers that could put up some kind of mystical sound barrier so I could scream my lungs out at him.
We tiptoe down the hall to his room. He turns on the light and shuts the door, his back to me. ‘Am I permitted to speak now?’ I say sarcastically.
‘If you must – but keep your voice down,’ he replies, rummaging in a drawer.
I fold my arms. ‘Why did you bring me here?’
‘Because you told your brother you’d be out all night,’ he says. ‘Because your place is probably surrounded by things that want to kill you and mine isn’t. And also no one would ever think of finding perfect Pearl at freaky Finn’s place, because she doesn’t associate with scum like him.’ He turns and throws something at me. ‘Put that on.’
‘No. No more dress-ups.’
‘Fine. Sleep in your spandex.’
I look at what he’s tossed at me. It’s an old Birds of Tokyo T-shirt, so big it’ll probably come to my knees – which are my own again now. Without noticing it, he has turned me back into myself. ‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘Whatever,’ he says shortly, peeling off his own shirt.
I avert my eyes hurriedly and pull the shirt on over my head, then try and divest myself of the spandex and sequins without actually performing a striptease. I hear a snort of laughter and I turn to meet his eyes. ‘Stop perving,’ I order him.
‘You’re in my room, Linford,’ he says, throwing himself on the bed and folding his arms under his head.
‘Careful, your maturity is showing again,’ I snap, finally managing to wriggle out of the sequins.
We glare at each other for a moment. ‘You take the bed,’ he offers at last.
‘It’s about ten years too late to try and pass yourself off as a gentleman.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘Fine, take the floor, whatever you want.’ He throws me a cushion and a blanket and switches off the light.
I curl up in a ball at the foot of his bed. My whole body is so tense it’s practically vibrating. You’re safe here, I remind myself. You’re all right. You’re safe.
I exhale. Thank God for Finn’s neat streak. I wouldn’t want to be sleeping on just any teenage boy’s floor. Though I’m glad the light is off. I’m sure there’s stuff under his bed that I don’t want to see.
We lie there, together but apart, in the same room but in different worlds, fuming silently.
I wake up. It’s still dark, no light filtering in through the curtains. I’m lying awkwardly on my side, the foot of the bed digging into my back. I have a crick in my neck that feels like someone pressing on a bruise. Everything smells like him.
‘Hey,’ he says softly in the gloom.
‘Hey,’ I reply.
I clamber onto the bed. He is waiting for me.
His hair is soft and fuzzy from sleep. His skin is warm, almost feverish. He trails a finger along my collarbone. I shiver.
‘You’re pretty in the morning,’ he says. I can feel his breath against my neck as he kisses my shoulder.
‘My hair is a lot more low maintenance now,’ I answer, breathing him in.
He chuckles, and I can feel the vibrations through my whole body. ‘I’m not a gentleman, you know,’ he remarks.
‘I know.’ My hands are on his chest. He is my furnace, my sun.
‘Just as long as we’re on the same page,’ he murmurs, his lips against mine.
His bed is warm and he is warm and I am enveloped, surrounded in him. We kiss and kiss and kiss and –
‘We’re watching you, Pearl.’ He is standing above the bed, long and lean with his fingers like claws and his white, pointed teeth. ‘You can’t wear a mask and expect to hide from me.’
‘What are you doing here?’ I say.
‘I’ve come for you,’ he says, grinning his shark’s grin, and I’m falling falling falling drowning as he draws one long, razor-sharp fingernail across Finn’s throat . . .
I wake with a start. Sunlight is pouring through the gap in the curtains. The foot of the bed is digging into my back. I sit up and try, without avail, to stretch the crick out of my neck.
I look across at the bed. Finn is sprawled on his back, covers thrown mostly off, dead to the world, snoring softly. I suppose that means he’s breathing, and thus not throat-slit. The digital readout on his alarm clock says 7.14.
A dream. Only a dream. No sharktooth man in sight.
But he was right there last night. His arms around me. His breath cold against my ear.
Impuls
ively, I lift my shirt up and have to repress a gasp. On each side of my abdomen are three long, red marks from where his fingers dug into my sides. The skin isn’t broken but the marks are already beginning to turn purple. I’m going to have some pretty spectacular bruises.
I drop the shirt and swear under my breath. Not going to cry. Not going to cry.
‘Finn!’ Mrs Blacklin trills from up the hall. I hear her footsteps coming and scramble under the bed.
She knocks twice and then I hear the door open. ‘Wake up, oh son of mine,’ she says, business-like.
‘Nngh?’ Finn says blearily. ‘What?’
‘Phone for you,’ she says. ‘Come on, up and at ’em. You promised Matty you’d take him to soccer. Breakfast in ten. Up you get.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ he mumbles. I hear his mother’s footsteps retreating. ‘Hello?’ he says into the phone. ‘Oh, hey Jenny. What’s up?’
I crawl out from under the bed. He’s still flat on his back, phone pressed to one ear. ‘Wait, what?’ he says incredulously. ‘Are you sure? Have you looked everywhere?’
Another pause. ‘No, I didn’t see him,’ he says. ‘Not after I left with –’ he looks at me, ‘– that girl last night.’
That girl. What a stunning compliment.
‘– have you tried Holly? Or maybe even Julian?’ He waits for a response. ‘Yeah, I’ll absolutely let you know if I hear anything. Yep. Yep. Yep. Sure. Yeah, I’ve gotta go. See you. Yeah, let me know if anyone hears from him. Okay. Bye.’
He hangs up. ‘That girl?’ I demand in a whisper. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘Look, I only said it because I couldn’t exactly say your name and I can’t lie,’ he says. ‘Happy?’
I deflate. ‘Oh. Sorry.’
‘Whatever. Look, Cardy’s missing.’
‘What?!’
‘That was Jenny,’ Finn says, getting up and rummaging through one of his drawers. ‘She’s frantic. Apparently Cardy didn’t make it home from Club H last night.’
‘And he’s like us,’ I say. ‘A Valentine baby.’
‘But . . .’ he says.
‘What do you mean, but?’
‘Come on, Pearl,’ he says. ‘You told me yourself. He got shot with one of those magic fairy rock things, same as you. And yet he’s been walking around and talking and doing just fine.’
Valentine Page 18