Dead Flesh

by Tim O'Rourke

  “Do you want to check it out?” Potter asked, peering at me bleary-eyed through a haze of blue smoke.

  “Straight away,” I said, heading out of the room and across the landing to the bathroom.

  I shut the door and ran a shower. As the water warmed, I dropped my dressing gown and stood naked in front of the mirror. I didn’t want to release my claws, fangs, or wings, but I had to know. With my wings fluttering behind me, and those little black claws rolled into three-fingered fists, I stared at my reflection. I felt sick as the cracks appeared around my eyes and the corners of my lips. They spread like wild ivory down my neck, over my shoulder, and across my breasts. They covered my stomach, my hips, and the length of my legs down to my toes. I looked like an ancient statue, like the one outside the summerhouse back at the manor. As I stepped closer to the mirror, I felt a slight relief to see that the cracks weren’t as deep and ragged as they had been. The blood I had sucked from Potter’s neck had worked in filling the cracks for a while, but now the effects were fast wearing off.

  Then, from behind me, I heard a noise and gasping out loud, I spun around. Potter was standing naked in the bathroom with his back to the door. Without saying anything, he came towards me. He held his wrist up to my mouth. I looked down and could see the green and blue veins beneath his skin.

  “I can’t,” I whispered, tears beginning to stand in my eyes. “I feel like some kind of drug addict.”

  “Stop thinking of it like that, Kiera,” Potter said gently, holding out his arm. “Are the living addicts because they need air to survive?”

  “But they’re not hurting anyone by breathing in air,” I said, looking into his black eyes.

  “And neither are you,” he said back. “You can’t hurt me, Kiera, I’m already dead, remember?”

  “But you might not always be here,” I said. “What happens then? I might have to hurt someone to survive.”

  “Kiera, I’m never going to leave you,” he whispered, brushing his wrist against my lower lip, and the smell of blood was almost intoxicating. It made me feel as if I was losing control – losing my mind. He looked into my eyes and said, “Kiera, the cracks are back and they will only get worse. Then what? They become so bad that you crumble into a pile of dust. What happens to me? I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of eternity here without you. I couldn’t do that. I know taking my blood isn’t perfect, but until we figure this whole thing out, it’s the best that we can do.”

  “And what if we don’t figure it out?” I whispered, the smell of his blood driving me half-crazy.

  “Tiger, you have the knack of figuring everything out,” he half-smiled. “You’re Kiera Hudson.”

  Then, unable to fight the urge anymore, I lunged forward, sinking my fangs into the fleshy part of his wrist. His blood exploded into my mouth and I gulped it down. It felt hot as it splashed over my tongue and down the back of my throat. I heard Potter making a hissing sound, as if in some small way he was in pain. But even though I knew that, I just couldn’t stop until I was full.

  With my head feeling dizzy and light, I loosened my jaws around Potter’s wrist and withdrew my fangs. He gripped his arm with his free hand and held it high above his head to slow the flow of blood that oozed between his fingers.

  “Did it hurt?” I asked, wiping his blood from my lips with my fingertips.

  “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting a bit.”

  “You didn’t say it hurt last time,” I said, feeling a little guilty.

  Then looking at me, Potter smiled and said, “Sweetcheeks, the last time you did that to me, we were making love and I was so turned on, you could’ve ripped my freaking head off and I wouldn’t have felt a thing.”

  “It didn’t hurt me, either,” I winked back at him.

  Potter glanced at the shower then back at me. “Fancy having your back washed?” he asked me.

  Then, pushing him gently in the chest and guiding him back to the bathroom door, I smiled and said, “I’d rather have a coffee.”

  I closed the door and stood alone, those little black claws opening and closing at the tips of my wings.

  Although what Banner had told me wasn’t conclusive proof that Emily Clarke was still alive somewhere, it did raise my hopes that she was perhaps safe and well. Perhaps she had rented a room? But what I couldn’t understand was why she hadn’t contacted her sister, Elizabeth.

  With these thoughts clawing away at me, I took my shower and got dressed. Potter had made me a coffee and he sat at the kitchen table smoking. I took my iPod and checked it for any messages from Kayla. There weren’t any. Should I be worried? Not yet, perhaps. It was just short of ten o’clock, so maybe she had been in class all morning? Did these ‘Greys,’ as Kayla described them, even bother to teach the kids at Ravenwood?

  Isidor came into the kitchen and waved away the smoke that lingered like a cloud above Potter and the kitchen table. “What’s the plan?” he asked me.

  “I’ve got a lead I want to follow up in town,” I explained. “I thought Potter and I would go and check it out.”

  “Okay,” Isidor shrugged. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Use the laptop to Toogle for any information on Ravenwood School.” I said. “Find out its history. We all used to know Doctor Thaddeus Ravenwood and he was a friend of your father’s. See if you can’t find a connection between Ravenwood and this school.”

  “Do you think it might be connected to my father in some way?” he asked me.

  “I don’t know what to think,” I told him honestly. “But have a look and see what you can dig up on McCain.”

  “No worries,” Isidor said, booting up the laptop.

  “And if you come across any pictures of werewolves wearing sparkling gloves, try not to get too excited,” Potter said, getting up from the table and heading for the door.

  “You’re so funny,” Isidor sighed.

  “I know,” Potter smiled without looking back. “It’s one of my many charms.”

  I crossed the kitchen, and pecking Isidor on the cheek, I said, “Keep safe.”

  “Why, are you expecting trouble?” he asked, cocking the eyebrow with the piercing.

  “That copper, Banner knows that we’re staying here,” I explained. “I’m not sure that I can entirely trust him.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Isidor said, suddenly brandishing his claws and fangs. “I know Potter thinks I wander around with my head up my own arse, but I can look after myself.”

  “Want to know a secret?” I whispered.

  “What?” he whispered back, his fangs and claws disappearing.

  “Potter was cut up real bad when you were murdered back in The Hollows,” I told him, leaving the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Kayla

  “I’ve never seen anything like that before,” Sam whispered as the Greys led us back through the maze of winding corridors to our rooms.

  “Like what?” I whispered back, checking out the burns on the palms of my hands.

  “The way you stood there and got zapped without even making a sound. I mean, you took some pain there!” Sam said, heading up one of the narrow, winding staircases.

  I tried to hide my hands from him, but I knew he could see the inflamed skin and the liquid-fat, which had started to congeal and harden between my fingers.

  “Doesn’t it hurt?” he asked, wincing just at the sight of them.

  “Not really, I can’t feel anything,” I told him.

  “Are you crazy?” Sam said, as the Greys led us higher up into the gloom of one of the school’s many turrets. I couldn’t help but wonder about McCain and wanted to question Sam about him, but he wouldn’t stop going on about my hands.

  “Crazy - how?” I asked.

  “This whole thing is crazy!” Sam said.

  “Oh,” I replied, starting to pick away at some of the scabs that had already started to form on my hands.

  “Is that all you’ve got to say?” Sam whispered, keepin
g one eye on the Greys who walked only a few feet ahead of us. “We’re living in a prison run by a bunch of freaky-looking hoodies, there’s search towers and sirens, a sadist for a headmaster, and I’ve just witnessed the new girl get her hands fried without so much as a whimper and all you can say is ‘OH’!”

  I lowered my hands and looking at Sam, I said, “What do you want me say? I thought you were the one who said I’d get used to being at Ravenwood.”

  “Look, Kayla,” Sam said, “I was ball-crapping ya, okay? You ain’t ever gonna get used to this place – you just kinda look away – pretend it’s not happening – it’s all just a bad dream. But what I saw today wasn’t no bad dream. I was wide awake and I had that Grey prodding me in the back with that sizzle-stick just to remind me.”

  “To be honest, I’m not too bothered about my hands,” I said. “Okay, so I didn’t feel anything – maybe I was in shock or something. I don’t know. But what does bother me is how McCain...” But before I’d a chance to say anything more, one of the Greys stopped outside my bedroom door and was shoving me inside.

  “I’ll catch you later, Kayla,” I heard Sam shout as he was thrown into his room next to mine. The Grey slammed my door shut with such force that it rattled in its ancient frame.

  I pressed the side of my head against the door and listened to the sound of the Greys’ robes whispering over the stone floor as they made their way down the corridor. When I was happy that they had gone, I went to my bag, which I had stuffed beneath the rickety-looking excuse of a wardrobe that lent against my bedroom wall.

  I took out the iPod and hurriedly typed a message to Kiera. Met McCain for the first time this morning, I wrote. I wanted to tell her about how he had Tasered me, but I decided against it. I didn’t want to see Potter smashing down the school walls – not just yet, anyhow. I needed to find out more about Ravenwood before that happened. I’ve made a friend called Sam, I wrote. Seems okay – pretty hot as it goes! I’m going to try and get him to tell me more about Ravenwood and what’s going on here. I will update you later. Kayla X

  I kept hold of the iPod just in case Kiera got right back to me. But before I’d the chance to find out, I heard someone outside my door. I threw the iPod back into my bag and kicked it back beneath my wardrobe. My bedroom door opened a gap, just big enough for Sam to creep inside.

  “I’ve got to get outta here!” he said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “Escape?”

  Shaking his head, Sam said, “Not escape, I’ve got nowhere to go. I mean just get out of Ravenwood for a few hours.”

  “What, right out of the school grounds?”

  “Yeah, why not?” Sam said.

  “I can think of one good reason,” I told him.

  “What’s that?”

  “This place is like a fortress! I’ve only been here five minutes and even I can see that. Besides, even if we did get past the Greys, the searchlights, and all that razor wire, where would we go? What would we do?”

  “I dunno – anything!” Sam said. “I’ve been shut up in this place for months now and I know it’s not going to be too long before I’m matched with a wolf and then things will never be the same for me again.”

  “How does the whole matching thing work?” I asked, sitting on the edge of my bed and watching him cross my room to the window.

  “You mean you don’t know?” he asked, sounding shocked.

  “No, not really,” I said shaking my head.

  “Where have you been your whole life?”

  Not wanting him to grow suspicious of me because of my lack of knowledge of how the world now worked since being pushed, I said, “I mean how does it work here?”

  “Every Friday night, McCain holds the matching ceremony in the chapel at the back of the school,” Sam started to explain, silhouetted by the milky winter light which poured in through the window behind him. “McCain watches us – studies us – as he looks for suitable students to be matched with the juvenile wolves who arrive each Friday evening. As far as I understand it, each of us are chosen carefully to make the right match. It has more to do with our personalities than how we look.”

  “How come?” I asked him, needing to know as much as possible about how this whole matching thing worked.

  “Just like us, I guess each wolf is different,” Sam said. “Each one has a different personality. If they’re gonna spend the rest of their lives looking like a human, it makes sense, I s’pose, that they feel comfortable in that skin. From what I can figure out, the wolves are looking for teenagers who will succumb to the wolf that takes them other. I’ve heard that if the human host is quietly strong – rebellious by nature - then it’s harder for the wolf to take over their soul and take complete control.”

  I thought of the fight I had witnessed that morning and said, “So someone like Pryor wouldn’t make a good match?”

  “How do you mean?” Sam asked me.

  “Well he seems like a rebel – someone who rocks the boat – stronger willed,” I explained. “I guess a wolf would have a job trying to crush his soul once inside him.”

  “Yeah, perhaps you’re right,” Sam said thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s why he’s such a jerk, like it’s some kind of act so he isn’t matched. But if that’s what his game is, it could backfire on him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the wolves want to match with as many of us as possible,” Sam said. “Remember they only get to pull this crazy shit every five years and only in one town at a time, and they only get six months to do it. Those of us who aren’t matched get to go home – back to our families. See, Pryor can kick off as much as he likes, but McCain will just beat it out of him – break him. There are very few kids who aren’t eventually matched.”

  “Does it scare you?” I asked Sam.

  “Does the thought of being matched scare you?” he shot back.

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly. I really didn’t know how I felt about matching as I believed it really had nothing to do with me. I’d come from another place – another reality. But now that Sam had asked me the question, I realised now that I was living at Ravenwood, I ran the risk of being matched just like he might be.

  “Like me, you’ve probably just grown up accepting the fact that one day it might happen to you,” he said. “A bit like getting cancer, I guess, that’s how I came to see it. The odds weren’t in your favour, but you just prayed that you’d never get it.”

  “I guess,” I said, pretending I’d had similar thoughts while growing up. In a way I felt like I was tricking him. Sam seemed like a nice guy, and I really didn’t understand what it must have been like to grow up knowing that one day you ran the risk of having your soul taken by a werewolf. I’d had to grow up coming to terms with the fact that I was a half-breed and that had been bad enough, but whatever I turned out to be, I was still going to be Kayla. I was never going to lose my identity – have my soul taken away from me. “Don’t you hate your parents for letting them take you?” I asked him.

  “Do you hate yours?” he shot back.

  “It’s different for me,” I told him. And keeping up the pretence, I said, “My parents both died in a boating accident so I had little choice.”

  “I’m sorry that your mum and dad died,” he said. “My parents died too.”

  To hear him say that made me wonder how much longer I could keep lying like this to him. I had no idea how he was really feeling. I wondered what the penalty would have been if the parents refused to let their child go, but I couldn’t ask for fear of blowing my cover. I was meant to know all this stuff if I’d grown up in this world just like him. So I said, “When the wolves turned up in Wood Hill, did some of the parents try and hide their children or smuggle them away?"

  “What would’ve been the point?” he asked, looking at me as if I’d lost my mind. “The wolves know exactly who does and doesn’t have children in town – the government gives them access to the census. Anyway, a few weeks before McCain arrives in town,
everyone knows that he sends spies, wolves that have previously been matched and look human. You must have heard that?”

  “Something like that,” I nodded briefly.

  “And you must have heard what happened years ago in that town...what was it called now?” he said scratching his head and looking at me as if I might know the answer. But of course I didn’t. “It doesn’t matter. Anyway, some parents did try and resist and the wolves did that thing with their eyes. They looked into those parents’ eyes and drove them half mad. They were never the same again, like vegetables I heard.”

  As I sat and listened to Sam talk, I remembered the people of Wood Hill and understood why they tried so hard not to make eye contact with those who passed them on the street. Then, I thought of the woman I had seen with the pram and the doll which had had its eyes removed. As if reading my thoughts, Sam started talking again.

  “If any of the kids resisted being taken, the wolves would just stare into their eyes and they would be driven half mad with what they saw in them,” he said. “I heard about this woman from one town, I think it was some years ago now, who was so desperate for her child not to be taken, that she cut her son’s eyes out then removed her own, so neither of them could be brainwashed. How bad is that?”

  “Awful,” I whispered, feeling numb as I finally began to understand the devastation that the wolves – Skin-walkers – were causing to these people.

  “Some of the teachers at Ravenwood tried to object to what was happening,” Sam told me.

  “What, the matching?”

  “No, not that,” he said, coming away from the window to sit next to me on the edge of the bed. “Like our parents, most of them realise that they don’t have a choice in matching, but it’s the way that McCain goes about it – that’s what some of the teachers objected to. The brutality of the man, that’s what the teachers didn’t like. Isn’t the matching bad enough, why does he have to be so cruel about it? Look what he did to you this morning.”