by Louise Cole
“There.” Another of the creatures—something told me these were not men—appeared on our left, knife held low. Their blank eyes robbed their faces of all expression. “Amber, we’re surrounded.”
“Move. We can’t stay out here.” As she tugged at me, one of the creatures lurched forward and grabbed her lapel, pulling her aside. Amber fell heavily, letting go of me, but managed to roll, and the creature stepped over her, heading straight for me. There was nowhere else. I flung myself toward the barn.
“Run!” I screamed at Amber. “It’s me they want. Run!” I glimpsed her on her feet, haring around the side of the barn.
I looked frantically for weapons, a pitchfork, anything. Why were modern barns so tidy? Not even straw to hide in, only sacks of animal feed and a stripped-down tractor engine. I backed hesitantly down the long wooden structure, and they approached slowly. I was sure I was trapped. Three of them, their knives held low, stepped sedately toward me as I retreated, as though we were dancing. It was smart. If they had rushed me, I might have been lucky and slipped behind them, but this way offered no escape.
“Where’s the book?” the closest one asked. “Take her bag.”
I bumped into a wall. “I don’t have it,” I said, my voice squeaky. My throat closed in terror. I was going to die, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do.
Please God, I prayed, let Amber get away.
Cold sweat trickled down my back, and my head swam. One of them grabbed my rucksack, and I spun, letting it unwind from my shoulders.
“Have it. You can have anything you want.”
“We want the book.”
I opened my mouth to say it was at home—and closed it again. My dad was there.
The creature pawed through my things on the ground, pulling out textbooks and throwing them back into the bag.
What would they do when they realized I was telling the truth? I looked around frantically. Could I climb? The rafters were a long way up, the hayloft long since gone. For a second, I saw my mother’s face, cold in death. Strangely, it was comforting. Maybe I’d see her now, be with her. Maybe.
“It’s not here.” He threw the rucksack aside. I flinched as it hit the wall.
The leader looked at me. His white gaze revolted me, yet I couldn’t look away. It was like gazing at Bluebeard’s locked door and knowing that horrors lay beyond. I could hear myself hyperventilating, my breath bouncing in and out of my mouth with no oxygen in it.
“You should have just given us the book. Now I have to kill you.” He sounded irritated, as though I had inconvenienced him.
I tried to hold onto my mother’s face, but it dissolved into images of blue and gold pages, a wild ricochet of beauty and color.
A blinding pain seared across my head. I couldn’t breathe, and, choking, fell to the floor. Through teary eyes, I saw them falter and glance at one another. The pain grew and grew, and then it burst in me like a sudden shower of starlight, and my throat cleared, and my mouth formed itself around words I had read only the night before. I heard my voice croak into life.
“I speak of love and truth.
Of hands and hearts that are one with their intent.”
The creatures cringed back, grimacing. I forced myself on, searching for the words.
“My words are the tattoo of the beating heart.” Two of them retreated slightly, pain etched into their faces.
“I read the elements and the ether,
The nothing within the all.
I read dust and water into living glory,
Fire and air to flame-lit story . . .”
It seemed as though the rafters disappeared, and I could see the sky above me swirling with flaming stars, roiling clouds of dust coalescing into—
“No!” screamed one of the creatures. I was back in the barn, my head splitting with pain.
“The rose leaf bud that . . . that . . .” What was it? What came next?
“No!” he screamed again. He lifted his knife, and, looking as if it took every effort of will he possessed, threw himself across the distance between us. He placed the knife against my throat. “You. Shall. Not. Read.”
The blade traced ice against my skin. His arm tensed—
“Hey!” said Amber. “Did you see this coming, blind boy?”
A jet of liquid hit his face. For a moment he was distracted, and I didn’t waste it, throwing him off me. Grabbing my rucksack, I swung it wildly as I ran behind Amber, who was still dousing all of them with a hose. The liquid had a strong chemical smell and pooled on the floor, running in rivulets toward our feet.
The leader shook himself and wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Please. It’s bought you moments, little girl. You’re still going to die.”
“Not today.” Amber flicked a switch on the thin pipe she held and a small blue flame burst into life. She threw it toward the creatures and yelled at me, “Run!”
We sprinted out the small door in the side of the barn as the battle cries became howls of pain.
“A welding torch?” I gasped as we hit the fields at a dead run.
“And lots of diesel. Old man Marchbank has a bunker around the back of his barn for his tractors.” She looked at me jubilantly, but before I could congratulate her, a blast from behind us lifted us off our feet. We tumbled several feet across the muddy field. Cautiously we looked back. “Had a bunker. Oops.”
The whole barn was blazing now, and there was no sound except the crackle and spit of the flames.
“We’d better go. They’ll see the fire from the farmhouse.” I scrambled up. “You should have kept running. Thanks, though. For not leaving me.”
“Are you kidding? The way I figure it, I’m never doing my own coursework again.” She grinned at me for a second before the smile died on her lips. “Callie, what was that? What’s going on?”
I hugged myself to stop the shaking. “I have no idea.” We walked a little drunkenly toward the gate when something occurred to me. “‘Not today, blind boy?’ Where did that come from?”
Amber shrugged. “TV.”
***
We ran through the gloom all the way home. Half a mile from the cottage, the rain started, pelting down like heaven had a vendetta against us.
“Great,” I muttered, as I tugged my coat up around my neck.
“No, it is,” said Amber. “If it rains hard enough, it will wash away all our footprints from the field. They’ll never know we were there.”
I looked at her with my mouth open. “Amber, we have to tell someone. We have to tell them we were there. What happened.”
She stopped abruptly. “Callie, listen hard, because I want you to wrap that big brain of yours around this, OK?”
“OK.”
“I’ve committed arson and murder. I think.”
“It was both of us, we—”
“No. No, it wasn’t. It was me. I did it. I did it to save you. I’ve been thinking all the way home, and I don’t think it would be seen as reasonable force.”
“What?”
“You’re allowed to defend yourself. I don’t think you can kill someone to protect your best friend.” She looked down a moment, raindrops dripping off her face like tears. “I think I did the right thing,” she said slowly. “I’d do it again. I was so scared, Callie. All I could hear was my heart pounding here.” She pressed her fingers to her temples. “I was angry, too. So angry they were going to hurt you.”
She swallowed and wiped her eyes. Her hand shook.
“I don’t even think those things were human. How am I going to explain that to police or in a courtroom? Hell, how would I even explain it to Mr. Marchbank? ‘We really were chased by alien things and so I had to burn them to death.’” For a moment she looked like she might be sick, but she held my gaze. I don’t think I had ever seen Amber so frightened. “We have no witnesses. No injuries. My parents can’t deal with this. Not now. I don’t think we can tell anyone, Callie. I think this has to be our secret.”
We stood there in silence. I h
ad never even skived off school, never nicked a loose sweet from the local shop. And this was so huge. I had imagined calling the police as soon as we got home, drinking hot cocoa and pouring out the whole horrible story to some kind-faced local bobby. But she was right. They’d never believe us. Not the true story, the one that showed Amber as she really was. A hero.
“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even be here,” I whispered. “You saved my life. That’s all that matters.”
“Our secret?”
I grasped her hand. “Our secret,” I replied. My coat was sodden, my legs stiff with cold. “Let’s get inside.”
Chapter 3
Jace Portman prowled the perimeter of the barn, keeping a good distance from the police tape. The fire had been extinguished and the bodies removed, but he had already seen all he needed to—a Kukri or Ghurkha’s knife, its curved blade wrapped in plastic and carried from the wreckage by an officer. He tapped the screen of his cell phone. It was answered on the first ring.
“Pierce.”
“Senator, there’s an active investigation into a barn-burning near our operation. Three dead.”
“Hostiles?”
“Definitely. If we want to stay under the radar, we need to confiscate all the evidence and stop any unnecessary questions.”
“I’ll make a call to London and get one of our guys to talk to MI5 about national security. Call it a botched bomb-making. Consider it done.”
Jace shoved the phone into his top pocket and made his way back to his red pickup truck. He couldn’t wait any longer. They had to move on the girl.
***
“I can ask my dad to drive you home. Or you can stay here,” I said to Amber. We were curled on my bed, plates of pasta untouched on the floor. Dad’s arrabiata smelled of chili and basil, but neither of us felt much like eating.
“I’d rather stay. We can leave early and pick up my stuff on the way to school.”
“Sure.”
Amber traced a pattern on my duvet with her fingertip. “Those . . . creatures. What’s this book they wanted?”
I hesitated then slid off the bed and pulled my box from under the floorboards. “I’ll show you.” I held out the small book. “Last night at the club, those things were there just before the fight broke out. That new TA, Mr. Portman, dragged me out of the club and got me away. I suspect whatever he is, he’s not simply a teacher.”
“I didn’t see those freaks at the club. Are you sure?”
I nodded. “Mr. Portman said they were looking for me. And he gave me that book.”
Amber opened it carefully, peeling back one golden brown page after another. “Wow. It looks really old. Why’d he give it to you?”
I shrugged. “He said those creatures had something to do with the war. To do with me.” I slumped back down on the bed. “I have no clue why, though.”
Amber frowned. “Maybe it’s valuable.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think it’s about money. One of the creatures said something to me in the barn. ‘You shall not read.’ And Portman said the same thing when he gave it to me. ‘Don’t read it. Just keep it safe.’”
Amber bit her lip. “Think they’ll come back?”
I didn’t answer, just sat down heavily on the bed. “The book and those . . . things are obviously linked, and Mr. Portman said it has something to do with the war. Maybe it has a hidden code in it or something?”
“You should ask your dad. He studies old stuff like this.”
“My dad would freak. He already says I read too much. I still have to keep my books under my bed.” I gestured under the edge of duvet, which hid my underground library. “Besides, he studies the lives of the saints. I haven’t seen a single gory death in this book yet, so I doubt it’s his kind of thing.”
Amber put the book on the bed. “I don’t get you two. Your dad’s a professor, you get grades any parent would kill for, and he doesn’t want you to read? I swear your family puts the funk into dysfunctional, girl.”
“Not me. Only him.”
Amber laughed then tried to stifle it too quickly. She was laughing at me, not with me, I realized.
“What?” I exclaimed.
“Oh, Callie, come on. You don’t think emotional repression kind of runs in the family? I mean, you don’t exactly wear your heart on your sleeve either, you know.”
“That’s different,” I protested. “I just don’t think dwelling on your problems makes them better, that’s all.”
Amber tossed her hair out of her eyes. “Fair enough. In my humble opinion, he’s a funking idiot.”
We giggled, but, for me, it was an uneasy laugh, riding on top of fears I couldn’t even name. I shut the book back in its box and tossed Amber a sleeping bag. She climbed in. I slid under my duvet and switched off the light.
After a moment she said, “Seriously Cal, why is he like that?”
“My dad?”
“Mmm.”
I tried to find the right words. “I think it’s because of my mum.”
“Because she died, you mean?” Amber spoke so softly I had to strain to hear her.
I stared into the darkness. “He wasn’t always like this. I remember when I was little, after she died—he was kind to me. He would hold me at night and read to me.”
“When did he change?”
I shrugged. “When I got older, I guess. I don’t know, secondary school perhaps. I’ve wondered if it’s because I look like her, and he can’t bear—” My voice thickened, and I stopped speaking. I could feel Amber waiting in the darkness. I couldn’t find the words to explain his mood swings, the way one day he’d be a snarling Rottweiler and the next he’d ignore me completely. “It’s not his fault, you know. Not really. He’s never gotten over it. I don’t think he can do it again.”
“Do what?”
“Really love someone.” I pressed my eyes shut. I refused to cry. Maybe it was because I cried so much when I was small. Even now, salt tasted like sadness.
“We were in Ms. Samson’s class when she died. I remember you being away from school and my mum telling me to be really kind to you when you came back. No one ever said exactly how it happened.”
“The car crash? We don’t talk about it. Ever.”
“You’re going to give him it back, right? That book?” asked Amber, suddenly backtracking the conversation.
“God, yes.”
Amber fell quiet. I listened to the wind in the trees and the incessant thrumming of rain on the window. I closed my eyes, but the nightmares were waiting, old and new.
After an eternity Amber said, “You asleep?”
“I don’t think I can.”
“Me neither.”
I shuffled over in the bed. “You want to come in here?”
Amber scrambled up and huddled into bed beside me. We’d shared each other’s beds all the time when we were little girls, but this was different. Back then, we slept with smiles on our faces and dreamed of horses and playground games. Now, when Amber dozed and awoke with a start beside me, I knew what she was seeing, because I was seeing them, too: white-eyed demons amid the flames.
***
Dad dropped us at Amber’s house early next morning and we persuaded her mum to drive us to school. As soon as we arrived, Amber hurried us into the locker room.
“Go find Mr. American Hero. I don’t care what his deal is—that book’s dangerous. Get rid of it.”
“Yep, I’ll try to find him. Maybe I should have brought it with me.”
Amber paused for a moment, incredulous. “You left it at home?”
“Well, yeah, I figured it wasn’t safe to carry . . .” I trailed off. Now that she said it aloud, it did sound dumb. But the thing freaked me out. I didn’t want to carry it around.
Amber rolled her eyes. “You have a free period now, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Find a newspaper. See if there’s any mention of last night’s fire.” The bell rang. “I’d better go.”
“OK. See you later.”
Amber gave me a grim little smile and left. I went to the library, catching a glimpse en route of Alec disappearing with Jessica into a classroom. They were inseparable now. Just what I needed—nothing made me feel small and worthless like being reminded of Alec.
I began to search through the pile of daily papers for a local rag, but The Guardian front page stopped me dead. It wasn’t the lead story—“Teen hopes pinned on peace talks”—just a column running down the outside of the page: “Terrorists die in rural bomb blast.”
I scanned the whole thing. It said the authorities believed the three men who died were a small terrorist cell and had made a fatal mistake handling bomb-making equipment. The resulting explosion had destroyed a barn—the owner of which had been cleared of any involvement—and claimed the lives of the three would-be bombers.
“Were you there?”
“I—what?” I turned to face Mr. Portman, but I couldn’t meet his eyes. “You mean this? No, of course not. Why would I have been there?”
“There’s probably only one person they’re trying to kill. I’m impressed you got away.”
“It was . . . I’m . . .” I took a breath. “I want you to take your book back. It has nothing to do with me.”
He ignored me. “I’m sorry. Last night should never have happened. I lost you.”
“What?” I was at sea. I didn’t understand what was happening here, and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to. I could live with ignorance, as long as all of this went away. Even so, Mr. Portman’s comments were infuriating. It was like trying to have a straight talk with the Sphinx.
I pulled him into the stacks. “What do you mean you lost me?”
“It’s my job to keep you safe. I’ve followed you home every night for a week, and then, last night, I lost you.”
“We went across the fields.”
“I realize that now. You’re in the clear, no one will ever know. Anyway, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Damn straight it won’t happen again. Because you are going to take your stalking and your old books and your cryptic comments and your freaky white-eyed friends and f—”
“Is there something I can help you with, Callie?” Mrs. Greystone smiled at me around the edge of a bookcase.