Blood in the Water

by Tash McAdam

  Making a mental note to point out that no human should ever use the word ‘propensity’ in a room full of teenagers, I slump in my chair, keeping half an ear open for anything of interest. The professor has now moved on to signs that could indicate an imminent breach: sudden bouts of sneezing, a high-pitched, inexplicable noise filling your ears, or itching, especially behind the ears and at the wrists. Thrilling stuff. As far as I can tell, the allergies that have plagued me for my whole life are actually magic’s fault.

  I spend the rest of the lesson trying to walk a coin over and under my knuckles. I’m not very good at it, and definitely wouldn’t be trying it in class if I didn’t have a secret defense system: Cam snatches the coin out of the air with mystically enhanced reflexes every time I drop it, and before it clatters to the floor, to make sure I don’t get busted.

  It pays to have the right friends.

  WHEN THE BELL FINALLY RINGS, I slide out of my desk—with a quiet whoop I can’t contain—before the professor has finished speaking. Shoving my books into my bag, I make a beeline for the door, not even bothering to wait for Cam, who finds me in the imposing wooden corridor, glugging water out of a handy fountain. I emerge, dripping, and swipe my hand across my freckled face, scattering water droplets and grinning at my muscular friend.

  “Gods yes, let’s skip Dimensional Physics! They shouldn’t schedule anything after Tufts’—” I gesture at my head to indicate the wild hair of the professor. “Class. It’s hardly fair. Two hours of her droning on—” Cam’s deer-in-the-headlights stare at a point over my shoulder clues me in, and I change my tune without missing a beat. “I mean, enlightening wisdom needs time for digestion. I don’t think I could concentrate on anything else with so much new information to consider!”

  I don’t even look over my shoulder to see if the professor bought it; just head off down the corridor, knowing Cam’s burly form will be traipsing after me.

  We hide in an unused classroom when the bell rings again, and I spread myself out on a scarred wooden desk, legs dangling, fingers woven behind my head as I stare at the dust motes dancing in the air. Cam heaves herself up and sits cross-legged on another table.

  “You are the worst, Hallie. We coulda got busted!” But there’s laughter in her voice as she digs in her jeans pocket.

  “Hey, you’re the one who suggested skipping, and you’re technically my senior. In age and time served, if not brains or beauty!” I smirk at her, waggling my eyebrows, and she rolls her hazel eyes, scoffing.

  “Well I’m sure you would be smarter than me if you paid more than forty seconds of attention to anything, ever. You’re the poster child for the ADD generation. How did you do on your final exams, again?”

  I let out a merry snicker and hold my hand out for the gum she’s located. When it’s passed over, I unwrap a stick and shoving it into my mouth, so that my words are muffled. “Point taken, I failed. However, in my defence, exams are stupid and do nothing to prepare you for being a real person, and I had just fallen in love for the first time. I was distracted.”

  “You’re always distracted, and the way you tell it you dated that girl for about six hours, so I don’t think it counts as love.” I launch a retaliatory gum wrapper at her, but Cam catches it before it gets anywhere near her face. “You’ll have to wake up earlier than that to catch me out. Or ... you know, any warrior ever. You basically move in slow-mo. It’s a good job you talk so fast, or I’d be hard pressed to keep myself from going and making a cuppa between words.”

  Challenge accepted. Her voice is teasing, and I squirm around, sliding off the table and crouching, then walking sideways, foot over foot, like I’m going to leap to the attack. Cam sits, unconcerned, as I stalk toward her.

  When I growl and pounce, her hands flick up and grab me, holding both of my wrists in one large paw while she uses the other to tickle me. In moments I’m a writhing, teary-eyed, hysterical mess, and she releases me, satisfied grin lighting up her broad face.

  “See? Faster than you, every time.”

  I collapse, leaning my reddened face on her wide, denim-clad shoulder, and heave huge, sobbing breaths. “I hate you.” It’s not really fair. Warriors are always going to be faster than me. How am I ever supposed to keep up when we’re out?

  What if I slow everyone down, tripping over my own feet?

  Cam puts an arm around me to hold me up while I recover, and tucks my hair behind my ear. Her large hand is warm against my cheek and I look up, our faces inches apart. She’s so close, she can probably see the freckle on my lower lip, smell the minty freshness of the gum I’ve been chewing. I swallow it deliberately. Her eyes flick to my throat, then back up, and we move at the same time, closing the gap between us, crushing our lips together with practised ease.

  WE SINK AGAINST THE DESK in a flurry of kisses and awkward limb rearrangement and then I pull away, confused. It takes a moment, but suddenly the world comes rushing back and I realize the ringing sound isn’t just blood rushing hot in my head, but an actual, ear-piercing noise.

  Is that an alarm? I open my mouth to ask, but she beats me to it.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s the emergency siren.” Her voice sounds a little hoarse.

  Worried, I move toward the door, pulling it open a crack to look out. The noise is louder in the corridor, and people are legging it in both directions, looking purposeful.

  I twist my head, whisper-shouting, “Well everyone is running like it’s an emergency. What should we do?”

  I ignore the part of me that’s suggesting we stay here and make out some more. There’s no way this is a fire drill, or anything so mundane, and I bite my lip, suddenly really worried.

  If it’s big enough, we might have to go and fight.

  The thought is cold water down my spine, and I dither in the doorway.

  Cam straightens her shirt and drops off the table, feet thudding on the boarded floor as she lumbers over to me. How she managed to get woken as a warrior—gifted with the ability to fight like liquid silk—and yet look this awkward just walking across a room is beyond me.

  She grabs the door’s edge and stares at me with huge eyes. “Well, I gotta report to my team assembly point, I guess. That’s what the orientation booklet said.”

  I sigh, running my hand through my hair; a few strands are sticking to the back of my neck, which is hot and probably flushed pink. “I don’t have a team yet. Also, I didn’t read the orientation booklet.”

  And I am regretting that immensely now.

  Cam frowns, squeezing past me and sounding disappointed. “Of course you didn’t. Why don’t you go and find Professor Zavier—he’ll know where you should be. I’ll see you later, okay?”

  I follow her into the corridor and nearly collide with a boy who is sprinting by with his head down, pulling on leather arm guards. Seconds before impact he swerves, bouncing up and off the wall in a display of perfect warrior grace, not even missing a stride or reacting to my presence. Poking my tongue out at him, I press myself against the wall, out of the way of any other running human weapons, and call after Cam before she rounds the corner.

  “Be careful, okay?”

  She looks back and breaks into a grin that closes the distance between us, just for a moment. Then she’s gone. Seconds drag out as I watch the place where she disappeared, half hoping she’ll come back for me. If I could be on her team, I know we’d both be okay. How am I supposed to do this without her?

  With a sigh, I set off for the classroom, trying not to think about it. I’m worried that running will end in an unavoidable collision, so I settle for jogging and getting out of the way every time a sprinting warrior thunders down the corridor. It’s the first time I’ve appreciated the suits of armour that line the halls, as they provide handy places to shelter. Before I thought they were pretentious, but now I can see that they’re very practical for hiding behind. I’m heading for Zavier’s room, hoping the weaver professor will still be there, but doubting it, when my pocket vibrates.
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  Oh yeah, I guess I could have called. Feeling like an idiot, I fish my phone out of my tight black jeans—a feat which involves some serious hip-wiggling—and unlock it. A text: ‘HALLIE WHERE ARE YOU? REPORT TO VAN 6 ASAP.’

  Urgh, why do people type in all caps? It makes it sound like they’re yelling.

  A beat passes, and I read the message again, then turn on my heel and head for the underground garage as rapidly as I can in my steel-toed boots. He probably is yelling. I was definitely supposed to be in class. Oops. I’ve messed up already. If Zavier’s actually looking for me, that means I’m going out. My breath hitches as I wonder what could possibly have happened, where the breach or breaches are, and why the teams ready to go couldn’t handle it.

  I careen down the corridors of the vast Edwardian house that serves as the main school building for the Protectorate, society for human defence. When I emerge, breathless, in the huge garage, two vans are squealing out the massive open doors and four more are queuing, the last of which has Zavier standing next to it, gesticulating wildly at the driver through the window. I manage another burst of speed to cross the tarmac and skid to a halt, unable to avoid saluting. Damn my lack of impulse control!

  “Sorry, boss!” It’s hard to keep the note of excitement out of my voice, and judging by the look on Zavier’s hawkish face, I fail miserably. “Should I get in?” Two warriors poke their heads out of the back of the van and grin at me. One of them beckons urgently.

  “We gotta weave! All right, let’s go!”

  I’m gonna take that as a yes.

  I PILE INTO THE BACK and Zavier slams one door shut, pointing at me with a bony finger and a stern look. “You. Just ... do exactly what Louise says. In fact, do what anyone in here says. They’re all in charge of you. Please, for once in your life, do what you’re told?” He sounds beleaguered and I nod vigorously, squeezing into the corner.

  “Honest, I will!”

  He squints at me for a moment, rubbing a large hand over his shaven head, and I endeavour to look sombre. I do know how serious this is, after all. I’ve been in two minor skirmishes since I began training at the Protectorate—four breaches, but two were for training, the other two doorways that we actually had to close to keep demons from invading the human world. Never before has the alarm gone off like this, though, and my fingers twitch in anticipation.

  This is gonna be a big one.

  The other van door shuts, the engine revs, and I’m shoved into the person next to me with the force of acceleration as we peel out of the garage. I look around; a serious-faced young woman with closely shorn reddish hair, who appears to be about twenty, leans forward, meeting my eyes. She’s wearing a fancy-looking bluetooth device and could probably snap me in half with one hand, judging by the thickly corded muscles bulging under her shirt sleeves. Warrior for sure, and she could be in the regular military with that buzz cut. The girl’s deft fingers are assembling a large, confusing-looking gun, but she doesn’t even look down. I do.

  Ooh, shiny.

  “All right, weave, you’re new, we’re not. Like Zav said, you do exactly what I tell you.”

  Zav? You’re best friends, I take it? I shut my mouth firmly. My inner commentary always gets sarcastic when I’m scared, and it can be a problem, especially when I don’t manage to keep my thoughts to myself. I’m resolute that that won’t happen this time. This is too important.

  “Order of command goes me first—Louise, Bravo Sierra command.”

  Perfect, your call sign is ‘BS.’ How did no one notice that? I shake the thought off, determined to pay attention. This is serious, now.

  “I go down, it’s Ruble.” She points at a rangy, coffee-skinned boy with wild dreadlocks spraying in every direction and an off-centre lip ring. He lifts his chin in friendly welcome.

  “Then Milly,”—a Latina girl with impressive shoulders and a pugnacious expression—“Danika,”—an older-looking white girl, missing a front tooth when she grins—“And Paulie.” This one can’t be more than fourteen, his confident hands sharpening a huge hunting knife even as the van hurtles around corners at high speed.

  I hope he doesn’t drop it; knowing my luck, I’d end up in the path of the massive blade.

  “Then the warlocks, Barry and Jaz, either or.” She points at the two remaining occupants of the van—a prematurely bald guy with Irish colouring and an Asian girl, both reading rapidly, mouthing words under their breath. The guy’s hands are glowing a deep, fuzzy violet, indicating that he’s currently performing some kind of spell.

  Louise doesn’t seem fazed by the mystical energy whirling round his fingertips, though, and keeps talking. “Then, if we are all dead, you can make your own decisions. But only then. Got it?”

  I nod, suddenly nervous, the seriousness of the van getting into my blood. These people, some of them younger than me, have an air of professional competence that’s easy to respect. “So … what’s actually happening? I’ve never seen so many people mobilised.”

  Especially not me. I’m not even really trained; I’ve only been out with Donnie before, and he’s a weave. He’s probably in one of the other vans, so why aren’t I with him? What if I don’t know what to do? Oh shit. I’m gonna screw this up.

  Danika reaches out and hands me something. It’s a small gun, cold and heavy in my sweaty hand, and I almost drop it in shock. Louise doesn’t even notice. Just keeps talking.

  “Sea Serpents in the Thames. Approximately a hundred breaches. It’s a total cluster bomb—that’s why you’re here. Even if every one of our nineteen London weavers makes it in time, you’ll still have to close five or six rifts each. And they’re under water, so that adds an extra layer of complication. We have to split up, time is a huge factor here.”

  My eyes widen as my earlier thoughts from class flood over me again, and I check that the safety of the handgun is on before placing it gingerly on my lap. I have had precisely two lessons actually shooting a firearm. The boy next to me, dreadlocked Ruble, taps me gently on the shoulder, and when I look, is holding up a leather armpit holster. He has a sweet tattoo on the inside of his wrist, I notice. A swallow, right where my stitches are. I reach out and take the holster with my heart pounding in my throat. As the van skids to a halt, engine still running—red light?—I gather my nerve.

  “So ... if the breaches are under water, why doesn’t the Thames drain out through them?”

  The female warlock snorts a laugh and looks up from the book she’s been flicking through, a disdainful expression on her heart-shaped face. “’Cause there’s water on the other side, hence the Sea Serpents finding their way through. Sea to sea. It’s not like they can fly! Breaches can’t open unless the environment on the other side is almost identical. Else we’d all get sucked into space or our seas would fill up with acid or something. Not much we could do about that! The world would have ended millennia ago. Did you sleep through the first lesson in Dimensional Physics, or what? How new are you?”

  Ah. Maybe I should start paying attention in class. I flash an awkward grin and pick at a frayed spot on my jeans. “I guess I was absent that day. So … Sea Serpents?”

  Louise cocks her head to one side, clearly listening to someone speaking through her bluetooth, and after a few moments looks around at the waiting van. “All right, Bravo Sierra, we’ve been allocated the two-mile patch with the fewest breaches, in deference to the newbie. The first teams are already on site, and their warlocks have marked out zones so we don’t tread on each other’s toes. Spotters reckon there’re about forty Serpents; biggest looks like he’s around one hundred metres. The area is being cleared for a couple of miles on either side of the river—flood warnings—and the police are already setting up a perimeter to help us out. Bonnie’s on site, coordinating the whole operation. Teams are gonna pen the Serpents in further up and downriver; they’ve got their warlocks building magical barriers to turn ‘em around. Our job is to chase ‘em back from whence they came, or kill ‘em, and, primarily, close the br
eaches. That means you, small-fry. Pick a guard.”

  I swallow, aware that all eyes are on me. The dedicated, serious eyes of people who probably never skipped a class or caused a delay getting to a multiple-breach site because they were necking instead of studying. “Uh, a guard?”

  Relax, would you? You’re just saving the world from being overrun by monsters, it’s not bloody military school. Which I was supposed to go to before the Protectorate hauled me out, so I guess I should be grateful. This is obviously much better. Right?

  Louise rolls her eyes impatiently and gestures around the van. “We’re working in pairs. You need a guard to drive and watch your back while you’re doing your thing.” She waggles her fingers in the air, obviously imitating magic. “Pick someone.”

  Drive? Do we get submarines? That would be cool. And safe. Very, very safe.

  I chew my lip for a moment, and then glance at Ruble. He smiles, and I shrug. “I’ll go with Ruble, then. If that’s okay?”

  Cuz you’re kind of bitchy, and he’s kind of cute. And presumably competent, if he’s second in line.

  Louise nods and looks me over, puffing air out of her nose. “Didn’t have time to change, I see? Your pants and boots are okay, but you need a better shirt.”

  I look down at my fashionably ripped band shirt, which is faded to washed-out grey but has Sid Vicious still clearly visible, giving the finger to anyone paying attention, and grin. “What, you don’t like the Pistols?”

  Ruble laughs softly and rummages under the bench seat, grabbing a duffle. “Here ya go. Roll the sleeves up.”

  I grab it and look inside to find a black combat shirt with more pockets than seems necessary for anything short of camping for a week, and a reinforced but sleeveless leather jacket. I grin broadly. Nice!