by Anna Day
Katie nods.
‘Someone must be writing that third book,’ I say.
There’s a long pause. So long, I wonder if Katie’s fallen asleep. Finally, she whispers, ‘Do you think it’s Alice?’
‘No. We doubted her last time we were here, and she proved us wrong, remember? There must be some crazy author back in our world who’s turning Nate . . .’ I tail off, glancing into the blackness with paranoid eyes.
Katie squeezes my hand under the covers. ‘Let’s hope Alice works out what’s going on then. She must have at least figured out you’re not mad, now we’re back in comas again. Maybe she’ll hunt down the crazy author and make them stop.’
I instinctively touch my split-heart necklace, running my finger along the jagged edge. ‘We can but hope.’
ALICE
The first thing I do when I wake is check my views. Fandom Rising has really taken off. Russell has actually been pretty cool, helping publicize my links across all his social media channels. I can’t work out if he wants to get inside my pants, or if he wants me to write the third book. Well, he should be so lucky, on both accounts.
Spurred on by my growing popularity, I decide to post again. How else can I help Violet and Katie? What damage has Fanboy done to their universe, apart from dark-siding Nate? Quickly, I scroll through the Fandalism site, frowning so hard I swear I’ll need botox before I hit twenty. My gaze settles on her name. Baba. Of course. Didn’t Violet say the old woman visited her in her dreams? The one person who can help her, who can tell her the future, has gone. My scowl morphs into the smuggest of grins, because my next post is going to be nothing short of genius. Not only can I tell Nate’s story, I can give Violet another precog.
NATE
I stare into the embers of the bonfire, tears stinging my eyes. I didn’t want Baba to die. She was always so good to me. I’d come to think of her as a surrogate grandma. But it was me or her. And I must confess, death terrifies me, and whilst I am lots of things, I am not ready to die.
The crowd scattered many, many hours ago, but guilt and grief have prevented me from leaving, and now I am the only one left here, shivering in the dark. I’ve curled into a ball on my side. Maybe, if I curl up tight enough, I can just disappear. All this will stop. The pain, the guilt, the betrayal.
Through the smoke, through my tears, I see a figure.
And as it moves towards me, an inexplicable calmness spreads through my body.
The silhouette must belong to a precog.
I begin to visualize an old lady with no lips and sealed-up eyelids. Maybe Baba’s long-lost twin or something. But then I remember, I can write my new precog any way I please. There’s no reason why replacement-Baba can’t be a dude, hotter than the sun, with a six-pack to rival Dwayne Johnson’s. Pimp my precog. I’m quite literally cackling at my screen as I begin to write. Violet is so going to thank me for this.
He is a man so beautiful he makes me forget the ugliness inside my soul. Tall, East Asian, with black hair and piercing brown eyes. The smoke folds around his broad shoulders in layers of grey.
‘Hello, Nate,’ he says. ‘My name is Yan.’
‘Hello, Yan,’ I whisper back. I know I should run away, but I feel so calm, so peaceful. Surely this stunning man couldn’t possibly hurt me.
‘Why so sad?’ he asks.
I pause. ‘I . . . I did something terrible.’
‘I know.’
I rub my eyes, blinded by the grey and my own tears. ‘Who are you?’
Yan smiles. ‘I’ve been sent by a friend.’
I want to sit up . . . I want to sit up and walk towards him, but my body won’t move. ‘Why?’
‘To help,’ he replies simply.
‘To help destroy the Imps?’
He blinks. ‘No. To help you remember.’
‘Remember what?’ I ask.
‘To remember who you really are.’
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to stop the stinging of the tears. And when I open them again, Yan has gone.
I close my laptop, still smiling to myself. Baba just got an upgrade.
You’re welcome, Violet.
17
VIOLET
Thorn walks us to the church in the diluted, post-dawn sun. I’d forgotten how the stink of the city permeates every part of you, how the cold gets beneath your skin and makes your bones ache. And I’d forgotten the soul-sucking greyness of it all. What I wouldn’t give for the red of a double-decker bus, the crisp multicoloured stripes of a shop’s awning, the turquoise pop of a little girl’s pinafore. Black and white movies are only cool when you’re not stuck in one.
We approach the church, and Thorn presses his thumb against a pad mounted beside the wooden door. The pad emits a beep and the door springs open. We step inside. The scent of incense-infused stone fills me with terror and nostalgia all at once. I quickly take in my surroundings. Headquarters looks slicker, cast in the artificial blueish glow of overhead spotlights. The desks have been upgraded, laden with hi-tech computers and gadgets, and the chairs look padded and comfy. When Alice and I changed this place into the HQ of the Imp–Gem alliance, we didn’t upgrade it like this.
My eyes instinctively search for the pew where I laid out Nate’s waxy, still body. But the pew has gone. Something fat and ugly swells in my stomach, a noxious mix of anger and vengefulness. Somewhere in this universe is the man who shot my little brother . . . Howard Stoneback. And if I ever meet him, I think I may kill him.
Thorn sits on a nearby chair and smiles at us. ‘Ash and Willow should be back soon. Then they can show you around the city.’ He busies himself with a nearby blueprint.
Katie and I stand side by side, fidgeting and awkward. Even though I’m dreading the moment Ash returns and realizes Baba, Saskia and Matthew are dead, I find myself wishing he would just hurry up. As if on cue, footsteps sound from outside the church. My skin bristles. Something about those footsteps is familiar, confident and yet gentle. The keypad beeps. I inhale a lungful of bittersweet church air and hold my breath . . . Is it him?
He walks through the door. His winter eyes – stark and glassy against the peach of his skin – cause my insides to knot.
‘Ash,’ I whisper, savouring the shape of his name in my mouth.
Nothing separates us except several metres of air. Until this moment, I’d never noticed how insubstantial air is. Basically, nothing stands between us. I want to run to him and wrap him in my arms, breathing in that heady scent of woodsmoke, soap and sweat. It’s like something’s reaching inside me, hauling me towards him. I have to resist it with every inch of my body.
His eyes fall on Thorn, who he acknowledges with a terse nod.
I wait for his gaze to move to mine, for that powerful click when you can almost hear two souls connecting. I stare at his pale, irregular face, just willing him to look at me. And suddenly, he does. It’s the simplest thing, just the tiniest of eye movements, and yet everything feels different. I smile at him, I mean, really smile. I can’t help it. Being held in his view and knowing that my face fills his mind is enough to make me forget, at least for a moment, the mess I’m in.
I anticipate his lazy smile leaning up one side of his face, that shiver down my spine. Is it just me, or is there a flicker of recognition in his eyes?
‘That’s Ash?’ Katie whispers.
‘Yep,’ I reply.
‘He’s improved.’
I see what she means. Undeniably, his colours remain the same; if I squinted, blurring the edges of his face into an Impressionist painting, he’d be the boy I fell in love with. But The Gallows Song clearly suited him. He’s gained a little weight, muscle bulk rather than flab, and he looks broader in the shoulders. The slight hollow-waif look has vanished from around his eyes. In spite of the heat gathering around my neck and thighs, I can’t help feeling a little put out: he looks better without me.
‘Hi,’ he says.
At first, I half expect him to do a double take, his face transforming with j
oy as he realizes who I am. But of course, he hasn’t a clue – and the glint of recognition in his eyes quickly fades. The boy who loved me, who offered to die in my place, doesn’t even know me. It takes everything I have to keep on smiling.
‘Hi,’ I reply.
Thorn rises from his chair. ‘Ash, this is Violet and Katie, Baba’s friends. They want to know more about the London alliance.’
He shakes my hand, gently, steadily. His lips move slightly, a mere tremor, and his eyebrows pull together for the briefest of moments. It’s one of those micro-expressions, revealing more about his feelings than a thousand words. He’s completely floored. ‘Sorry,’ he mutters, controlling his features. ‘You just . . . really remind me of someone.’
Does he remember me after all?
Thorn laughs. ‘Yes, her likeness to Rose is rather striking, but Baba assured me it was no more than a coincidence.’
Katie grabs my arm. ‘Who is that?’
Willow walks through the door. Even cast in the artificial glow of the church, he seems to radiate sunshine. I’d forgotten just how attractive he is. I get this strange squirmy feeling in my gut. Dammit. It’s like he’s got superpowers or something, and I remind myself what a coward he was, how he failed to say his lines when I stood waiting to be hanged.
Katie makes this strange sound, halfway between a swallow and a swear word. I’ve never seen her dumbstruck by a man before. I press my lips together in case I laugh.
Ash watches her, his smile finally edging up one side of his face. ‘Yeah, he has this effect on people. It’s really annoying.’
Willow walks towards us, and then stops mid-stride, mouth hanging open. He stares at me. The emotion must overwhelm him so that he forgets himself, and he begins striding towards me with purpose. Urgently, he cups my face in his hands, his eyes digesting my every line. ‘You look just like her,’ he whispers.
Ash gently pulls his hands away. ‘There are similarities, I agree, but don’t be weird about it, yeah? This is Violet.’
Willow’s hands fall from my cheeks. There’s a flicker of embarrassment, before he arranges his features into a perfect smile. ‘Forgive me, Violet. You must think I’m mad.’
I shrug. ‘It’s cool.’
Ash turns to Thorn. ‘So there was a mix-up with that meeting you wanted us to attend, turns out you got the wrong date.’ He looks around. ‘Where’s Baba?’
My heart sinks. In a few seconds, that lovely half-smile will disappear entirely.
Thorn smirks. ‘She . . . had to leave.’
‘What do you mean?’ Ash asks. ‘We’ve only been gone a night, she never said anything about leaving.’
‘Maybe she doesn’t tell you everything,’ Thorn replies.
Ash blinks, confused. ‘When’s she coming back?’ ’She isn’t,’ Thorn replies, clearly enjoying the power.
Silence hangs in the air. I feel sick. Really sick. I consider just blurting it out, unable to watch Ash’s confused expression, knowing what’s about to come. But Thorn scares me. His size, his intensity. And I can’t bring Nate home if I’m dead.
Willow steps forwards, suspicion darkening his copper eyes. ‘What do you mean, she isn’t coming back? Did you tell us the wrong date on purpose?’
‘Oh Thorn, what did you do?’ Ash asks, his voice rising with panic.
Thorn shrugs, and then says in an almost nonchalant tone, ‘She betrayed us, so I killed her.’
Time seems to stop. Even the stone seems to hold its breath.
I expect Ash and Willow to explode, a flurry of movement and swear words. I brace myself for the outburst, but instead, Ash simply whispers one tiny, lost word: ‘How?’
‘Fire,’ Thorn replies. ‘Down by the river. It was quite the show.’
‘You bastard,’ Ash whispers. He takes off, sprinting from the church, Willow close behind.
Katie and I run after them, grateful to escape the sound of Thorn’s laughter as it morphs into the shriek of gulls. We reach the site of the execution in mere minutes. The crowds and the flames have long gone, leaving an empty silt beach, so black, so scorched, it looks no more than a charcoal drawing. Three burnt stumps wilt where the posts once stood proud, and there’s no sign of the victims – my friends. For a moment, I think maybe they escaped, then reality kicks in and I remember their remains – bones, tendons, teeth, the bits that don’t burn – have probably fallen into the charred stack below. I shudder, bile rising in my throat.
Ash and Willow stand on the outcrop overlooking the scene, exactly where Katie and I stood yesterday. They don’t speak, they don’t even cry, they just stare. Without thinking, I begin moving towards Ash, my arms outstretched, wanting to comfort him, wanting to share his pain. He turns and for a second, I think it’s really going to happen – he’s going to wrap his arms around me. But a voice cuts through the quiet. ‘Ash, Ash.’
A young woman with bronze skin and dark, flowing hair dashes from the city towards us. A panicked look grips her face, yet it’s still obvious just how gorgeous she is. She has large oval eyes, heavily lashed and filled with kindness.
‘Oh Ash,’ she says. ‘They told me what happened.’ She reaches Ash and he looks at her the way he used to look at me. And even before he extends his arms and they embrace, I know that they’re going to slot perfectly together. But it still breaks my heart when they do.
‘Daisy,’ he whispers into her hair.
I look at her. It’s like someone gave me a magic wand and asked me to fix everything about myself I hated. And, Cinderella-style, I twizzled that wand above my head, releasing a cascade of sparks. My legs lengthened, my eyelashes grew, my hair de-frizzed.
Only I didn’t have a wand, I had a pen.
The jealousy which explodes through my veins surprises me. It’s hard and angular, strong enough to temporarily drown out my sorrow for Baba’s loss, strong enough to swallow up my anger towards Thorn. I wrote Ash a girlfriend, and I made her PERFECT. I made her a Gem, for God’s sake. I would kick myself if my legs weren’t too short to reach.
Katie studies my face, then whispers, ‘Careful there, Othello.’
She’s got a point, but I can’t do anything to tame that green-eyed monster as I watch Ash sweep the hair from Daisy’s face.
‘It’s my fault,’ he says. ‘I should have known Thorn was up to something when he asked us to go to the Pastures for the night.’
I force myself to look away, the jealousy threatening to consume me entirely.
That’s when I see him: Nate. He sits on the very edge of the beach, almost hidden by some rocks. He stares at the sooty remains of the bonfire, his sandy hair stirring in the wind. His face is stained with tears. I can see where they’ve dried and new ones trickled, leaving streaks of salty residue. The jealousy, the anger, all just flakes away and I’m left only with a need to rush to him – to this strange, almost-Nate –and tell him everything’s going to be OK. But he looks at me like I’m a stranger. To him, I am a stranger.
I suddenly feel very guilty for writing him such a sparse backstory. He had no family and lived as a street-Imp most of his life. The rebels took him in and became his family. But now, he looks like he needs a mum and dad more than anyone else in the world.
He wipes his face on the back of his shirtsleeve and stands to leave. The movement draws the attention of the others.
‘That’s right, run away,’ Daisy shouts.
‘What’s Nate done?’ Willow asks.
Daisy releases a sob. ‘It’s just too awful to say.’
Ash loops an arm around her graceful neck and pulls her head into his chest. They’re so close they could almost be one person. ‘Hush, it’s OK,’ he whispers into her hair.
Daisy stares at Nate, and even in the morning light, I see an uncharacteristic hardness in her dark eyes. ‘Coward.’ She spits the word like a snake spits venom.
My gut clenches. Does she know that Nate’s the traitor?
Nate rushes past us, knocking my shoulder as he goes. I lay my hand
on the spot where his body touched mine. I want to run after him, but I have no idea what to say or how to make it better.
Daisy watches him leave. ‘He’s been acting strangely the past few weeks, and now this.’ She swings her arm, gesturing to the shadow of the bonfire below.
Ash rubs her back. ‘Dee, it’s Nate. Nate. He’s one of the good guys.’
I don’t know which upsets me more: hearing Ash use a cutesy nickname for her, or hearing Ash defend Nate. I must make a sort of whimpering noise, my body unable to contain all of the horrible feelings. Daisy looks directly at me. Has she noticed that I look like her short, pale, ugly sister? I want so badly to hate her, but it isn’t her fault I made her everything I longed to be. It’s nobody’s fault but my own.
She catches my eye and smiles. It’s a tired, broken smile – she’s trying to be kind. ‘You really have picked a terrible time to visit.’
‘Understatement,’ Katie replies.
A tiny laugh escapes Daisy’s lips. ‘I know you’re staying with Thorn, but if you’d rather, you can stay with me and Ash. We’ve got room.’
‘Thanks,’ I manage to squeak.
She touches my upper arm, a gentle squeeze, and then does the same to Katie. It’s a small and yet surprisingly intimate gesture, an attempt to reassure us, a genuine act of compassion when her heart must be breaking. ‘Anyway, see you soon,’ she says, before setting off back to the buildings.
I expect Ash to follow, but instead, he seems to study my face. I’d forgotten just how achingly pale his eyes are. I suddenly notice how cold it is; the tiny hairs on my neck begin to prickle.
‘Who are you?’ he asks. I can almost feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek.
I want to tell him I’m the time-travelling assassin. The girl he showed the Dupes to. The girl he offered to die for. But all I can do is stare back at him.
‘Ash,’ Daisy calls.
A smile ghosts across his face, a smile which I can’t for the life of me read. And then he walks away.
‘Henpecked,’ Katie sings.
‘She seems nice,’ I say.
