The Secret City

by C. J. Daugherty

  ‘I think we should find a place to sleep,’ he said, as she climbed on behind him.

  To his surprise, she agreed immediately.

  ‘Good idea. Where?’

  Pulling a map from his pocket, he unfolded it on his lap. Taylor leaned over his shoulder to see.

  ‘We’re here,’ Sacha said, pointing. ‘There must be something nearby…’

  He traced their planned route with his fingertip, stopping when it reached a vast forest-green sprawl.

  ‘This national forest is about an hour away,’ he said. ‘We should be able to find someplace in there.’

  ‘There wouldn’t be any people in there at night,’ Taylor said thoughtfully. ‘No reason for anyone to think we’d be there.’

  It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. Sacha made up his mind.

  ‘Let Louisa know that’s what we’re going to do,’ he said, folding the map away.

  Taylor pulled her phone from her pocket, and pushed the dial button.

  Twenty

  ‘This is a bad idea,’ Alastair muttered as he turned the van around.

  Louisa put her phone away. ‘I’m not arguing with you. But I can’t blame them. They’re worn out. They haven’t had any rest in more than twenty-four hours.’

  ‘If they’d kept going just a few more hours, they would have made it to a safe house.’ There was no anger in Alastair’s voice, but his expression was troubled.

  Secretly, Louisa was just as worried as he was.

  They were so close.

  ‘The spot they’ve chosen is smart.’ She said the words as much to herself as to him. ‘They can lose themselves in there for a few hours, get some sleep and head off before dawn.’

  ‘But we can’t be with them,’ Alastair reminded her unnecessarily. ‘And we both think Mortimer is following us.’

  They exchanged a look.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell her?’

  Louisa looked out the window at the thickening forest. ‘What’s the point? If he comes anywhere near them she’ll know it. I don’t want them to be more scared than they already are.’

  She wondered if she’d made the right decision. All day long she’d been sensing faint hints of Dark power. It had begun about forty miles after they left Calais, and happened intermittently since then.

  It was impossible to trace, always just out of their reach. It felt like they were being followed. They’d taken every evasive action in the book and still, periodically, they’d both sensed it.

  ‘It’s like he’s following us at a great distance,’ Alastair had speculated after the second time they’d spotted it. ‘Or he’s close and shielding himself, somehow.’

  ‘It could mean he’s following us, but not them,’ Louisa decided. ‘Which is what we wanted, right?’

  ‘Winning,’ Alastair muttered.

  He looked so tired. Deep circles underscored his eyes and his dark blond hair stood almost on end.

  He’d handled all the driving, because Louisa had never learned how – it hadn’t seemed important before. She was a city girl and always would be. As long as buses existed, driving was for other people.

  She must have been tired too, because, for some reason, that thought summoned images of her foster parents, packing the kids into their crappy brown estate car, and she hadn’t thought about that in years. In her memory, she was the last one in, as usual. Always forgotten. Always in the way.

  ‘She can squeeze in there,’ her foster mother would say, frowning, as Louisa tried to angle herself in between the baby seat and her foster brother, who glared at her if she touched him.

  She’d hear her foster parents murmuring to each other about space and money, and ‘now that the baby’s here, maybe we need to see if there’s someplace else she could go’.

  As if she didn’t have ears.

  As if they didn’t have hearts.

  But then, they didn’t care, did they? None of them did.

  ‘This looks like the place.’

  Alastair’s words jolted her from her memories.

  Blinking hard, she shook her head to clear it. Alastair was turning the van off the highway onto a narrow road leading into thick woods. The only indication that they were entering a national forest was a small sign with a list of forbidden activities.

  ‘I think that says if we start a camp fire we’re going to jail,’ she observed.

  ‘They have to catch us first,’ he said. ‘And this van is like the wind.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  The roads inside the park climbed steeply through forested hills. Although it was still quite light on the flatlands, in the woods, it was already dark as night, and Alastair switched on the headlights.

  It was gloomy in the shadow of the trees, as they wound their way up, up, up, until they neared the hilltop and it was briefly light again.

  Louisa looked everywhere for a black motorcycle but there were numerous side roads leading off into the woods – Sacha and Taylor could have taken any one.

  When she pulled out her phone to call and find out where they’d parked, there were no bars at all showing on the screen.

  ‘Damn, no signal.’

  Alastair steered the van around a steep hairpin turn, his eyes fixed on the increasingly rugged road ahead.

  ‘What should we do? Keep driving?’

  Biting her lip, Louisa considered the options. This was a good place to spend the night, but she hadn’t realised the technology implications.

  They’d be cut off from each other all night.

  She kept searching the woods for any sign of Taylor’s distinctive alchemical energy, but it was impossible. It didn’t travel far – not even at her strength level. On the plus side, there was no Dark energy, either. As far as she could tell, they were all alone.

  Alastair cursed as the road twisted again. There was no guard rail, and on one side the hillside fell away into darkness in a steep, sheer drop.

  ‘These aren’t roads,’ he muttered, squinting into the shadows, ‘they’re goat trails.’

  They were both too tired for this. It wasn’t safe.

  ‘We should park,’ Louisa announced.

  ‘Great. Where?’ Alastair looked around as if a parking place might leap out at them.

  ‘There’s got to be a car park somewhere.’

  ‘Lou…’ He shot her a sideways look, grinding the gears as he downshifted. ‘You do realise we’re in a forest, right?’

  ‘I’m looking,’ she said evenly, ‘for a good place. Will you let me look?’

  ‘How about there?’ He pointed.

  They’d reached the top of a hill – a flat open area stretched out just off the side of the road.

  ‘I think I can get the van in there without getting stuck.’

  It wasn’t terribly sheltered but then they weren’t really hiding. She doubted very seriously that French authorities searched the parks at night for errant vans. Besides, it had a good view of the valley below – if anyone came up, they’d see them long before they reached the top.

  ‘Works for me,’ she said. ‘There’s not a soul up here to complain.’

  They bumped off the road to the spot near a cluster of trees.

  Turning off the engine, Alastair leaned back in his seat with a sigh of relief.

  ‘Thank God that’s over.’ He looked up to where the last of the sun’s light streaked the sky with amber and russet. ‘What now?’

  Louisa held her phone up as high as she could. Still nothing.

  ‘Give me a second.’ She rolled down the window and climbed out, pulling herself up onto the roof of the van with one good kick.

  ‘Lou…’ Alastair leaned out his window to stare up at her. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  ‘Just… give me a second, will you?’

  She held the phone up far above her head, swinging it left, then right.

  Nothing.

  When it became clear there was nothing more she could do, she stood for a while atop the van, scanning the val
ley below. It was perfectly quiet. The only movement came from a hawk, which swirled slow circles against the clear blue sky.

  Louisa swung herself down to the ground in an easy, athletic move. Alastair watched her with a look of bemusement.

  ‘Now,’ she said, ‘we wait.’

  Twenty-One

  The spot Sacha and Taylor chose was at the edge of a lake, well off the road, and tucked away at the end of a rough dirt lane. They could not be more hidden.

  In fact, they would have missed it altogether, had Taylor not spotted the tiny sign in the headlights. All it said was: ‘Lac Le Bac’.

  An arrow pointed down through a thick wall of conifers.

  ‘What about there?’ Taylor had suggested.

  Sacha had slowed the bike, then gave a shrug. It looked remote enough.

  ‘Let’s check it out.’

  Cautiously, he’d turned down the steep track.

  The bike felt different on dirt, more unstable, less safe. Taylor held tightly to his waist as he eased it slowly down.

  It seemed to take forever but then, all of a sudden, the branches thinned and ahead of them lay a wide expanse of crystal blue. The water was still as glass, its surface reflecting the darkening sky like a mirror.

  Sacha gave a whistle of surprise.

  ‘Now that’s a lake.’

  A flock of water birds had settled for the night near the water’s edge. The cacophony of the engine disturbed them, sending them up again in a flutter of anxiety.

  Still moving slowly, Sacha followed the rough track around the lake’s edge for a short distance, before pointing to where a path led down to a tiny cove, sheltered by trees.

  ‘I can hide the bike there.’

  It was already getting chilly so Taylor offered to build a fire while he disguised the motorcycle. By the time he’d pushed the bike behind the trees and stacked loose branches around so not an inch of it was visible, she’d nearly finished piling dry kindling into a neat pile.

  The soft dirt disguised Sacha’s footsteps, and she didn’t hear him approaching.

  Her curls tumbled over her shoulders in wild disarray as she knelt on the soft earth arranging the twigs with elaborate precision. Her face was so serious – so utterly focussed – that, as tired as he was, Sacha still had to smile. Of course Taylor would build an obsessively neat pile for her fire. Of course she’d have a system.

  He stood for a second, watching her. How could he keep her safe? Was there any way to protect her from what was happening?

  Not for the first time, he was overwhelmed with the urge to run. To leave her here, hidden away, and just turn himself over to Mortimer. To trade her safety for his own life.

  But if the alchemists were right, giving up his life wouldn’t keep anyone safe. It would just unleash destruction.

  They were trapped.

  Something in the air must have shifted, because she glanced up at him. Her eyes searched his face.

  ‘You OK?’

  Smoothing his expression, he knelt next to her in front of the orderly firewood stack.

  ‘How do we light it?’ he asked. ‘I don’t have matches.’

  Stars had begun to appear in the sky overhead. The sun was nearly gone now. Her teeth flashed white as she smiled at him.

  ‘You don’t need matches. You have me.’ She held her hands over the dry wood.

  Sacha thought he could feel it – the rush of energy towards her, like the earth hurrying to do her bidding. But it could have been his imagination.

  In an instant, a golden tongue of flame licked at the wood. A wisp of smoke rose skyward.

  Holding her hair back from her face, Taylor leaned forward to blow on it, gently calling it to life.

  The flame danced and shuddered, before catching properly on the dry wood, and beginning to grow. A tiny tickle of warmth emanated towards them.

  ‘That is pretty impressive.’ Sacha glanced admiringly at Taylor, who held her hands out over the fire, absorbing the heat. ‘You have such control now.’

  ‘It’s going to save me a fortune in matches.’ Her face alight from the flames, she glanced up at him. ‘I’m starving. I wish I could create food, too. We could have a barbecue.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  He scrambled to his feet, brushing dirt from his knees, and headed back towards the bike to grab the cardboard box from his bag. It was battered and crumpled, but still mostly in one piece.

  ‘Bet you’re glad I didn’t leave the pastries…’ he began as he walked up to the fire.

  His voice faded.

  The fire was burning brightly, and Taylor was gone.

  ‘Taylor?’ He tried to keep the panic from his voice, but his hands squeezed the pastry box flat.

  He’d only been gone a second. How could this happen?

  ‘Taylor? Where are you?’ This time fear flooded his voice, and he didn’t care.

  ‘I’m here.’ Her voice floated out of the darkness from the edge of the lake. She appeared in the fire’s glow, shaking water from her hands. ‘I had to clean up. I was filthy.’

  Her face was damp, and she’d twisted her curls back loosely. He could make out the curves of her figure, traced in flames.

  Relief made his bones feel soft.

  She was fine.

  He had to restrain himself from grabbing her, pulling her into his arms.

  Unaware of how glorious she looked to him in that moment, she rubbed her hands on her trousers to dry them.

  ‘The water’s so cold. It’s like ice. I wish we had soap. I think I smell.’

  Sacha couldn’t seem to think of the right response. In desperation, he held up the crushed pastry box.

  ‘I’ve got dinner.’

  Twenty-Two

  ‘We should have brought more food.’ Louisa looked mournfully into the empty bag of digestive biscuits.

  ‘We didn’t know we’d be doing the Duke of Edinburgh’s bloody Challenge, though, did we?’ Alastair huffed. ‘We’re supposed to be in a safe house right now.’

  ‘You’re mean when you’re hungry,’ she told him.

  He didn’t smile. ‘I’m cold and I feel cut off. I don’t like this, Lou.’

  ‘I’m not a fan either, you know,’ she said. ‘I had to pee in the woods. Like a bear.’

  His shrug said he didn’t really care about her pee.

  ‘What time is it?’ Louisa asked, although her phone was right there and she could have checked.

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Just after nine.’

  ‘Nine?’ Her eyebrows shot up. ‘How can it not be later? It seems like we’ve been here years.’

  ‘It’s been two hours.’ He crossed his arms. ‘I’m sorry my company is so boring for you.’

  She glanced at him, a line deepening above her eyes. They never quarrelled. Alastair never got cross.

  Louisa knew they both needed sleep and food but adrenaline was keeping them awake, and their tempers were fraying.

  ‘I thought you liked camping,’ she said. ‘You’re the farm boy here. You should be in your element.’

  ‘My grandparents have a farm,’ he said with slow deliberation. ‘I grew up in Chichester.’

  She had no idea where Chichester was.

  ‘Isn’t that in the countryside?’

  ‘Oh my God.’ He slid down in his seat, resting his chin on his chest, like a little boy. ‘It’s a city in the south of England with a nice cathedral in it. I can show you on a map.’

  ‘I don’t need to see it on a map,’ she said, not taking the bait. ‘I’m just surprised I didn’t know that’s where you were from. How could I not know that?’

  ‘You never asked.’

  Silence fell. Louisa couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Alastair was closer to her than anyone. How had she forgotten to ask him where he’d grown up? She knew his favourite colour was green, and that he liked dogs and hiking. That both his parents were alchemists who’d gone to St Wilfred’s when they were young. That he had a sist
er he adored who was just a little younger than Taylor. But that was all information he’d volunteered, the kind of thing that came up in conversation. She had never really asked him anything about his life.

  ‘Well, I’m an arsehole then,’ she announced decisively. ‘Tell me about your family. I want to know.’

  His eyebrows winged up. ‘Are you OK, Lou? You’re not sick or anything?’

  ‘I’m fine. I’m just trying to de-arse myself.’ She turned in the van’s spacious front seat so she was sitting cross-legged, facing him. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Well,’ he said cautiously, ‘my dad’s a solicitor and my mother is a psychologist. I went to state school until I was twelve and then they switched me to a private school because I kept wanting to read more books than they had in the library.’

  ‘That,’ Louisa said with a smile, ‘does not surprise me. Tell me more.’

  ‘What is there to tell?’ He held up his hands. ‘We had a dog named Pepper, who died three years ago.’

  ‘What’s your house like?’ she prompted him. ‘Is it new or old?’

  ‘Old-ish.’ He looked out the window, as if envisioning it. ‘It’s one of those rambling 1930s houses that never gets warm, except in the kitchen. So everyone’s always in the kitchen. You know the kind.’

  She didn’t, actually. She’d grown up in flats and squats, aside from the years with foster families in various places in the suburbs of Liverpool, and an early childhood she couldn’t remember.

  She would have killed to have memories of a rambling family house filled with love.

  ‘I know the kind.’

  Something in her tone caught his attention.

  ‘Lou…’ His eyes held hers. ‘What’s going on? Why are you asking me all of this?’

  ‘I just…’ She let out a breath. The quiet was unearthly. It was so dark. The night seemed to press against the windows like water.

  ‘It’s just, I’ve seen what Mortimer can do, and I think there’s a chance I might not get through this.’ She looked back at him. ‘And if I’m going to die, I want to die knowing more things about you.’